Hypocritical fuckers like you make me wanna puke all over myself.”
“Who’d notice?”
McGregor loomed closer and sat on the edge of the desk, still with his arms crossed. Something about his posture reminded Carver of a perched and waiting vulture. The rancid stench of the man was almost overwhelming. He said, “Sooner we get to the point, sooner I’ll be outa your office. Unless you’d rather keep trying to convince yourself you’re somehow better’n me.”
McGregor was right about getting the conversation over as quickly as possible, Carver thought. He tried not to think about what else McGregor had said, afraid he might be right about that, too.
Carver told him what had happened in Fort Lauderdale at Frank Wesley’s condo. Gave him a description of the two men with guns who’d been waiting in the dark when the door opened.
When he was finished, McGregor bowed his head. Rubbed his long chin with his thumb and said, “You mean you got no idea who those two guys were?”
“The Latin one might be Ralph Palmer, the man who hired Bert Renway. Why don’t you check out the name, see if there’s a sheet on him?”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Carver. But do tell me why you said the body in the Caddie was Renway’s. Way it looks here, everything you said the day of the bombing was bullshit. It was Frank Wesley came to hire you and then got himself killed in his car despite his seat belt being buckled.”
“I thought you could tell me something about that,” Carver said. “What happened in here just before the bombing went exactly the way I said. The man who hired me told me his name was Bert Renway.”
“And gave you cash, but you weren’t suspicious.”
“You get cash often in this business,” Carver said.
“I just bet.”
“And I went by Renway’s mobile home out west of town. Place called Beach Cove Court. Nobody was home. The grass needed cutting. His neighbor hasn’t seen him in weeks and says his car hasn’t moved.”
“I went by there, too,” McGregor said. “You see a beach or a cove out there?”
Carver said he hadn’t.
The tall man thoughtfully picked at his nose for a moment. Examined his fingernail and decided there was nothing stuck under it. “Renway ain’t been around, like you say. But then, apparently neither has Wesley.”
“You see the autopsy report on Wesley?”
“No,” McGregor said. “They carted what was left of the corpse down to Miami, where they got the lab facilities to make sense outa that kinda mess. But it was dental records proved the body was Wesley. Dental records don’t lie. So Wesley must have lied to you.”
“It looks that way,” Carver admitted. “He came here and gave me a story about Renway impersonating him. But why? And where’s Renway?”
“Maybe you forgot, those are the kinda things you’re supposed to find out. You was even paid to find out. It’d look sorta funny if I went pokin’ around in it, at least in areas where you can snoop. You and me are the only ones that know about the Renway story. That’s not the kinda thing I’m expected to keep to myself. On the other hand, you got the permission of the law to investigate.”
“Want to put that permission in writing?” Carver asked.
“No need,” McGregor said, waving a long-fingered hand in a languid gesture of dismissal. “Old buddies like us, we trust each other, hey?”
“I don’t have to trust you,” Carver said. He absently laid a hand on his recently repaired answering machine-tape recorder. Patted cool plastic.
McGregor looked at the hand. Said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Carver didn’t answer. Let the bastard think about it. Let him wonder if Carver had recorded their initial conversation about the car bombing.
“Both our asses will be in a sling if you got anything on tape,” McGregor said. “If I threatened you and tried to influence you, you shoulda reported it, not cooperated. Just remember that.”
“And you remember
“Who’d notice?”
McGregor loomed closer and sat on the edge of the desk, still with his arms crossed. Something about his posture reminded Carver of a perched and waiting vulture. The rancid stench of the man was almost overwhelming. He said, “Sooner we get to the point, sooner I’ll be outa your office. Unless you’d rather keep trying to convince yourself you’re somehow better’n me.”
McGregor was right about getting the conversation over as quickly as possible, Carver thought. He tried not to think about what else McGregor had said, afraid he might be right about that, too.
Carver told him what had happened in Fort Lauderdale at Frank Wesley’s condo. Gave him a description of the two men with guns who’d been waiting in the dark when the door opened.
When he was finished, McGregor bowed his head. Rubbed his long chin with his thumb and said, “You mean you got no idea who those two guys were?”
“The Latin one might be Ralph Palmer, the man who hired Bert Renway. Why don’t you check out the name, see if there’s a sheet on him?”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Carver. But do tell me why you said the body in the Caddie was Renway’s. Way it looks here, everything you said the day of the bombing was bullshit. It was Frank Wesley came to hire you and then got himself killed in his car despite his seat belt being buckled.”
“I thought you could tell me something about that,” Carver said. “What happened in here just before the bombing went exactly the way I said. The man who hired me told me his name was Bert Renway.”
“And gave you cash, but you weren’t suspicious.”
“You get cash often in this business,” Carver said.
“I just bet.”
“And I went by Renway’s mobile home out west of town. Place called Beach Cove Court. Nobody was home. The grass needed cutting. His neighbor hasn’t seen him in weeks and says his car hasn’t moved.”
“I went by there, too,” McGregor said. “You see a beach or a cove out there?”
Carver said he hadn’t.
The tall man thoughtfully picked at his nose for a moment. Examined his fingernail and decided there was nothing stuck under it. “Renway ain’t been around, like you say. But then, apparently neither has Wesley.”
“You see the autopsy report on Wesley?”
“No,” McGregor said. “They carted what was left of the corpse down to Miami, where they got the lab facilities to make sense outa that kinda mess. But it was dental records proved the body was Wesley. Dental records don’t lie. So Wesley must have lied to you.”
“It looks that way,” Carver admitted. “He came here and gave me a story about Renway impersonating him. But why? And where’s Renway?”
“Maybe you forgot, those are the kinda things you’re supposed to find out. You was even paid to find out. It’d look sorta funny if I went pokin’ around in it, at least in areas where you can snoop. You and me are the only ones that know about the Renway story. That’s not the kinda thing I’m expected to keep to myself. On the other hand, you got the permission of the law to investigate.”
“Want to put that permission in writing?” Carver asked.
“No need,” McGregor said, waving a long-fingered hand in a languid gesture of dismissal. “Old buddies like us, we trust each other, hey?”
“I don’t have to trust you,” Carver said. He absently laid a hand on his recently repaired answering machine-tape recorder. Patted cool plastic.
McGregor looked at the hand. Said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Carver didn’t answer. Let the bastard think about it. Let him wonder if Carver had recorded their initial conversation about the car bombing.
“Both our asses will be in a sling if you got anything on tape,” McGregor said. “If I threatened you and tried to influence you, you shoulda reported it, not cooperated. Just remember that.”
“And you remember
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