“Just yell louder next time, okay? Race you around the mooring and back?”

I was a third of the way there before Dwight got his bearings and headed after me. My form’s better, but he’s got a longer stroke and stronger back and he finished up at the pier at least three strokes ahead of me. That was all right. Gave me a chance to get my thoughts in order before we talked. Not that I knew anything more about Stevie and Eric than he did.

The air was starting to get cool as the sun settled further in the west and I climbed onto the pier and wrapped a towel around me.

“Did you hear from Chapel Hill yet?” I asked.

Dwight continued to bob around in the water. “They’ve released the body, and Duck was supposed to send someone for it this afternoon.”

“What was the cause of death?”

“I didn’t get the official report yet.”

“Unofficially then. And don’t say you can’t tell me when you know it’s going to be public record soon as the DA’s office gets hold of it.”

Dwight pulled himself out of the pond, and water streamed from his body. He hadn’t brought a towel, so I handed him mine and slipped my T-shirt back over my damp suit.

“Okay, unofficially,” he said as he dried off. “He drowned in his own blood.”

“Really?”

“Truth. The ME thinks that somebody either knocked or pushed him down and then stomped him in the face while he was on his back. Most likely, he was unconscious at that point and his nose was smashed so badly he’d have had to breathe through his mouth.”

“Only that was stuffed full of quarters,” I said, shivering at the memory as a light breeze blew across the pond.

We walked back up to the house and I gave him first dibs on the shower.

While he dressed in my spare room, I sluiced off all the pond water, dried my hair, and pulled on fresh jeans, a white shirt, and a blue cotton cardigan. When I got back to the living area, Dwight was thumbing through my collection of old videos.

“We’ve watched them all,” I said.

“So I see. I thought you might’ve broke down and bought something new.”

“Sorry.”

It was still light outside, but fast heading for dusk. Dwight roamed the room restlessly, picking up a framed snapshot of my parents, then one of a gang of us at a cookout over at Robert’s house.

“Is something bothering you?” I asked.

“No, why?”

“I don’t know. You look uptight about something.”

Dwight’s normally as comfortable as an old faded T-shirt, but this evening he seemed edgy, unable to light, almost as if he were annoyed at me over something that he knew was none of his business but was working up to blasting me about it anyhow.

“What dorm’s Stevie in?” he asked abruptly.

“Old East,” I said.

“Is that one of the ones next to the Old Well?”