“It’s a challenge we face every day,” said Missy. “Not just swimmers, though. And not just athletes. People in all walks of life. None of us is immune to the isolation of depression. It goes beyond sadness. It speaks to a disconnection in our society. We’re social beings, but my social media feed is filled with messages of hate. It’s as if we’ve all lost the ability to tolerate each other. Everyone has a bad day, but we don’t acknowledge that in others. That attitude pulls us apart, and we don’t function well all alone. I hope Forrest’s death sticks with everyone here the way it will with me, and I hope it reminds us that our neighbor might be hurting, and the greatest gift we can offer is to just be there. We can’t fix everything, and we can’t fix everyone. But taking the time to listen rather than to talk might just help. I wish I’d seen Forrest’s pain. I wish I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own life. I’ll try to do better. We all will. Every one of us in Paris will try to look after each other a little more.”

  Danielle was in tears. Ron dabbed a napkin to his eye. Muriel was a blubbering mess. Beccy Williams was holding it together. She had make up to worry about. It made me wonder if she had heard that speech before. If maybe she had written it. It was a hell of a cynical position for me to take at that moment, but something about the whole thing just put me off kilter.

  The crowd gave a standing ovation. The rafters were rocked. I wasn’t sure if it was for Missy or for Forrest. I wasn’t sure it mattered.

  “She’s very well-spoken,” Ron said.

  “A television career awaits,” I replied.

  “Look at you,” said Danielle. “That didn’t get to you at all.”

  “I’m processing it.”

  “I know you, MJ. You’re not hard as nails. What gives?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So what are you doing here? Why aren’t you at the pool now?”

  “Because they don’t need me.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  But I did know. I would wake in the morning and, for the second day in a row, I would visit the arena to tell Greg Baxter that I quit.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The next day was a picture postcard. The sky was deep blue, and the water shone like a jewel. The heat was up, but the humidity was down, or at least as down as it ever got during summer in the Palm Beaches.

  I was done with long pants. I wore a pair of khaki shorts that had more pockets than I would ever need and a shirt covered in surfboards. I waved my pass through security in the lot and was walking toward the arena entrance when I saw Detective Faust getting out of an electric compact SUV.

  “Detective,” I said.

  “Jones.”

  “Do you have a first name?”

  “Of course.”

  She said nothing more.

  “I thought you were done here,” I said.

  “I thought the same thing about you.”

  “I kind of got hired by the administration.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m actually here to hand in my pass. They don’t need me.”

  “Probably not.”

  “But you didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

  “I’m an investigator.”

  “Isn’t that closed?”

  She shrugged. “Gotta talk to some people. I’ll see you ’round, Jonesy.”

  She headed for the entrance and I waited. I was going that way, too, but it felt like the right thing to do to give her some space. Plus, I needed a minute to get over her calling me Jonesy.

  By the time I got to the main entrance, Detective Faust was nowhere to be seen. I flashed my pass again and considered where to go. Heats wouldn’t begin for another couple hours, so I took the elevator down to the maintenance concourse and poked my head into the arena. All was quiet, so I headed into the tunnel to the warm-up pool. There was no crime-scene tape and no deputy on duty. I walked through the tube to the shed.

  A few athletes were stretching; others were lifting weights. Some milled about, chatting, Gatorades in hand. Amanda Swaggert stood over a guy testing the water, but nobody was in the pool.

  “Good morning, Miami,” she said.

  “Back at ya. What’s going on?”

  “Testing the chemicals.”

  “Why?”

  “They have to be balanced. There are rules.”

  “There are rules about the chemicals?”

  “Sure. Total chlorine must be between one and three parts per million. That’s technically only for the competition pool, but we keep both pools the same for the sake of consistency. Temperature must be between twenty-five and twenty-eight degrees Celsius. That’s between seventy-seven and eighty-two to you and me.”

  “But why are you testing this pool?”

  “Because we shocked it last night.”

  “Shocked it?”

  “Put extra chlorine in it. Now we have to get it down before any swimmers can use it.”

  The pool technician stood and looked at a tube of water he had colored light pink with a dropper of testing agent. He made a note in a small notebook.

  “All good to go,” he said.

  “Um, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t there a dead body in this pool yesterday?” I said.

  “Yes,” said Amanda.

  “So, is it sanitary?”

  “That’s why we upped the chlorine overnight.”

  “But shouldn’t you, I don’t know, empty it out and give it a scrub?”

  Amanda glanced at the pool tech. “No time. We can do that pretty fast, but this is a big pool. Still takes a couple days to drain and refill. We need this pool operational right now.”

  “Wouldn’t change anything anyway,” said the technician, whose shirt was embroidered with the name Pietro.

  “It would make it sanitary,” I said.

