“Was Len at the party?” A nod. “I’d like to talk to him, too.”

“Want me to call him over?”

“No, I’ll pay a visit afterward.” He wanted to talk to the witnesses individually if at all possible.

“Right,” McGuire said. He picked up a sheet of paper from the coffee table. “I printed it out. Easier to read than my handwriting.” He fidgeted with it. “I don’t mean to intrude on your investigation but these people were my guests, in my home by my invitation. I don’t want to hang them out to dry.” He looked up to meet Liam’s eyes.

“I appreciate your feelings,” Liam said. “My on-the-scene estimate indicates that Erik Berglund was killed late Monday or early Tuesday morning. That estimate is not official and may be contradicted by the findings of the medical examiner, but if it’s close then you and your party guests will have been the last to see him alive.”

“Other than the murderer,” McGuire said. “Who wasn’t necessarily here.”

Liam nodded his totally deniable agreement. You never got the best out of a witness by antagonizing them right out of the chute. “Did everyone you invited come?”

“Yes.” McGuire handed over the sheet of paper. Erik Berglund’s name was at the top of the list. Next were Allan and Cynthia Reese and Grace and Greg Kinnison. “Kyle and Logan’s parents?”

McGuire nodded.

Aiden and Shirley Donohoe. Domenica Garland. Hilary Houten. Blue Jay Jefferson. Jeff and Marcy Ninkasi. Allison Levy. Jake and Lily Hansen. Paula Pederson. Alexei and Kimberley Petroff.

“Do Alexei and Kimberley Petroff have a daughter named Sally?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was your friend Len present?”

McGuire nodded.

“What’s his full name?”

“Leonard Needham.”

Liam counted the names. “And you makes twenty. Just a holiday get-together? Any excuse to barbecue?”

McGuire looked uncomfortable, but Liam couldn’t tell if he actually felt that way or just wanted Liam to think he felt that way. “Some of them are neighbors. Jeff and Erik are friends. The rest are local people. I invited them over for a kind of home premiere of Last Flight Out.” If Liam couldn’t read his expression he could read Liam’s, and he added, “The producer sent me an answer print.”

He might as well have been speaking in tongues but Liam did manage to gather that McGuire had invited everyone over to watch his next film.

A reluctant smile spread across McGuire’s face. “Not a fan?”

“More of a reader.”

A rough laugh made both of them look at the kitchen where a man was filling a mug with coffee. He brought it to the living room and sat down next to McGuire. “Leonard Needham. You’d be the trooper.” Liam nodded, and the man jerked his head at McGuire. “Kid told me you’d be coming. Thought I should come on over to make sure you don’t get out the rubber hose.” He waggled his considerable eyebrows and his cheeks creased in a close-mouthed smile. White, five seven-eight with a kind of muscular thinness that defied an estimate of weight. His eyes were brown with startlingly long lashes and his hair was a wiry gray cut to a drill instructor’s specifications. His hands were enormous and large-knuckled, dwarfing the mug he held. He was dressed like McGuire, in a worn white T-shirt advertising nothing and jeans faded at the knees and seams. He was also twice McGuire’s age, and although the two men looked nothing alike there was a certain similarity in the way they held themselves, a quality of awareness, Liam thought. Perhaps the consciousness that there was always someone watching, which would be endemic in people employed in the on-camera end of filmmaking. He recognized it because nowadays if you were in law enforcement you were always aware that someone was watching, usually with their camera phone up and running.