Double Take

Julia.”
    Cheney smiled at him. “You’re not bad at insults yourself. I really would have liked to know who or what it is who doles out the perks in The After. Good day.”
    They left, passing by a man in his late sixties, huddled in a gorgeous cashmere coat, his face pale, his eyes lost and bewildered, his thick gray hair blowing in the stiff wind.

CHAPTER 28
    As he drove his Audi on 19th Avenue toward the Golden Gate Bridge, Cheney asked a silent Julia, “How long were you and your husband married, Julia?”
    “Nearly three years. Then he was killed.”
    Would you have stayed married to that old man? “How old are you?”
    “I’m twenty-nine.”
    “I had a woman friend who said she was twenty plus nine.” She said nothing, looked straight through the windshield. “I believe he was in his late sixties, sixty-eight, I think.”
    “You think? You don’t know the age of your own husband?”
    “No.”
    “All right, you’re angry with me. Come on out and say it.” She whirled around to face him. “You’re a jerk! You were needlessly rude to poor Wallace. You baited him, you sneered at him. I’m surprised you didn’t accuse him of molesting teenagers!”
    “I thought about it, but couldn’t see any payoff.” She smacked his arm with her fist. “Wallace didn’t kill August. He didn’t kill his wife. Just because you’re a skeptic, you don’t have to act like an ass.”
    “All right, so maybe I was a bit over the top. Look, Julia, I’m not only an FBI agent, I’m also a lawyer. I have to see something, feel it, understand it, before I can believe it. And we’re pressed for time here—I needed to rile him to see what would happen. I didn’t have time to make nice. Do you understand?”
    “Be a skeptic, just don’t insult my friends.”
    “I’m thinking it would do you some good to have some different sorts of friends.”
    “You’re right, I do want some more friends. None of them will be cops, that’s for sure.”
    “Hey, maybe you’re more interested in Tammerlane than you let on. Are you sure you only think of him as a friend?”
    “You’re ridiculous, Cheney Stone. You sound jealous. Young men—I’d forgotten about all that testosterone clogging your brain cells.”
    Cheney wanted to yell back at her, but he reined himself in. “I don’t sound jealous, dammit.”
    “Forget it.”
    Since it was late morning, traffic wasn’t heavy on the bridge. No northbound toll, so Cheney drove right through.
    “I won’t tell you where Bevlin lives until you promise you won’t act like an ass around him.”
    Cheney sighed. “All right, I’ll be more light-handed with Bevlin Wagner.”
    “You swear?”
    “What will you do if I overstep my bounds—or rather your bounds?”
    “I’ll shoot you.”
    He laughed, couldn’t help it, and raised his hand in surrender. “Okay, I’ll be very cool with Bevlin.”
    “Good. Now, take the first exit onto Alexander and stay on it into downtown Sausalito.” She paused, looked out the Audi’s window. “I wish those blasted clouds would burn off. There’s nothing on earth more beautiful than the ocean on one side, the bay on the other, all glistening under a bright sun.”
    “All chirpy now, are we, since you’ve got me in a choke hold?”
    “Yep. I don’t believe in rubbing salt in wounds.”
    “So you married August when you were twenty-six.”
    “You’re a dog with a meaty bone, aren’t you? Yes, that’s right. How old arc you?”
    “Me? I’m nearly thirty plus three, in November.”
    She laughed, but it wasn’t a freewheeling laugh. “Why are you asking me these personal questions?”
    “Humor me, please. I’m trying not to be a jerk about it. I just need all the background I can get. You married him because you felt gratitude toward him since he was with you when your son died.”
    “You just crossed the line,” she said.
    Cheney drove the beautiful winding road into the town of Sausalito. Due to the heavy winter rains, the Marin Headlands were richly green, nearly an Irish green. By August, unfortunately, the hills would be brown and barren, a perfect setting for Heathcliff.
    “So what do you want to tell me about Bevlin Wagner? Other than he wanted you to marry him. Is that his real name?”
    “Doesn’t sound Croatian, does it? He told me he was from Split, a city on Croatia’s Adriatic coast. Evidently his parents changed their names when they came to the U.S. when he was a young boy. He’s never mentioned