It was a little after one in the morning and those not evaluating or packing physical evidence at the primary crime scene on the boat were buzzing around the marina clubhouse, currently serving as command post.
Cash was in a far corner spiritlessly listening to weary-looking Devoy Hunt exchanging information with a weathered, middle-aged officer. He was flipping what appeared to be a casino chip. Probably one of the $1000 Bellagio chips I"d come across. Apparently, this was indeed part of the Richie J persona. Cash Layton Jones had certainly never done that.
Leaning into a wall, sipping coffee from an endless supply that marina personnel kept replenishing, I scanned the room to see if anyone were watching him. A tall, craggy-looking man was doing just that. Could this be the associate Co
