Page 94 of Fish in a Barrel

But only if they could walk away.

At that moment, Jackson jumped as if bitten and pulled his phone from his pocket. He grunted.

“What?”

“Goslar is our only player with military training,” he said sourly. “He was a marksman, but not an expert. Just an everyday grunt, coming back home.”

The puzzle was still scattered and out of focus, but Ellery had a feeling they were about to discover a big piece.

CLIVE BRENTWOODlived about a mile away from Ellery’s house, in a neighborhood about two clicks up income-wise. His two-story ranch-style house was bigger and nicer, and his yard was bigger and nicer, but they were still right next to Sacramento, so nothing mansion-worthy. Just…nice. Well-heeled. Hiring someone to decorate your house tastefully for Christmas, Halloween, and Easter nice. Consulting with a gardener and a landscape designer and a graphic artist in order to decide where to plant nasturtiums kind of nice. There was nothing gaudy or depressing about the house, but Ellery wasn’t surprised tonotsee a cat in the window, either.

If therehadbeen a cat, it very probably would have been a purebred something or other, professionally groomed so as not to leave dander everywhere. No three-legged split-eared street cats allowed.

Jackson stood visibly on the stoop as Ellery rang the bell, and when the door was opened by Jackson’s friend Joey, he hardly batted an eyelash.

“Jackson?” Joey said blankly. “The fuck… erm, hell you doing here?”

“We’re here to talk to Judge Brentwood,” Jackson said, and Ellery could tell he was wondering if Joey was having affairs with older married guys now. “What the hell?”

“Oh, I just clean his house,” Joey said cheerfully, obviously reading Jackson’s mind. “He’s a nice guy.” His face fell. “He’s… there’s something weird going on today.” He lowered his head and whispered, “The judge and his wife have been in the study crying all morning.”

Jackson and Ellery met eyes. “You need to show us in, Joey,” Jackson said. “I think… I think we may know why.”

Joey grimaced. “Jackson, I-I’m supposed to make everyone go away.”

“Trust me, Joey, he’s not going to hold it against you.”

Joey had a wickedly handsome face with the kind of smile that bracketed his mouth in dimples. He pulled one of those out now and said, “I don’t know, man. Last time my client ended up dead, and I’m pretty sure he’s cursing us both out in hell!”

Jackson chuckled. “Extenuating circumstances. NoticeI’mstill alive, and I’m apparently keeping your sister in CR-Vs.”

“Fine, but only because you took her haunted… erm, electrically challenged minivan. Man, nobody wanted that thing.”

Ellery wasn’t aware he was going to smack Jackson in the shoulder until his hand flew out.

Jackson winced and turned to give Ellery an apologetic smile.

Ellery shook his head. Haunted. Fucking haunted minivan. Dammit.

Then they were following Joey through the Brentwoods’ home, and he forgot everything but the case.

It was a big place, but it wasn’t “spacious.” It had been built with lots of bookcases and window boxes which took away from the space. And pictures. Pictures in every corner, just like the judge’s office. As they walked down the hallway, Ellery saw the two kids again, with friends and partners. He saw the young man holding hands with the young man in a Marine uniform, heard Jackson’s sharp intake of breath, and knew Jackson saw it too. The young man—who had brown eyes and a hawklike nose, obviously Brentwood’s son—grew thin and wan in some of the pictures. Sick? Drugs? Ellery couldn’t be sure. Then he saw the plaque: In Loving Memory of Nathan George Brentwood,with a birth and death date and a picture of the young man when he’d been healthy, smiling, and full of promise.

He’d been twenty-five.

Jackson grunted, and then they both looked back along the wall to the picture of the young man and his Marine.

And Ellery heard Brentwood’s voice in his head.My kids get excited when I tell them about LGBTQ in the law community.

Not hisson, but hiskids. And apparently his son-in-law.

Ellery’s heart was pounding in his ears when Joey knocked on the door to what was apparently the study. “Judge? I’m sorry, Judge, but they’re friends, and they said they needed to talk to you, and maybe they could help.”

The door opened and Brentwood appeared, looking decades older than he had when Ellery had seen him not more than four nights ago, his eyes red-rimmed and a beard starting at his cheeks.

“Joey—”

“Judge Brentwood?” Ellery said softly. “I think we can help.”