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family business. Atoning? More likely the family had just laid down the law; after all, he’d cost the business a small fortune by his spectacular demonstration that the new model still needed work. Whichever way it was, Jack became a PR man for the company; his years of socializing with the rich of two continents had given him an enviable list of contacts. The McKinstry sales department quickly learned to schedule Jack for a softening-up visit before sending in their hard-sell specialists to clinch the deal.
    Jack took his job seriously. He was as amiable as ever, but he no longer wanted to spend his life playing. A whiff of his own mortality had made him look back over the life he’d led and left him dissatisfied? That was the view taken by those who knew him well.
    But A. J. Strode, who didn’t know him at all, wasn’t buying it. Look further, he’d told Pierce. Check on those four who died in the crash.
    The detective did just that—and came up with something interesting. Three of the dead passengers had been Jack McKinstry’s playmates for years; but the fourth was a man relatively new on the playground. His name was Tony Dwyer, and he was as nouveau riche as they came. He tried very hard to fit in with those who’d always taken it for granted that life was one big catered party. But Dwyer just didn’t have the knack; no matter what he did, he remained instantly identifiable as The Outsider.
    He didn’t look right, for one thing. He was short and stocky and he wheezed whenever he exerted himself. His clothes were always brand-new and he never seemed at home in them. He talked incessantly, as if afraid the others would forget his existence if he ever stopped making noise. He laughed too loud and too often. He was rude to waiters. His feelings were easily hurt. And whenever he felt particularly left out, he’d throw it up to the others that it was his own money he was spending, not Daddy’s or Grandpa’s or Aunt Helen’s.
    Jack’s crowd tolerated his presence for two reasons. First, it was fun having someone around to laugh at; and second, Tony Dwyer picked up the tab more frequently than anyone else. He could also be counted on to come up with a quick loan in time of need. But Dwyer didn’t have the same casual attitude toward borrowing and lending money as the others. He expected to be repaid, and within a reasonable length of time. Jack McKinstry had borrowed from him on many occasions.
    From what Pierce had been able to dig up, it looked as if Jack had been deeply in debt to Dwyer at the time of the accident. Jack lived on the dividends paid by the various stocks he’d inherited; and while the family did not exactly look upon him as a black sheep, the work ethic ran strong in the McKinstry clan. The family had long since made it clear it would not bail him out if he lived beyond his means. Jack’s elder brother, who now ran the business, was less tolerant than the others. He’d disapproved openly of Jack’s unproductive life and threatened to take his younger brother to court on a charge of fiscal irresponsibility, with the purpose of having the control of Jack’s money put into the hands of a court-appointed banker or lawyer. Only his deep-seated distaste for airing family troubles in public had restrained him thus far.
    So Jack had borrowed from Tony Dwyer whenever he ran a little short. But the day inevitably arrived when he was unable to pay him back. One of Jack’s friends told Pierce she’d heard Dwyer threatening to collect from Jack’s brother if he didn’t make good immediately. How much was the loan, Pierce had asked. No idea, she’d said.
    Strode thought it must have been a sizable amount. In debt and threatened with the loss of control of his own money, Jack McKinstry might have been driven to desperate measures. He could have planned the crash ahead of time, taking the controls himself and pretending