The video continued for another ten or fifteen minutes, but nothing else was said that approached in impact the stated plan for Dr. James Brewster’s estate. After a brief discussion of the source of current income that Jimi relied on to pay his bills—a small website-design and electronics-consulting business—the interview gradually petered out. The video ended with a serious-looking Kim saying good-bye to Jimi and promising to be in touch with him again shortly.

“Jesus,” said Gurney, shutting down the computer and leaning back in his chair.

Madeleine sighed. “So full of guilt.”

He looked at her curiously. “Guilt?”

“He hated his father, probably wished him dead. Maybe even wished someone would kill him. Then he was killed. Hard to escape from that.”

“Even if he had nothing to do with it …” Gurney was thinking out loud.

“But he did, in a way. When his dream came true, there was no escaping the fact that it was his dream. He got what he’d hoped for.”

“In that video I saw a lot more anger than guilt.”

“Anger doesn’t hurt as much as guilt.”

“It’s a choice?”

Madeleine gave him a long look before answering. “If you can stay focused on the fact that your father did such terrible things that he deserved to die, then you can stay angry at him forever, instead of feeling guilty for wishing him dead.”

Gurney had an uneasy sense that she was telling him something not only about Jimi Brewster but about his own frozen relationship with his late father—a man who had ignored him as a child and whom he in turn ignored in later life. But that was a fraught area he had no desire to venture into now. The broad expanse of father-and-son issues was a swamp in which he could easily become mired.

Focus indeed was everything. So—more questions, more action. He headed out from the den to the kitchen to get his cell phone.

Lieutenant Bullard had had the Brewster video in her possession since lunchtime. Surely she would’ve been curious enough to have watched it by now. It was odd she hadn’t called to discuss it. Or maybe not so odd, considering the shifting pressures of the situation. And the unstable politics. Might be worth a call to her, just to check the political pulse. Unless hanging back and waiting for her to initiate the call might send a better message.

He was saved from having to make the decision by the sight, through the kitchen window, of Kim’s red Miata coming up the hill past the remnants of the barn—and, behind the Miata, Kyle on his BSA.