Body Copy - Michael Craven [76]
Tremaine looked at Dean Latham. There was a kind of confidence to this bizarre man. He sported the robe and the cocktail. Kind of relished talking about his present 237
Michael Craven
failures, as if to suggest he used to be a big shot. Probably had some dough and was content to sit up here in his house and drink booze and watch movies. Yeah, this guy had some stories, this guy’s seen some late nights. But was he a bad guy? Couldn’t tell yet. Not from simple chit-chat.
Tremaine said, “Two people got killed. I want to ask you about both of them. One of them went by the name of Kelly Burch. Do you know anybody by that name?”
Dean Latham took a sip of his drink and then contorted his face as if to show Tremaine he was really thinking and then said, “No. Who was she?”
“She was an out-of-work actress who lived not too far from here.”
“So why are you asking me about her?”
“Kelly Burch was in contact with a man named Dean Latham.”
“Hmm,” Latham said. “Wasn’t me.”
“You’ve never heard the name Kelly Burch?” Tremaine asked.
“Like I said, no,” Dean said, this time quickly. “Who was the other person?”
“The other person was a man named Roger Gale.”
“The ad guy?”
“That’s right.
“I remember reading about his murder. They never caught the guy who killed him?”
“No, they never arrested anyone. Guy or girl.”
“Is there a connection between Roger Gale and the girl?”
“Kelly Burch,” Tremaine said.
“Right,” Latham said.
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“I don’t know,” Tremaine said. “Did you ever meet Roger Gale?”
“No. Read about him. Even before he was killed. But never met him. That’s an interesting thing about this town.
You would think that there would be more communica-tion between the ad business and show business. But there isn’t. Two industries, both dedicated in many ways to pop culture. But not much interaction. I remember reading about Roger Gale and thinking, there’s a guy with a big brain full of ideas. And I remember wondering whether he cared about Hollywood.”
“But you never met him?”
“No. I would have liked to.”
Tremaine studied Dean Latham. The guy seemed calm, almost interested in keeping the conversation going. No nerves. Maybe some loneliness, though. Might be one of those guys who tries to keep the telemarketers on the line.
Tremaine looked around the room the two of them sat in. Lots of pictures of people, friends and family probably, but not many pictures of Dean Latham, not many pictures of himself. Unusual, Tremaine thought, most of these Hollywood guys like to have their likeness all over the place.
“Not many pictures of you around here.”
“No,” Latham said. “They depress me. I’m not one of those people who likes to have a photo library of all that was.”
“Live in the moment.”
“Right.”
Tremaine informed Dean Latham of the week that both Roger Gale and Kelly Burch were killed. And then he 239
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asked him if he could remember what he was doing that week, what he was up to.
Again Latham gave a dramatic pause and said, “That was a long time ago—but not that long ago—and if I’m not mistaken, I was in Seattle visiting my mother. I went and stayed with her for a couple weeks, she was sick.”
Tremaine, usually, would have stopped this particular line of questioning here. He wouldn’t normally have bad-gered the guy. He would have just looked at him and thought about his answer a bit. But he really felt like pressing this guy. He wasn’t going to get the letters and confront him, that might scare him and cause him to really clam up.
But, subconsciously, Tremaine might not admit this, he was trying to force this lead, this Dean Latham lead, into being something. Come on, baby, be something that helps me.
So Tremaine pushed him and said, “I don’t suppose you can prove that—that you were out of town.” Tremaine was a little surprised at his accusatory tone. A little ashamed that he showed a small glimmer of frustration.
Latham said, “I could probably dig up the tickets. I’m a frequent flier freak. Want me to look?”
“No,” Tremaine said, he didn’t want Latham getting too nervous, too concerned about