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“Detective Payne?” Terry Davis asked in surprise.
“… whose real-life exploits could really serve as the basis for one of Stanley’s films,” the monsignor went on. “I’m delighted the police department has assigned him to this project.”
Hey, I’m not assigned to this “project.”
“No offense intended, certainly, Detective,” Kennedy said. “We’re delighted to have you.”
I think I have just been had. And I really don’t want to baby-sit a movie actor.
Matt looked at Lieutenant Gerry McGuire, who, smiling at Matt’s discomfort, sarcastically gave him a hidden-behind-his — hand thumbs-up gesture. Matt returned it with a hidden-behind — his-hand gesture of his own, the index finger of his balled fist held upright. Lieutenant McGuire smiled even more broadly.
“If you’ll open the folder before you,” Rogers Kennedy went on, “you’ll find the tentative schedule we have worked out for Mr. Colt’s visit, and I think it would be a good idea to go over it now, to see if there are any potential bumps in Stan’s road we may have missed.”
Matt opened the folder.
Wohl’s going to want at least three copies of this. I can take it to the office and xerox it. Better yet, scan it into the computer, so when the inevitable changes are made to it, they won’t have to be written on it, and the whole thing rexeroxed. Or I can type it into the laptop now, and skip the scanning.
He immediately began to type, and was finished long before Rogers Kennedy, Monsignor Schneider, and Lieutenant McGuire had worked their way through it, item by item. When he looked up, he saw that Terry Davis was looking at him. When he smiled at her, she looked away.
Think about this, Matthew: If your life was really over when that sonofabitch Chenowith killed Susan, would you now be wondering what Vice President Davis looks like in her birthday suit? Or considering the possibilities of getting her into that condition?
Peter Wohl said, Dad said, Amy said, just about everybody — including the second-rate shrink with the bad breath they made me go see-told me that it would take time, but I would get over Susan.
If that is the case-and Jesus, that would be great-then why, when Father Venno “placed” me in “that unfortunate incident,” was I instantly back in that goddamned Crossroads Diner parking lot, with Susan’s blood sticky on my hands? Followed, as usual, with the cold-sweat-and-nausea business?
He looked across the table at Terry Davis again.
As if sensing his eyes on her, she looked at him.
Are you going to be the salvation of M. M. Payne, you stunning, long-legged blonde goddess? Or have I already slipped over the border into LaLa Land?
He winked at her.
She looked away, shaking her head, but he could see she was smiling.
He walked up to her when the meeting was over.
/> “Well, I guess we’ll be seeing more of one another,” she said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You mean in connection with this?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” he said. “The only reason I was here was because my boss had other things to do.”
“And didn’t want to come in the first place?”
“You said that, not me,” Matt said. “But there is something you can do for me.”
“Name it.”
“Have dinner with me.”
“No.”
“That’s getting right to the point, isn’t it?” he said. “You didn’t leave yourself any wriggle room.”
“I’m on a red-eye back to the Coast at twelve-thirty,” she said. “And between now and then I’m going to go make the appropriate noises over a girlfriend from college’s toddler I’ve never seen.”
