Body Copy - Michael Craven [49]
“Yes, and I was upset because I liked Roger. He was so smart, always telling me about all the campaigns he was working on. But, see, he told me he was married after our first date. So, from the very beginning, a part of me was reluctant. I didn’t want to be involved with a married man.
So, when he called if off, I was kind of relieved.”
“When Bill Peterson first questioned you about the case, were you scared?”
“Yes and no. Roger’s wife knew about the affair. That wasn’t a secret. But I got scared because I thought, what do they want with me? I haven’t talked to Roger in over a year. Then Bill Peterson came to me and he looked at my cell phone bills and home phone records and e-mails, and he talked to my boyfriend who lived with me, and he realized that I hadn’t seen Roger or even talked to him in ages.
And that was it. I will say this though, it was weird.”
“Weird?”
“Yeah, weird that I was being questioned about a murder. I mean, a murder.”
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“Is it weird now?”
“No, not really. I guess I’m more used to it. And I’m happy to help because I’m just as confused about it as the next person. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill Roger Gale.”
“Yeah, seems a lot of people feel that way.”
Tremaine looked at Wendy for a second, at her face, her expression. Nice, but a little blank. Then he stood up, which may have surprised Wendy. Like she might not have been expecting the questioning to end. “Thank you,” Tremaine said.
Wendy said, “You’re welcome.” Then she said, “Is that it?”
“Yeah,” Tremaine said. “That’s it.”
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Tremaine was driving along, thinking, thinking first about Wendy Leahy and now about how, just exactly how, he could screw with Tyler Wilkes’s head.
To his delight, Tremaine looked in his rearview, and a few cars back, there was his new buddy, the guy in the Crown Vic. The P.I. looking into the P.I.
Weird. The Crown Vic appearing just like that, just as he was thinking about it. Well, Tremaine thought, perfect time to get started on Plan Fuck-With-Tyler.
Tremaine put on the brakes, worked some automobile magic, and ended up right next to the Crown Vic at a stoplight.
He reached across the Cutlass’s seat and rolled down the passenger-side window. He then motioned to the guy B O D Y C O P Y
in the Crown Vic. The young guy with the dark hair and the bad skin, just as Marvin had described.
The guy looked surprised, did the “who-me” face, and powered down his window.
Tremaine said, “Hey, could I talk to you for a sec?”
The guy said, “What do you need, some directions?”
Tremaine thought, clever, playing dumb. And boy did Marvin describe him well.
“No, I don’t need directions. I want to talk to you. I want to ask you why you’re following me.”
This question stunned the young guy with the bad skin.
“What?” the guy said.
“You heard me.”
The light turned green, and the guy in the Crown Vic pulled away fast. Tremaine got behind him and followed him. The guy turned right into a neighborhood, a nice little section of Mar Vista. The guy was trying his best to lose Tremaine, breaking out his finest moves—last-minute turns, gunning it through red lights and stops signs—the classics.
This guy must have spent some serious time watching reruns of T.J. Hooker and Matt Houston.
Tremaine saw the Crown Vic go right down a side street, but he wanted the guy to think he’d lost him. So Tremaine conspicuously and quickly drove straight past the turn the Crown Vic had taken. Tremaine didn’t even look down the street, just drove, fast, and straight ahead. Gunning it.
Tremaine pulled into a driveway two stop signs down from the street where the Crown Vic had turned. He tucked the Cutlass behind a camper and waited. He got 155
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out of his car and stood, looking through the front windows of the camper, at the street the Crown Vic had taken and he had not. Five minutes later, the Crown Vic pulled out from the very road it had gone down. It went left, away from where Tremaine was hiding. He gave it some time, got in the Cutlass, and pulled back on the