  “Nope. It’s already sanitary. Only reason to drain it and refill it would be to make people feel better. Chemically speaking, there was nothing wrong with it. We only shocked it because people would ask what we did, so we had to do something.” He shrugged. “But it makes no difference.”

  “Did you miss the part about there being a dead body in it?”

  “What does a dead body got that a live body doesn’t? Nothing. People leave all kinds of stuff in pools: skin flakes, oils, creams. At least dead bodies don’t pee in the water.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Pal, a bunch of decomposing leaves in the bottom of your pool will do more harm than a body in there for a few hours. That’s what the chlorine is for. Plus these pools have the best filters available. Down to a micron. That’ll filter out blood cells.”

  I wasn’t sold, but I couldn’t fault his logic. “So you put more chlorine in just for show?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then how do you get it down again?”

  “Normally, we wait. The sun will burn it off. UV eats unstabilized chlorine like Pac-Man. But indoors like this, we don’t have the time or the sun, so we use chemicals to neutralize it. It’s not my preferred method, but it works in a pinch.”

  “Have you told the swimmers yet?” I asked.

  “I’ve told the officials,” said Amanda. “Open for business.”

  “Would you warm up in this pool now?”

  “Any issues are psychological at this point, and there’s nothing I can do about that. We have the ice baths for those who don’t want to use it, and before the sessions we’ll open the competition pool for an hour of warm up.” She thanked Pietro, and he began packing up his equipment. Amanda started walking toward the exit and got on the radio. “Let them know the warm-up pool is sanitized and open.”

  I fell in step with her, heading for the tunnel. A voice crackled back some kind of acknowledgment.

  “Did you know the sheriff is back?” I said.

  “Yes. She called earlier.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “She had to speak to some people.”

  “What people?”

  “I’m not in the inner sanctum of her investigation, Miami.”

  “Do you know where she’s having these chats?”

  “I gave her access to a suite. Same one you were in yesterday.”

  We walked back down the concourse until we reached the elevator, then Amanda used her key card and we took it up to the suite level. She bid me farewell and went upstairs to the executive level.

  I stood in the carpeted corridor for a moment, unsure what I was doing there. I was at the arena to hand in my notice, but my guts were in a knot. I didn’t like the fact that Detective Faust was back on the scene. Cops didn’t linger; they were busy people. So her presence implied that her work wasn’t done, which made no sense.

  The suite door opened, and Greg Baxter and Rod Barron stepped out. Detective Faust stood in the doorway and spoke to the lawyer.

  “He’s free to compete, but it would be best if he doesn’t leave the county until our investigation is completed.”

  “The trials end Sunday,” said Barron.

  As they walked my way, Faust eyed me and then closed the door.

  “What was that about?”

  “I told you,” said Greg. “They’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what? What was she asking?”

  “They’re trying to pin something on me like they did last time.”

  “Greg, there’s a process of elimination they have to go through. It’s not about you.” I wasn’t completely sure about that, but it felt like the right thing to say. “What did she want?” I asked Barron.

  “She was asking more questions about the so-called altercation with Forrest. She wanted information about the nature of the blackmail.”

  “So the same as yesterday?”

  “More or less, but she said she needed to clarify it. To hear it again.”

  “Okay.”

  “You see?” Greg said. “She says don’t leave town. I mean, I’m here for the trials. I’m not going anywhere. But what about after? I can’t go back to DC?”

  “She means it would be easier for her investigation if you stayed local. But after the trials, you’re free to go home.” I didn’t add unless they arrest you for something.

  Greg’s upper lip curled. “Aren’t you supposed to keep the cops off my back?”

  “It doesn’t work like that. Law enforcement is allowed to conduct an investigation. I can’t stop that, and I can’t stop them interviewing you within reason.”

  “How much harassment is within reason?”

  “Asking questions and then clarifying the answers isn’t harassment, Greg.” I glanced at Barron. “I’m no lawyer, but I’d say in the absence of some kind of evidence of something, the limit has been reached. My advice is for the administration to have someone on call and make them go through an attorney from now on.”

  “They were supposed to go through you,” said Greg.

  “Since I’m not a lawyer, they don’t have to tell me squat. From this point on, you’re better served running everything through an attorney.”

  “What are you doing? Quitting?”

  “I’m not really serving any purpose here. There are better people for this job.”

  “You can’t quit on me. I need you, man. It’s happening again. I’m telling you.”

  I took a long breath in through the nose and out through the mouth. This was getting tedious.

  “If they’re just asking the exact same questions,” I said, “then they have nothing.”

  “She implied they had information that Greg had instigated the altercation,” said Barron.

  “Where did she get this information?”

  “Didn’t say.”

  “It’s not true, Mr. Jones,” said Greg. “I told you what happened. Forrest said he knew something and was going to tell everyone if I didn’t quit the team. I told him to get lost. That I didn’t do anything and I wasn’t quitting. That was it.”

