"Very well," Stilton said. "I suppose there's not much we could do to stop you, even if we had something to hide."

"Which we don't," Helena added.

McCann started toward the door. "My suite is this way," he said. "Come with me."

"You wait here, Helena," Stilton said. "Dustin, stay with her. I'm sure we won't be long."

Helena and Goltlieb stayed put, while Catherine and Sam accompanied McCann and Stilton. McCann led them through the house, outside, and then back in through his private entrance in back. Catherine eyed the tennis court and wondered how long it had been since Helena had played. Maybe not since her husband's disappearance or earlier.

McCann's suite was tidy, but it was obviously a bachelor's lair. Electronics dominated the front room – a bank of video monitors, a large plasma TV, a state-of-the-art audio system. A bookcase held only a handful of books but showcased a number of sports trophies proclaiming his achievements in football, baseball, shooting, and track. Car and sports magazines were fanned out on a coffee table. It almost looked posed, a set for a men's fashion spread. Catherine wondered if he had decorated it himself or if Helena had brought a professional in to design the suite somebody thought McCann should have.

"The guns are back here," he said.

A short, wide hallway separated his living area from his bedroom. One wall of the hallway had been fitted out as a gun cabinet – long guns on racks chest high and above, handguns below, and closed cabinets that probably contained supplies and ammunition below that. It wasn't locked, but then he probably rarely had children in there, if ever, and he was no doubt fairly confident about the estate's security.

"That's everything," he said. "If I knew what you were looking for, maybe I could help."

"If it's here, we'll find it," Sam said. "Why don't you two sit down while we look?"

"We'll stay right here," McCann insisted.

"As long as you're out of the way," Sam said.

Catherine had pulled on latex gloves and was already looking at the handguns. McCann must have had thirty of them, of different calibers and ages, and nearly as many rifles and shotguns. "This is quite a collection," she said.

"Some of the pieces I inherited from my father," McCann explained. "He had a large collection, and when he died, it was split between me and my older brothers. Obviously, I don't use the older ones in my work, but I like to keep them around."

Sam pointed at one of the older revolvers, a.45 with a wooden grip. "That's a beauty," he said.

"That's one of my first pistols," McCann said. "I try to get them all out on the range at least once a year, to keep them in working order, and that one has always been a great weapon. Accurate and dependable."

"Smith and Wesson," Sam said.

"That's right."

"What do you think?" Sam asked Catherine.

"Looks like the best bet," she said.

"It's loaded," Sam noted.

"Of course," McCann said. "An unloaded gun is just a lump of steel. But what do you want it for?"

Catherine gingerly took the gun from the rack and deposited it in a plastic evidence bag. "For ballistics testing," she said.

"Testing for what?"

"To see if this is the weapon that killed Bix Cameron and wounded Troy Cameron."

McCann's face flushed. "What?! But… I didn't shoot Bix! Or Troy. Bix was like a father to me, after mine passed away."

"Still, we have to check it out," she said. "It's old enough, it's on the premises -"

"Which means nothing," Stilton broke in. "Bix Cameron was shot by some Vegas mobster trying to muscle in on his casinos. Everyone knows that."

"Everyone theorizes that," Catherine corrected. "If we knew who did it, that would be different."

Sam was still searching the cabinet, opening drawers and doors.

"Now what?" McCann asked. "You already have my forty-five."

"Gun bluing," Catherine said. "Got any?"

"Of course," McCann said. "I take pride in my collection. I take good care of these, and they take care of me. And of the Cameron family."

"Where is it then?"

McCann pointed at a door on the far right of the cabinet. "In there."

Catherine opened it and found his cleaning supplies and bluing kit. She picked up the bottle of bluing, shook it. "You're almost out," she said.

"I shouldn't be. I just bought it last year."

She unscrewed the plastic cap and looked inside. The bottle was nearly empty. She showed McCann.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"You said you lake good care of your guns. It shows. There's nothing I see that needs bluing."

"That's right. I just told you I bought that bottle last year. I used it on a few pieces that had oxidized a little, had a couple of rust spots. But I didn't use that much."

"I'm really not surprised." Catherine capped the bottle again.

"I don't see what you're getting at," Stilton said.

"Are you a shooter, Mr. Stilton?"

"I have shot, on occasion. Drake and I have been hunting, in fact, but not for, what, several years anyway."

"And we used to go out with Bix sometimes," McCann said. "To the Eastern Sierra, mostly. Sometimes Wyoming or Montana."

"So you're familiar with the use of gun bluing."

"It protects the steel from rusting, I believe."

"That's right," Catherine said, inspecting the bottle's label. "And one of the active ingredients in many types of gun bluing, including this brand, is selenium dioxide."

"So?"

"So, Helena and Daria Cameron's condition is the result of selenium poisoning. Probably small doses, administered over a period of time. The selenium could have come from this bottle."

"That's insane!" McCann shouted. "First you accuse me of shooting Bix, then of poisoning Helena and Daria? Isn't it bad enough that I killed Troy without meaning to? Now you're trying to hang everything on me!"

"No one has accused you of anything. Mr. McCann," Sam said.

"We just need to test this bottle, to see if it's where the poison came from."

Stilton pulled a phone from his pocket. "Keep quiet, Drake. I'm calling Marvin," he said. "If you people are going to make rash accusations, he needs to be here."

"Go ahead, call him," Sam said.

"And I'll make sure that on his way over, he calls the mayor and the chief of police. You people are way out of line here."

"We're only looking for the truth, Mr. Stilton," Catherine said.

"I think you're on a witch hunt."

"Not at all."

Stilton pressed a button on his phone, and Coatsworth answered almost immediately. The two had a hurried conversation, after which Stilton brandished the phone like a knife before pocketing it again. "He's on his way. I think we should go back into the house and wait."

"Whatever you like," Sam said.

Catherine put the bluing into another evidence bag. "Before we rejoin Mrs. Cameron, there's one more thing I'd like to say."

"What's that?" Stilton asked.

"Helena Cameron's finances are in pretty dire shape, I understand."

Stilton raised his head, jutting his chin toward her. "Okay, now you're really out of line. I completely resent that. I know exactly what's going on with every dime she has."

"I'm sure you do," Catherine said. "Your financial situation, by contrast, has never looked better. Mr. McCann, did you know that the bank is about to foreclose on this estate and Daria's condo?"

McCann looked stricken. "No… I had no idea."

"You're lucky your paychecks aren't bouncing. But Mr. Stilton here has been buying up luxury properties around the country, taking advantage of short sales and foreclosure deals. Plus, his stock portfolio is extremely healthy."

"That's all privileged and confidential information," Stilton declared. His face was flushed now, while McCann's had gone pale. "I don't see how you could possibly -"