Body Copy - Michael Craven [67]
“Yes,” he said. “I’d like to see it.”
Vicky Fong dug around in her closet, back in her apartment now, and produced an old cardboard box about three times the size of a shoebox. On the top of the box, in Magic Marker, it said Personal Items.
It was initialed KB.
Tremaine said, “Why do you have this?”
“Nobody wanted it. The police looked through it for about five minutes. Kelly’s sister didn’t want it. So I kept it.
I have no idea why.”
“Kelly’s sister, Angela Coyle?”
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“Yeah, if you want to call her a sister. They had no relationship. I didn’t even know Kelly had a sister until Angela came out to tell the police what to do with the body.
Angela, she wanted nothing to do with any of it.”
“What about Evan? He didn’t want this stuff?”
“He’s seen it. He looked through it, too, but said he didn’t want it. He said it made him too sad. You know, because every little thing in there was a piece of Kelly.”
Tremaine nodded. Vicky Fong handed him the box and said, “You can’t take it, but you can look at it all you want.
Why don’t you go in the kitchen.”
Tremaine sat at Vicky’s little kitchen table and studied the contents of the box. His initial reaction was very similar to the cops’. Not a whole lot here.
Pictures of Kelly, of Kelly and her friends. Yeah, Kelly was stunning, like a femme fatale almost, you could see the tragedy in her beautiful eyes. And there were letters, a book or two, some personal items from childhood, an old newspaper clipping reviewing a performance of Kelly’s in a small play in Santa Barbara. Amazing, Tremaine thought, how a little box of stuff, a small collection of items, could give such a personal glimpse into someone’s life. Not necessarily a broad or even totally accurate look, but a personal one, to be sure. Reinforced by the sheer fact the little collection of things was meaningful enough to be kept in the first place.
Outside the kitchen, Vicky shuffled around, straightening things, making her already neat apartment that much neater. She said aloud, “I’ve got to straighten up that storage room. It’s a mess.”
Tremaine appeared outside the kitchen.
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Vicky said, “Are you finished looking through the stuff?”
Tremaine said, “I’m going to go make a quick phone call, then I’ll be right back. Okay?”
“Sure,” Vicky said. “Take your time.”
Tremaine walked out to his car and got in. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed up Lopez.
“Lopez,” he said.
“Hey, it’s Tremaine. Got a quick favor. You can just add it to my tab.”
“Your tab’s getting pretty long there, buddy.”
“Yeah, well, I’m looking into the Kelly Burch case, so you could argue that I’m actually helping the LAPD. I’m doing you guys a favor.”
“A valiant effort, Tremaine, but this is going to mean you buying me another steak. At this rate, you might just want to buy me a cow. Or a farm.”
“You should take your act on the road.”
Lopez laughed and said, “What’s up?”
Tremaine said, “You at your computer?”
“Yeah.”
“Look up a guy named Dean Latham.”
Tremain spelled it out for him.
About twenty seconds later, Lopez said, “Got two of
’em.”
“Just like that,” Tremaine said.
“Modern technology strikes again. It looks like one of them probably isn’t of too much interest.”
“Dead?” Tremaine guessed.
“No, but close. He’s ninety-seven. But if you do decide to talk to him, make sure to talk into his good ear.”
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Tremaine laughed. “What about the other one?”
“The other one’s forty-five. Lives in the Hollywood Hills. And, looky here, he’s got a criminal record.”
“Drugs?” Tremaine guessed.
“No, public drunkenness, indecent exposure.”
“Could be he took a leak on the side of the road and ran into a cop having a bad day, but, you never know—could also indicate the guy gets into trouble,” Tremaine said.
“So, who is this guy?” Lopez asked.
“I don’t know. I was looking through some of Kelly Burch’s stuff and I came across the name.”
And he had, on a card that was stuck