  “They’re looking for reasons why Forrest did what he did,” I said.

  “They’re blaming me.”

  “No, the medical examiners report will stick to the facts, but the media will want an explanation. Not a detailed one, just something. So will the parents. I’m sure this will become a footnote pretty quickly.”

  “It didn’t last time.”

  “Actually, Greg, from what I’ve learned, it did. The cops asked you questions because that’s the process. But there was never anything to it. You worried about it more than you needed to.”

  “You weren’t there.”

  “No, I wasn’t. But I’m here now, and I’m telling you to focus on your business.”

  “You’re bailing out, and I’m supposed to handle this and the trials, is that it?”

  “I agree with you,” said Barron. “Greg needs to concentrate, but in order to do that, we need to minimize the distractions. I’ll look into legal representation, but it would help us all if you would stay on with us and see Greg through this.”

  Greg looked at me like a lost puppy. I shook my head but said, “All right. I’m here.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Jones,” said Greg. “I’ve gotta get downstairs.”

  “The warm-up pool is open,” I said.

  “Good. I need to work this stuff out.”

  Greg got in the elevator, leaving me with Barron.

  “This is a waste of time,” I said.

  “All you have to do is watch some swimming. What’s the harm?”

  “You know I’m not adding any value here, right?”

  “If you being here changes his state of mind and he performs, then it’s money well spent.”

  “All right, it’s your dime.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got to meet some sponsors. What will you do?”

  I glanced at the suites.

  “I’ll find out why the sheriff is killing time on a closed case.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I knocked on the suite door and heard nothing, so I cracked it open and stuck my head in. It was cool in there, but the air was a touch clingy everywhere. Despite that, Detective Faust had draped her suit jacket over the back of the lounge chair she sat facing me in. She had a phone in her hand but didn’t look to be on a call—it seemed more like she was waiting for me.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  Faust gestured toward another chair, and I closed the door behind me. I sat looking out at the arena, but all I could see was the roof and the top of the big screen.

  “You’re still talking to Greg,” I said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Is there a reason for that? I would have thought you had lots of things to keep you busy.”

  “Oh, I do.”

  “Yet you’re here.”

  “So are you. I thought you were done. Again.”

  “I thought so, too. But then I see the star athlete coming out of an interview with the investigators who were supposed to have moved on. What gives?”

  “Are you working for him?”

  “Greg? Kind of.”

  “It’s really a binary thing.”

  “Not exactly. I’ve been hired by the swimming association to keep an eye on him, so I’m working in his best interest as long as it aligns with theirs, I suppose.”

  “That’s a lot of words.”

  “That’s why I said kind of.”

  Faust tapped her phone against her thigh. “So you’re on the other side.”

  “Is there another side? I thought there was nothing to it.”

  “I guess he’ll work it out soon enough, so if you run and tell your little client that I’m investigating him, there’s no harm.”

  “We figured you were investigating him when you put up crime scene tape yesterday.”

  “Yesterday, I was investigating a possible suicide.”

  The corners of my mouth dropped. I hoped I wouldn’t do that when playing poker. “What are you investigating now?”

  “Homicide.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “This is not a subject I joke about.”

  “Are you eliminating Greg or putting him in the frame?”

  “Why would I share that with you?”

  “Because he has a right to know.”

  “No, he doesn’t. That’s not how homicide investigations work. But like I said, you’re on the other side.”

  “So he’s in the frame.”

  Faust shrugged with her thin shoulders, then raised each one in turn so it looked more like a dance move.

  “Are you fishing, or do you have something solid?” I asked.

  “Again, why would I share that with you?”

  “Because you’re telling me someone has been killed. You’re saying that he didn’t do this to himself.”

  “But you’ve picked a side.”

  “Of course I’ve picked a side. So have you,” I told her. “It’s the same side. If someone killed Forrest Simpson, I don’t want that someone walking the streets free as a bird.”

  “But you’re being paid to get in my way.”

  “No, I’m being paid to help a swimmer stay in the right mental space to win medals. I’m not here to assist a murderer to get away with it.”

  “Don’t you have some kind of client fiduciary responsibility?”

  “I’m not a lawyer,” I said. “I don’t defend the guilty. My contract says I won’t break the law for a client or be a party to it, and I won’t falsify statements to law enforcement.”

  “So you think he’s guilty?”

  “No. Because you haven’t told me what happened or provided any proof. At this point, I’m inclined to agree with him. He’s being unfairly targeted because he’s a convenient scapegoat.”

  “He threatened the deceased.”

  “The guy tried to blackmail him in desperation. You said so yourself. The guy was about to get cut from the team, and he was throwing a Hail Mary, albeit a very stupid one.”

  “There was an altercation.”

  “We know that. Simpson put the hard word on, and Greg told him to take a hike.”

  “Greg assaulted him,” she said.