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“Only about five who spearfish.”
    â€œKnow who they are off the top of your head?” Billy asked.
    Cade nodded. “I’m one. Also Jonathan, Sam Sullivan, Marty Roberts, and Cliff Cash. There may be others, but those are the ones I know about. Go get Sam, Marty, and Cliff, and collect their spearguns. Treat them as evidence. See if there’s blood on any of them, if any are missing, what kind of points they use. Bring those guys to the station for questioning.”
    â€œYes, sir.” Billy headed out, and Cade wiped his face on his sleeve. He looked out over the water, trying to think through the men he’d just named. They were all good friends, and two or three times a year they headed down to the Florida Keys and went diving and fishing together. None of those men could have killed Thelma and Wayne.
    But it was all he had.
    Something clicked against the post beneath his feet, and he looked down through the boards. Something that looked like a brown pole floated in the water there. He got down on his stomach and looked under the wharf.
    He recognized it immediately. It wasn’t a pole, it was a speargun.
    He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to grab the narrow end of it and pull it out. “McCormick!” he yelled.
    Joe came through the door, then froze at the sight of the gun dripping in Cade’s hands. “The murder weapon,” he said.
    â€œThat’s it,” Cade said and got back up. “It’s a Magnum Blue Water.” The words lodged in his throat as he realized what that meant. There was only one person he knew who had a Blue Water gun.
    â€œThe killer must have panicked and gotten rid of it,” Joe said. “May have even had to swim away to avoid being seen.”
    Cade looked through the door across the building. Blair had bent over the water and was throwing up, and Jonathan had gone to help her.
    â€œI have Billy going to round up everybody who spearfishes,” he said. “He’s collecting their guns.”
    â€œWell, if one of them is missing, we’ve got our man.”
    Cade wished he could turn the clock back two hours, when his biggest concern was the car that had been stolen from the Goodfellows parking lot. His mouth was dry, but he managed to get the words out. “I know whose gun this is. I recognize it. I was with him when he bought it.”
    â€œWho?” Joe asked.
    Cade’s eyes were fixed on the three just outside the warehouse. Jonathan had lowered Blair to her knees and was holding her hair back as she retched into the river.
    â€œCade, tell me whose it is.”
    Cade tore his eyes from the scene and looked hard at his balding colleague. “This gun belongs to Jonathan Cleary,” he said.

 
C H A P T E R
5
    J onathan sat back as Morgan fell to Blair’s side and pulled her into a hug. The two women clung to each other.
    â€œJonathan,” a voice called. Jonathan looked up. Cade was standing in the door to the warehouse. “I need to talk to you,” Cade said. “You may want to come out front.”
    â€œNo!” Morgan let go of her sister and looked up at him. “I want to hear. Talk to him right here.”
    Cade looked down. His black hair flapped in the breeze over a face tight with strain. “I came by Crickets for breakfast this morning after you’d had your fight with Thelma and Wayne. Everybody was talking about it.”
    Jonathan wished he had the morning to do over. He wished he hadn’t left on an angry note, wished he hadn’t threatened to take their daughter and leave. . . .
    â€œWere you here this afternoon? Did you come by here before going home?”
    â€œNo,” he said.
    â€œDid you notice if their car was here then?”
    â€œIt wasn’t. I looked for it, because I wanted to talk to them. They weren’t home, either.”
    â€œAnd did you go straight home when you left your boat?”
    â€œYes,