The lieutenant glanced over at the shop, Sincere Imports, and then back at the fountain. “We’re fine right here,” he said. “There’s nothing to see. Just two old friends having a chat.” He gripped the wrought-iron fencing with both hands and shook it a little. “Besides, a little paranoia would do you some good, Jimmy.”

Keegan leaned his weight on the fence, trying to rest his back. Water burbled. Nickels gleamed. Leaves collected into damp thatch in the foamy edges of the pools. He looked at the rock formations with their tin bowls. WEALTH. WISDOM. LOVE. SERENITY. And all they cost was a penny. It was far too hot to linger out here in the sun. “So, what’s this big secret meeting about, anyway?” Keegan asked.

The lieutenant sucked in a long breath and nodded. He turned and looked at Keegan squarely. “I just want you to listen to me for a minute, Jimmy,” he said. “Friend to friend.”

Friend. The lieutenant seemed to be leaning hard on the buddy angle. He’d dropped the term twice in the last minute. Keegan didn’t know what to make of it, but, as an omen, it wasn’t good.

“The thing is,” Moore said, “I don’t really think you shot the old man.” His voice sounded tinny and thin against the background hiss of rushing water. The week seemed to have aged him, or maybe the tie and the Panama hat made him look younger. “I don’t think you did it,” he went on, “but you’re making it pretty easy for someone to convince a jury that you did.”

“I’m not worried,” Keegan said. “You can’t have much of a case against me, if you think I didn’t do it.”

Moore sighed and raised a thumb. “One. The bullet in the dead man is going to match the ones we pulled out of the tree trunk,” the lieutenant said. He raised his index finger. “Two. We’ve got you taking target practice a few hours before the deed.” He raised another finger. “Then we’ve got you trying to pass off someone else’s gun as your own.” He shook his head and gave up, letting his hand drop to his side. Three fingers would be enough to make his point, though it was clear he could keep counting off digits if Keegan insisted. “Wise up,” he said. “Your jury’s going to be back out on Temple Street before rush hour.”