Body Copy - Michael Craven [87]
Tremaine’s was the only car in the lot. There were probably thirty other spaces, all empty. He had the love letters from Dean/Roger in an envelope in his pocket.
He sat down on one of the park benches and stared in the direction of the ocean, which he could hear clearly but couldn’t see because his view was obstructed by the bushes and trees bordering the park.
Some time passed and the noise of the ocean drowned B O D Y C O P Y
out the sound of Evan’s Jeep, but the headlights alerted him that the man he wanted to talk to was present and accounted for.
Evan got out of his Jeep. Tremaine looked at the circle of yellow on the parking lot cement that emanated from the parking lot’s lights. As Evan passed through the semi-spotlight, Tremaine recognized him the way you recognize someone you’ve seen only once or twice before. Evan looked bigger than Tremaine remembered, his figure enhanced by a coat he wore to combat the chill of a Malibu night.
Tremaine stood as Evan neared and said, “Good evening, Evan.”
“Tremaine, how are you?”
The two men stood face to face for a moment and then Donald Tremaine said, “I want to show you some things.”
“All right,” Evan said.
Tremaine and Evan sat down on one of the benches and Tremaine opened up the envelope that held the love letters to Kelly from a man who disguised himself to be a guy named Dean Latham. He kept them in his hand. He didn’t show them to Evan. Not yet.
“Before Kelly was killed, she was having an affair with the man we talked about, Dean Latham.”
“You told me that,” Evan said with some of that same irritated edge from the phone call. “What are you trying to do, rub it in that my girlfriend found someone after me?”
Tremaine showed Evan the letters.
Evan looked at them. Didn’t really read them, just processed what they were.
Evan said, “Look, I told you she was with other guys. I 275
Michael Craven
don’t know what this is. I don’t know who this guy Dean Latham is. And I don’t care. Don’t tell me you had me come all the way out here to prove to me my dead ex-girlfriend was involved with some random guy?”
“No, I didn’t have you come out here just to tell you that. Actually, I want to tell you my theory on the situation.”
“Tremaine, I’m not necessarily interested in your ideas about the behavior of Kelly.”
“Hear me out,” Tremaine said. “It involves you.”
Evan fidgeted on the bench.
Then Tremaine said, “Let’s take a walk.”
Tremaine and Evan headed out the boardwalk to the beach. It was dark and deserted, now the only light was provided by the moon and the stars. Tremaine guided them north toward a cluster of rocks he used as a marker when he surfed this part of the ocean.
“The man who wrote the letters to Kelly went by the name Dean Latham, but in reality, that wasn’t his name,”
Tremaine said. “That was a fake name. In fact, it was a fake name created very carefully by the man himself. This man is dead now. His name was Roger Gale.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Tremaine?”
The two continued walking on the beach. The waves pounded the shore, creating a wall of white noise that Tremaine had to talk over. They reached the cluster of rocks.
Evan leaned against one of the rocks and Tremaine faced him and continued. “Roger Gale, the ad man you said you’d heard of, was living a double life. Most of the time he was a successful ad man. But some of the time, dressed in a disguise, he was a guy named Dean Latham.
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A man who was in love with your ex-girlfriend. Who, if you read those letters, was desperately in love with your ex-girlfriend. As in love with her as you were. As you still were up until the day she died.”
Evan said, “What’s your point, Tremaine?”
“There are several kinds of murders in the world, Evan.
Sometimes people kill because they’ve just lost their cook-ies. Serial killers are an example of this. Guy who suddenly thinks