"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 -"
"Some of it's public record," Catherine said. "Some of it took a warrant. And some we're still checking into. But the general outline of it is correct, isn't it?"
"That can't be true," Helena Cameron said from the doorway. "Is it, Craig?"
25
Craig Stilton's head swiveled between Helena and the CSI. He took a step toward Willows, then stumbled and threw a hand out toward the rack, as if to steady himself. Willows reached for him in case he was fainting.
He had often found it advantageous to let people underestimate him. He twisted from her reach, catching himself on the gun rack and coming up with a Glock 9mm in his fist. Loaded, of course – Drake had just confirmed that.
The detective, Vega, was drawing his own weapon as Stilton darted across the room, the Glock aimed at Helena Cameron. He grabbed the elderly woman, wrenching her around in front of him.
"Freeze, Stilton!" Vega ordered.
"I'm sorry, Helena," Stilton said. He pressed the muzzle of his borrowed gun against her temple, hiding her so her body was between him and the cops. Helena was as small and frail and weak as a baby bird, fallen from its nest before its time. "I didn't mean for you to get involved in this."
"Craig… I don't understand."
"It's simple, Helena. Everything they said is true."
Helena's eyes filled, her mouth hung open, that lower lip quivering like mad now. If Stilton hadn't been holding her up, she would have fallen onto the floor. "No. It can't be."
That was how he had been able to do it, because she trusted him so. Stilton had been skimming from the Cameron accounts for years. A little here, a little there, out of their pockets and into his. Bix Cameron figured it out when he had barely started. He was going to expose Stilton, so he had to die. Just Troy's bad luck that he was with his father at the time.
Of course, he only shot Troy the first time. It took Drake to finish him off ten years later. Stilton had believed Troy was dead; he wouldn't have left him out there to die slowly. He was a thief, but he was no monster.
But it had killed him to see how Bix spent his money. Stilton watched it flowing out for years, trying to get him to stop wasting it on one more hotel, one more casino, one more private apartment for whichever showgirl he was sleeping with behind Helena's back. Stilton knew he could put it to better use. He had worked hard for this family, for decades, and they paid him a reasonable salary. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly. Not when Bix was wasting it thoughtlessly.