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Even if Beau did solve John’s homicide, even if Archie was officially cleared, he knew this would damage his career, probably irreparably.

Unless Beau was able to find the real culprit very quickly, Archie would be suspended pending the trial’s eventual outcome—and that could very likely take years. That would be true whether or not he managed to score bail.

Numbly, he watched Beau take out a pair of blue nitrile gloves and an evidence bag. Beau carefully drew the knife out from behind the cushions. He dropped it into the evidence bag.

“Beau—”

Maybe Beau mistook that for a plea. He said abruptly, “I said I thought you were unaware. I didn’t say you were out of your mind, which you’d have to be for this to be believed.”

“Gee. Thanks? But that’s not—”

“Shut up. I need to think.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Archie said. “You’ve got to call it in.”

Beau didn’t reply, studying Archie in an odd, considering way.

But he had to know Archie was right.

Still. Archie closed his eyes. He felt like he’d been running an obstacle course since the night John had been murdered, and now he’d come to a wall that there was no getting over or getting around.

This was the end of the road. His road, anyway.

He opened his eyes as Beau turned back to the armchair. Beau’s expression, as he studied the path from the window, was the same he used to have back when he was doing game tape analysis of an opposing team’s strategy.

He said abruptly, “If I call it in, it’s your career.”

“It’s your career if you don’t.”

Beau’s smile was bright and bleak. “That shouldn’t worry you.”

Even with everything else going on, that still had the power to sting. “Jesus Christ, I never said my career was more important than yours. I never said my career was more important than you.”

“You may not have put it into words—”

“Bullshit. Bullshit, Beau. I didn’t think it then and I don’t think it now. I’m not asking you to jeopardize your job or your future. I don’t want that. I don’t need that.”

Beau’s smile twisted. “Maybe you don’t want it, but you sure as hell do need it.”

Archie opened his mouth, but Beau talked over him. “As of right now, I don’t have a better suspect. There’s going to be a lot of pressure from some influential people to arrest you. For obvious reasons.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

But yeah… Probably. Judith would be leading the pack, but she would not be the only one howling for his blood. Even so. Archie said resolutely, “That doesn’t mean I need any—”

Beau scoffed, “Maybe nothing. If you go to jail, you’re liable to be in there a while. We both know what that means.”

Archie clenched his jaw against a pointless protest. They did both know.

“Anyway,” Beau said, and he sounded almost cheerful. “This could actually end up being helpful to my investigation.”

Archie frowned. “How do you figure that? You’re not thinking someone left fingerprints?”

He, too, would love to believe that, but it seemed unlikely someone would go to the trouble of planting a murder weapon but forget to wipe their prints from it.

Beau snorted. “Neither of us is that lucky. No, I figure when a maid doesn’t turn up the murder weapon, some helpful citizen is going to place an anonymous phone call to the station, and we’re going to be ready with a trap and trace. We might even get lucky.”

That was shrewder than Archie would have expected. Maybe his surprise showed, because Beau said acerbically, “I’ll tell you something else. I don’t appreciate someone thinking I’m so dumb—or so biased—I’d swallow whole the idea that an experienced FBI agent would leave a murder weapon under a chair cushion in his hotel room.”