Lassiter

44 Eyeball Witness

A circus, Ziegler thought, watching from the pool deck.

His house, the big tent.

Uniformed cops, plainclothes detectives, crime scene investigators, medical examiners, techs in plastic gloves with tweezers and flashlights. Cameras popping off photos in the solarium, on the deck, up against the windows, and deep in the bayonet bushes.

A moment before he was to give his statement to homicide detectives, Ziegler caught sight of a distraught Alex Castiel jogging toward him. Ziegler tried to arrange his features into a reasonable facsimile of grief. “Alex, it was awful. I know how much you loved the old guy.”

Castiel pulled him aside, out of earshot of the cops. “Was it her, Charlie? Was it the Larkin woman?”

“Couldn’t really tell. Too dark. And I was scared shitless.”

“Who else could it be?”

“Shit, I don’t know, Alex. Wish we could ask Max.”

They were quiet a moment as a police helicopter flew overhead, its searchlight sweeping across the seawall.

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked.

“Max saw the shooter.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he said something.”

“What, exactly?”

“He said, ‘You?’ ”

Castiel ran a hand through his dark hair. “That’s all, Charlie? ‘You?’ ”

“Like he recognized the shooter. But Max never saw Amy Larkin, so I’m thinking maybe it was someone else.”

“You’re reading a helluva lot into one word, Charlie.”

“I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

Police radios squawked. A tech walked by carrying several plastic evidence bags.

Castiel lowered his voice. “Step up to the plate. I need an eyeball witness.”

“C’mon, Alex. You asked if I saw her, and I’m saying I can’t swear to it.”

Eyes wild, Castiel jammed a finger into his chest. “Didn’t you ever learn anything from Max? Do what’s gotta be done!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

With a plainclothes cop approaching, Castiel hissed in his ear, “There are only two people who could have killed Max. Amy Larkin and you, Charlie. It’s up to you who goes down for it.”