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“I know how it sounds, and clearly it was a horrible idea, but—”

“You can say that again!”

“But Alton—Beacher—believed that if he could convince his wife he was actually gay, she’d give him a divorce without carrying out the threats against him she’s made over the years.”

Cameron considered this grimly for a moment before saying tersely, “Okay, kid. Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

Of course, Zach did leave out one or two things, but mostly he complied to the best of his ability with Cameron’s request. He did not try to hide his own culpability. Or maybegullibilitywas the better word.

“I’ve never heard such a load of horseshit in my entire career,” Cameron summed up at the end of Zach’s recital.

“I know,” Zach said humbly.

“We both know what your father would have to say about this, Zee.”

“I know.”

“I don’t get it. You’re a smart kid. Why in the hell would you let yourself get dragged into something like this?”

Zach stared into Cameron’s genuinely bewildered gaze, and burst out, “Because I was desperate! The retainer Beacher paid is enough to keep us afloat for the next couple of months. I figured—”

Cameron winced. “You think Beacher didn’t know that? Didn’t you question why someone as wealthy as Alton Beacher would hire a little hole-in-the-wall operation if he honest-to-God believed his life was in danger?”

“I knew—assumed—he thought a big company might not go along with some of the things he was asking.”

“You can say that again!”

Zach did not say that again. He did not say anything. He kept his mouth shut while Cameron considered the whole sorry mess, reading over his notes and shaking his head now and then, as though he still couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

Finally, Cameron said, “Tell me you kept the jack-in-the-box, the doll’s head—”

“I kept everything. It’s all here.” Zach opened his messenger bag and removed his notes on the case as well as all the macabre items, placing them on Cameron’s desk. “I don’t think any attempt was made to preserve fingerprints. Alton handled everything in front of me.”

“Great.”

Zach couldn’t help saying, “Bill, it wasn’t in my power to persuade Alton to go to the police. He wasn’t someone who took advice well. Or at all.”

Cameron grimaced, “That I believe.”

“Every time I tried to push for more information or even discuss the threats made against him, Alton brushed me off. He seemed indifferent, even bored by the subject. So much so, that I’d started questioning how genuine the threats were. Whether hiring us was just some kind of ruse.”

Cameron grunted.

“WasAlton’s accident an accident?”

“We don’t know yet. What’s left of the vehicle is still being examined.” Cameron said grudgingly, “It’s possible Beacher’s death was accidental and the rest of this is moot. But I don’t like coincidences, and this is one hell of a coincidence.”

“Yes.”

Cameron studied Zach. His green eyes were speculative. “If Beacher was faking the threats on his life, what do you think he was hoping to gain?”

It was embarrassing to confess how very far off the track they’d been, but Zach admitted, “Flint and I thought maybe Alton’s real intent was to murder his wife. She’s heiress to the Kaschak amusement-park empire, which is worth almost half a billion dollars. That’s a lot of motive right there.”

“It is.” Cameron glanced at his notes, asked, “Flint is Flint Carey, the PI across the parking lot from you?”

Somehow that casual description served to make Zach feel even more of a failure—made Flint sound like a failure, too.

“Yes.”