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Will cleared his throat.

“Things are starting to feel a little complicated.” He coughed. “I kept the presentation simple, no big transition effects or anything, but it gets the job done.” He got to his feet, tugged up his pants and stepped to the front of the room. “Mason, can you get the lights?”

Mason complied and, sitting back down, realized she’d misjudged and landed really close to Archie’s knees. She was a full-grown, kick-ass woman, but this lawyer made her feel like she was back in middle school, trying to negotiate the suddenly fraught physical space between teenagers. Luckily, the lights were off.

Will had produced a laser pointer and started the presentation.

“The first event was Tony Eckenridge’s death.”

A slide came up showing crime scene photos of Tony’s body in the pool, then Will clicked to the next slide, the coroner’s report. “Gunshot wound to the head, death instantaneous, no water in his lungs, this we all know.”

He clicked on again. “The first suspect was Julia.” He brought up a slide with Julia’s mug shots from her original arrest, then clicked on to another, slightly more recent mug shot, then on again to another.

“Very funny,” said Julia, dryly.

“Jeez, how many times have you been arrested?” Mason asked.

“I’ve lost count, and they’ve stopped doing it so much lately. In the nineties it was a regular occurrence. But eventually they lost the will to fight.” Then, more quietly, “And I had long stretches of sobriety and was a model citizen, at least externally.”

Will continued. “Other suspects include, but are not limited to, Helen Eckenridge, Tony’s wife”—he had photos—“Christine Greenfield, his partner; Jade Solomon, although saving Mason does move her off the list slightly; Jason Reed; and Cody Malone, Tony’s assistant.”

“Why Cody?” Mason said. “He loved Tony. And what, he bashed himself over the head after killing the fish and ransacking his own office?”

“I see your point, but he did benefit from Tony’s death.” Will kept clicking. “And then anyone and everyone he ever irritated, beat in a deal, cut out of a picture, passed over for promotion, etc., etc.”

“That’s a long list.” Julia sighed. “Did we check everyone’s alibi?”

“Well, not everyone he ever cheesed off, but anyone close to him,” said Will. “Helen was supposedly at the dog shelter, and I got a confirmation on the phone.” He hesitated. “I wasn’t able to go in person. I have allergies.”

“To dogs?” Julia seemed surprised. “That’s news to me.”

“No, to shelters. They make me break out in tears.”

Julia seemed like she was about to roll her eyes, but she softened. “Fine, Mason, go check it in person. I don’t want to miss something.”

Mason nodded.

Will continued. “Next, chronologically, Jack Simon was killed. Or died. I’ll get to him in a minute. I put him after because we don’t know for sure it’s even related.”

“It’d be pretty weird if it wasn’t, but weird happens all the time around here,” said Julia.

Will nodded. “You’re not wrong, but let’s stick with the presentation. Julia got attacked outside Galliano’s, someone broke into this house, and someone ransacked the production offices, although yes, probably not Cody. That all happened in one night, so either we have a very busy bee on our hands or more than one perpetrator.”

“Don’t forget a load of fish were killed,” Mason added.

“Yes.” Will clicked and a slide of tropical fish came up. Of course.

“Then Mason got attacked, and the attacker made it clear that he wanted Julia to stop investigating Tony’s murder.” He brought up a short video of Mason in the hospital, professing undying love for Claudia’s baked goods.

“Where did that come from?” Mason was pissed.

“Oh my God, that’s adorable,” Archie said, “in a beaten-up kind of way.” He was clearly still smarting over losing the seat argument.

“And wait,” added Mason, “aren’t you forgetting the murder at Galliano’s?”

Will looked at her. “I have a separate PowerPoint for that case.”

“But what if they’re not separate? Tony was married to Maggie Galliano, remember? He spent plenty of time there. Maybe they are connected.”

“And it just happens that we have a personal connection to the accused in that case? Isn’t that a bit of a coincidence?” Archie wasn’t convinced.

Mason shrugged. “We have a connection to all of it, right? Julia knew, or knows, everyone involved in both of the cases. Maybe she’s the missing link.” She grinned, her teeth glinting in the dark. “Maybe it was really her that killed Tony.”

“You credit me with more energy than I have.” Julia looked thoughtful. “To be fair, I have motive in that I inherited a studio, means in that there was a gun found on my property, and opportunity insofar as Tony was right there standing next to the pool.” For a second, she got a faraway expression on her face. “Shit, for a moment there I got a flash of memory, but it’s gone again.” She shrugged. “Damn that inebriated hypothalamus. Back to Jack Simon.”

“Wait, you’re getting ahead of my presentation. I have more slides.” Will was getting flustered. “And Inebriated Hypothalamus is another great band name.”

Archie spoke. “Maybe Mason’s right. When was the last time Tony was at Galliano’s, before he was killed?”

“A while ago, Maggie said,” Mason remembered.

“But maybe he left something there, or told Maggie something important, or maybe Sam overheard something she shouldn’t have.” Archie was clearly warming to this idea. “I think you guys should go back and talk to Maggie again.”

Will plowed on.

“Backing up in the timeline to the day of Tony’s funeral, Jack Simon apparently killed himself, totally out of the blue and out of character, according to his friends.” He pulled up the coroner’s report. “Mr. Simon, and this part is more in character, was pretty drunk when he shot himself, in the chest, in a sand trap. Squeamish people, look away.” He brought up the photos of the suicide scene, and suddenly went still. “Wait a second…”

“What is it?” Julia was looking at Will, rather than the picture.

“Where are his footprints?”

They all looked at the picture. Jack Simon was lying essentially in the middle of the sand trap, wearing cutoff jeans and a polo shirt, barefoot like the loving flower child he was. He looked very peaceful, and only the gun and the dark stain in the sand indicated he was doing anything other than sleeping off a rough night.

“There are footprints all over the place.” Mason was confused.

“Yes, but they are all shoes. Where are his prints? He had to walk out there, right?”

Will zoomed in on the photo and slowly went over it, inch by inch. “Look, here are the prints of golf shoes, which are presumably from the groundsman who found him, and there are several pairs of regulation boots, which are the police clomping around, but there aren’t any barefoot prints at all.”

“Maybe they got messed up with all the people walking around.”

“All of them?” Will zoomed in on the area around Jack Simon’s feet, and cried out in glee. “Not a single one, but here’s a drag mark, half hidden by his legs. He didn’t walk out; he was dragged. And then whoever dragged him raked the sand everywhere except right around the body. They assumed there would be plenty of footprints, and they were right, but they forgot nobody else would be barefoot.” He pulled back out of the shot, and then paused again.

Will swallowed. “Look…there was someone else there, see?” There were other prints in the sand, dozens of them, circling away, returning, looping in on themselves. He tracked the prints over to the body, where they ended in a flattened patch near the head. “Someone waited with him quite a while, didn’t they?” He reached over and scratched Lorre’s head, as they all took in the clear evidence that Jack Simon’s dog, at least, hadn’t left him to die alone.