“I was one of them,” Jackson says. His mouth curves down into a frown. “Apparently a witness says so.”

“I know, honey,” Evelyn says, then reaches over to pat his hand. “Charles told me. But we’ll get you through this.”

“And now we know you weren’t the only one,” Pratt says. “So that’ll give Harriet some ammunition.”

“That’s good,” I say.

“Hell, yeah, it’s good,” Pratt says. “But it was also Halloween, and Reed had his porch and sidewalk lights off to discourage the kids. The images are terrible. We’re trying to get some work done, but there’s only so much you can do to video footage if the information isn’t there to work with. With luck, someone else in the neighborhood will have a cam with a higher definition that also picks up Reed’s sidewalk. My guys are on it. But the really interesting thing is that I confirmed that your dad had some one-on-one time with Reed recently.”

“Halloween?” I ask.

Pratt shakes his head. “No. About a week before. But I thought that was just odd enough to mention. Apparently, so did the cops. They talked to him, I talked to my buddy at the PD. Stark says he was shooting the shit with Reed about architecture. Trying to get him to pump money into some foundation he’s part of.”

I nod, remembering that Evelyn told me once that Jeremiah is on the board of the National Historic and Architectural Conservation Project, which was one of the major backers of Stone and Steele, the recently released documentary that featured Jackson.

Jackson frowns. “Why exactly does that matter?”

“It may turn out to be nothing,” Pratt admits. “But it has potential. Because I don’t believe a word of it.”

Jackson kicks back in his chair and extends his legs. “I’m listening.”

Pratt cracks his knuckles as he paces. “The thing is, Reed was a player. Had an assistant and his assistant had an assistant. You know the type. Full entourage. Needs them to take a dump, because he’s just that important and wants the world to know, right?”

I say nothing, but that sure as hell doesn’t surprise me.

“Go on,” Jackson says.

“He’s not the type to take a meeting alone. I talked to three former assistants and they all say the same thing. So either he made an exception for Stark—”

“Or Stark is lying,” I conclude.

“You got it. The question is why. And was that reason a motive for murder?”

“It’s good work,” Jackson says. “Thank you.”

“Hey, you’re writing the checks. And since you are, I’ll get out of your hair. No sense paying me to hear Evelyn talk, as fascinating as that might be.” He shakes Jackson’s hand, promises to check in again soon, then heads out.

“I want to revisit the idea of putting out press about Ronnie,” Evelyn says.

“Absolutely not,” Jackson says.

Evelyn is unperturbed. “It’s a good angle. A father trying to do right by his daughter amidst controversy. The public will eat it up, and we need to get ahead of this thing.”

“I’ve already said no, Evelyn.”

She holds up her hands. “And it’s my job to keep trying to convince you. Moving on,” she says when he starts to interrupt. “I’ve had some attention from magazines. All of them want to talk about the murder, not about your buildings.”

“I presume you told them all no.”

She looks at me. “The boy doesn’t know me that well yet.”

“You told them to fuck off,” I say.

“You see? Sylvia knows me.”

Jackson laughs. “So that’s handled.”

“Yes, but I don’t like that mainstream media’s looking at you that way. That’s another thing we need to get ahead of. And a possibility to do that may have dropped in our lap. Architecture in View. This reporter wants to do a profile, but wants the focus to be the resort, not the murder. I think you should do that interview.”

“You really think it’s worth my time?”

Evelyn’s mouth turns down into a small frown. “I think we can be assured they’ll treat you favorably. It’s a small magazine, just starting out. So far, the architects they’ve been able to line up for profiles are more along the lines of Nathan Dean. So you’ll be a coup for them.”

“He’s been profiled in it?” He never did tell me about his other projects, and now I’m more curious than ever.