“He’s like a matchmaker. He has a ‘wants’ column and an ‘offers’ column. Those people end up playing in games together. Only on Friday nights. That’s when the riverboat sets sail. Other nights it’s docked.”

She still looked stunned. “And nobody suspected anything? None of the participants talked?”

Her horror was kind of refreshing. Diesel was afraid he’d become desensitized to what humans were capable of doing to one another after all of his investigations for the Ledger. “I imagine it’s a mutual-deniability thing. If one tells, he’s telling on himself, too. If one tells, the others retaliate. So nobody tells.”

“Jesus,” she whispered. “Brewer was a participant?”

“Yeah. The guy who wanted a five-year-old boy was named Blake Emerson.”

“And now Brewer’s dead. I wonder if Emerson is, too.” She looked away for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. Then her confused gaze shot back to Diesel’s. “Scott King was the security manager. He killed Brewer. And then came back to check on Joshua. Was he . . . protecting Joshua?”

Diesel nodded. “That was my take. King was working every Friday night. I think he was the game’s security guard.”

“And he saw what was happening. Or heard it. I wonder why he didn’t kill Richard Fischer.”

“Maybe he did. Nobody can find Fischer, according to the news. I called Adam to find out if they’d questioned him and he confirmed that they were looking for the guy. They were about to search his house.”

“House,” Dani murmured, as if to herself. “What about the boys’ house? Why did LJM Industries buy it? How does that fit?”

God, she was smart. Diesel loved her brain as much as the rest of her. “Good question. Richard didn’t pair the same people in more than one game very often, but he put Blake Emerson and John Brewer together twice. The first time was two Fridays ago. John’s stake was his house. Emerson’s was a kilo of heroin.”

“Oh. John wanted the heroin for Stella.”

“More likely to resell,” Diesel said flatly. “He’d already gone through the boys’ trust funds and he was broke.”

“Goddammit,” she whispered. “What’s the street value of a kilo?”

“Six hundred grand plus change, which is the estimated value of the house.”

She bit at her lip. “Does Richard keep photos of his clients in that database?”

“Yeah.” He dug his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “I didn’t download anything from the casino’s server. I went old-school and snapped a picture.” He held out his phone, open to the photo he’d taken. “Meet Blake Emerson.”

Her mouth fell open in stunned surprise. “That’s Wesley Masterson, Laurel’s cop brother. Marcus found his photo online last night. You’re saying that Wesley Masterson was buying children?”