What was left of Craig Bailer’s body had been cremated after a cursory autopsy, but it had taken months for the family to put together this modest ceremony. He looked at their faces—the stoic wife, the supportive children, impatient business associates—and wondered about the delay. Was it because no one cared enough to shuffle their schedules? Perhaps they had seen Bailer for what he was: a man obsessed with money and the illusion of personal value it could be used to create. A man eminently replaceable as a business partner, parent, or friend by the thousands just like him.

The priest stepped down and a young man Dresner didn’t know took his place. Not that he would have expected to recognize him. He knew very little about Bailer personally. The man had been a convenient tool but, beyond that, of little interest. Not that their impersonal relationship had made killing him—murdering him—any easier. But then, it had been an act of no real importance. Bailer would have died later with all the others anyway. For his sins.

“My father loved it here,” the young man said, his voice cutting through the rain in a way that the priest’s had not. “When I was a boy, this piece of land only had a little cabin on it and there were other houses surrounding the lake. Over the years, he bought them all up and removed them. He loved the quiet. The beauty of nature.”

Dresner frowned imperceptibly. The “cabin” was now a thousand-square-meter monstrosity and the dock they were standing on held a massive speedboat painted a garish red and yellow. The truth was that Bailer had never shown any interest in nature. This was just another trophy.

The family walked in a silent procession to the end of the pier and turned an urn upside down over the water. The wind whipped at the ashes for a moment before they were soaked through and dropped unceremoniously into the lake.

A fitting end to Craig Bailer.

The crowd began to disperse, about half checking their email on cell phones and the other half doing the same with the subtle pupil jerks that people had taken to calling the Dresner Stare.

He moved against the exodus, people shuffling out of his way with nervous glances as he approached Bailer’s wife.

“I’m so sorry, Lori,” he said, feeling her tense under his embrace. He was less human than symbol now and people often didn’t know how to react to his physical presence.

“I want to thank you for coming,” she said as he took her hand. “It would have meant a lot to Craig.”

“I considered him one of my closest friends and owe him a great deal. I can’t imagine how you and your family must be feeling, but I want you to know that it was a devastating loss for me, too.”