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released after only a couple of days. To the care of a halfway house that let him walk out the door.
    â€œThat’s just so awful, Jay.”
    â€œSomeone has to get to the bottom of this for them. They’re not capable. It’s tearing them apart.”
    She hesitated just a bit. “Get to the bottom of what, Jay?”
    We hadn’t always seen eye to eye about things with my brother and Evan. Usually, it was how we were always coming to their rescue. First, for a nicer place for them to live. Then tutoring for Evan. Then when he smashed up the car. And finally bailing them out from under all that credit card debt. “When do they try, just a little?” Kathy would say. “Gabby can work. Our kids get summer jobs; why not Evan?”
    But mostly, it was that incident with Max.
    It was on Evan’s last trip east. He and Maxie were playing a little one-on-one in the driveway. Something set them off. Things always seemed to cross the line with Evan.
    I was in the den, flipping through some medical magazines. Suddenly I heard screams. Sophie’s. From outside. “Get off, Evan. Get off! Mom! Dad! ”
    I bolted up.
    Somehow Kathy, who was in the kitchen, got there ahead of me. She jumped on Evan’s back, Evan’s arm wrapped around Maxie’s neck; Maxie was turning blue.
    â€œEvan, let him go! Let him go! ” Kathy screamed, but at six feet, close to two hundred pounds, Evan was too big for her. “You’re going to kill him, Evan!”
    â€œFirst he has to take it back . . .” Evan squeezed tighter. “ Right, Max? ”
    Max couldn’t take anything back. He was gagging.
    Kathy screamed, unable to pry him away. “ Jay! ”
    I got there a second later and ripped Evan off by the collar, hurling him across the lawn.
    My nephew just sat there, eyes red, panting. “He called me a frigging freak!”
    Max had had bronchial issues from the time he was three. He needed a respirator back then, twice a day. His face was blue and his neck was all red and twice its normal size. He was in a spasm, wheezing convulsively.
    I knew immediately he had to get to the hospital. I threw him in the car and told Kathy to get in. I called ahead to the medical center. In eight minutes we were there. They immediately placed him on oxygen and epinephrine. His airway had closed. Acute respiratory distress. Five minutes more and he might have been dead.
    When we got back home, Evan tried to say he was sorry.
    But it didn’t matter. Kathy never quite forgave him. She wanted him out of the house.
    The next day I drove him to the airport and he was gone.
    â€œI need to get to the bottom of why he was let back on the street, Kathy,” I answered.
    She didn’t respond right away. “Look, I know I haven’t always been the most supportive when it comes to this . . . You’re right, they need you, Jay. Do what you can. Just promise me one thing.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” I asked.
    â€œJust promise me, this time, you won’t let yourself get drawn in. You know how you always get when it comes to your brother.”
    Drawn in . . . Meaning it always ended up costing us something. I didn’t want to debate it, and the truth was, she was probably right.
    â€œDeal, ” I said.

Chapter Eight
    T he next morning, I called the county coroner’s office and set up a meeting with Don Sherwood, the detective handling the case—the only person, Charlie and Gabby said, they could get any straight answers from.
    He was the one who had knocked on their door two days earlier and asked if Evan was their son—he had ultimately been identified through fingerprints from his police record—and after asking them to sit, showed them the photos of Evan in the county morgue.
    Sherwood said he’d be nearby in the early afternoon and we could meet at the station in Pismo Beach around one P.M. I told him we’d be