When he saw the grip Tim had on Ned, his eyebrows shot up. “I was starting to worry about you,” Flynn said. “Did you put the moves on Sherlock and get shot down? Christ, you really will screw anything with a pulse.”

Tim gritted his teeth. “Mr. Yeboah just assaulted a police officer.”

“Would you look at that, Ned,” Flynn said. “You found a way to leave me after all.”

“That’s enough,” I said. “We need to talk to all of you.”

Tim leaned in close. “We do?”

The moment when I’m about to catch a criminal is a moment like no other. I can’t explain how it makes me feel. It’s the highest of highs, a thrill that’s astounding in its potency. The only person I know who might understand it is Tim. One day, I thought, maybe I’ll ask him.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” I said, resuming the position I’d taken when I first walked into the parlor all those hours before, “with the first person blamed for Jasper’s murder. It was Norton, I believe, who brought the trapper to our attention.” I faced the caretaker, and he instantly reddened under my gaze. “In fact, Norton was the only person to suggest it might have been a total stranger who took Jasper. He convinced Camilla the man was after her money. Told her a ransom note was on the way. But no note came, and thanks to Wellington—who was able to confirm Billy Bloom’s alibi—we eliminated the trapper from our suspect list very quickly.

“But you clung to your theory he was to blame, didn’t you, Mr. Norton? You insisted he was guilty after we found Abella’s body, and brought him up again when Wellington told everyone the boats were gone. You had to know we’d see the trapper’s involvement as a long shot. Surely you noticed nobody else was pointing at Bloom as a suspect.” I waited. Though his mouth hung open, Norton said nothing. I could see his chest rising and falling fast under his flannel shirt.

“Your story about Camilla not wanting mink under the boathouse made sense,” I said. “There’s no denying the smell. Honestly, if Jasper was MIA for longer we’d have torn that building apart, but there’s no way a stench of decay could be traced to a person who’s only been missing one day. Billy Bloom found a pile of fish guts down there. That much is true, too. According to Bloom, they were all perch.” I didn’t mention it was Tim’s comment about never wanting to eat fried perch again that had burrowed into my ear and stayed there. I did, however, make a mental note to buy Tim a beer. “Now, I don’t know much about this river, but I do know there are many more species of fish, and the odds of a mink being that particular are low. I had the sheriff make a call. What she discovered is that Norton bought several pounds of bones and butcher scraps from the local fishmonger the day before you all arrived here. I believe he planted them under the boathouse as an excuse to bring in Bloom.”