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do?”
    â€œStuntman.”
    James sat in an overstuffed chair, deciding he would seem less intimidating sitting down. Kevin moved slowly around the room, stopping to look at an item, then moving on.
    â€œHollywood type?” James asked.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œSeems like his death would’ve made news.”
    Kevin picked up a piece of yellow quartz that sat on the mantel and examined it. “It did.”
    â€œMaybe I was out of the country. Where’d you live?”
    â€œIn Southern California, in the Valley. Near Sylmar. We had a small ranch.”
    â€œWith horses?”
    â€œYeah. Can’t be an all-around stuntman if you can’t ride.” His tone of voice implied that James was being stupid for asking.
    â€œI suppose not. You ride?”
    â€œOf course.”
    Of course. “Your mom, too?”
    Kevin faced him squarely. “Will you help me?”
    So, no more chitchat. Kevin didn’t care about James beyond what he could do for him, but it was enough for now. “Tell me what you know.”
    The boy drew himself up. Obviously, even a year later, he had trouble talking about the accident.
    â€œDad was riding his bike down the canyon road. It was raining. He and the bike went over the side.”
    â€œWhy do you think it was intentional?”
    â€œMy dad was careful. Supercareful. He checked every stunt ten times. And he knew every inch of that road. No way that could’ve happened. No way.”
    â€œEven though it was raining?”
    â€œHe would’ve been supercautious.”
    The determination in his voice was convincing. “Yet the police think otherwise.”
    â€œThe police didn’t know my dad.” He planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Look, if you don’t want to help me, just say so.”
    â€œHad he been acting differently, Kevin? Do you have something concrete to go on?”
    â€œYes. Different. I don’t know how to describe it. Just different.”
    â€œIn what way?”
    He closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Not there. I know that doesn’t make sense. He was there, around, but he wasn’t there. Like he was distracted all the time.”
    â€œDid you talk to him about it?”
    â€œSort of. I asked him if something was wrong, but he said no. He was just tired.”
    â€œYou didn’t believe him?”
    Kevin shook his head. “I let it go, because I thought I would just give him some time. He told me everything. I figured he’d tell me this, too.”
    Not everything, apparently. Layered over the boy’s obvious grief was belligerence, probably to hide how much he hurt. James’s decision was easy. He would help Kevin—because if he didn’t, Kevin would probably disappear from his life as quickly as he’d come into it, but also because James needed to help Kevin end his pain, or find a way to live with it, if he could. If Kevin would let him.
    James also understood Kevin’s urgency for justice.
    â€œI’ll investigate it,” James told him.
    â€œYou don’t sound like you believe me.”
    â€œI believe you knew your dad better than anyone, except your mom, probably. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
    â€œAre you good?”
    â€œYes.”
    Kevin stared at him. Wariness dulled his eyes, and he looked ready to flee at any moment. Finally he moved his shoulders, more an involuntary gesture of relief than an adolescent I-don’t-care shrug. James figured he cared a whole lot.
    â€œI’ll need a little more information,” James said, standing. “Let me get a pad of paper. Can I get you something to eat or drink while I’m up?”
    â€œNot hungry.”
    The doorbell rang. James ignored it, assuming it was trick-or-treaters. He grabbed a pad from his office, convinced Kevin to sit down, then James wrote down more details—exactly where and when the accident occurred. Which police