The technician said, "So, will the show go back on the air?"
"No, it's been canceled."
"Why? I liked that show."
"They should have consulted you," Bradley said.
Evans was looking at the chest now, trying to recall the pattern of chest hair that Morton had had. He'd seen him often enough in a bathing suit. But the bloating, the stretching of the skin made it difficult. He shook his head. He could not be sure it was Morton.
"Are you done yet?" Bradley said.
"Yes," Evans said.
The drape went back on, and they walked out. The technician said, "Lifeguards in Pismo made the discovery, called the police. The police ID'd him from the clothes."
"He still had clothes on?"
"Uh-huh. One leg of the pants and most of the jacket. Custom made. They called the tailor in New York and he confirmed that they had been made for George Morton. Will you be taking his effects with you?"
"I don't know," Evans said.
"Well, you're his lawyer..."
"Yes, I guess I will."
"You have to sign for them."
They went back outside, where Jennifer was waiting. She was talking on her cell phone. She said, "Yes, I understand. Yes. Okay, we can do that." She flipped the phone shut when she saw them. "Finished?"
"Yes."
"And was it..."
"Yes," Ted said. "It was George."
Evans said nothing. He went down the hall and signed for the personal effects. The technician brought out a bag and handed it to Evans. Evans fished in it and pulled out the shreds of the tuxedo. There was a small NERF pin on the inside pocket of the jacket. He reached in and came out with the watch, a Rolex Submariner. It was the same watch Morton wore. Evans looked at the back. It was engraved gm 12-31-89. Evans nodded, put it back in the bag.
All these things belonged to George. Just touching them now made him feel inexpressibly sad.
"I guess that does it," he said. "Time to go."
They all walked back to the waiting car. After they got in, Jennifer said, "We have to make another stop."
"Oh?" Evans said.
"Yes. We have to go to the Oakland Municipal Garage."
"Why?"
"The police are waiting for us."
OAKLAND
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 12
7:22 P. M.
It was an enormous concrete structure, adjacent to a vast parking lot on the outskirts of Oakland. It was lit by harsh halogen lights. Behind the cyclone fence, most of the cars in the lot were junkers, but a few Cadillacs and Bentleys were there, too. Their limousine pulled up to the curb.
"Why are we here?" Bradley said. "I don't understand."
A policeman came to the window. "Mr. Evans? Peter Evans?"
"That's me."
"Come this way, please."
They all started to get out of the car. The cop said, "Just Mr. Evans."
Bradley sputtered, "But we are--"
"Sorry, sir. They just want Mr. Evans. You'll have to wait here."
Jennifer smiled at Bradley. "I'll keep you company."
"Great."
Evans got out of the car and followed the policeman through the metal door into the garage itself. The interior space was divided into long bays, where cars were worked on in a row. Most of the bays seemed to be given over to the repair of police cars. Evans smelled the sharp odor of acetylene torches. He sidestepped patches of motor oil and gobs of grease on the floor. He said to the cop accompanying him, "What's this about?"
"They're waiting for you, sir."
They were heading for the rear of the garage. They passed several crushed and blood-covered wrecks. Seats drenched in blood, shattered windows dark red. Some wrecks had pieces of string that stretched out from them in various directions. One wreck was being measured by a pair of technicians in blue lab coats. Another crash was being photographed by a man with a camera on a tripod.
"Is he a policeman?" Evans said.
"Nah. Lawyer. We have to let 'em in."
"So you deal with car wrecks here?"
"When it's appropriate."
They came around the corner and Evans saw Kenner standing with three plainclothes policemen, and two workers in blue lab coats. They were all standing around the crushed body of Morton's Ferrari Spyder, now raised on a hydraulic lift, with bright lights shining up at it.
"Ah, Peter," Kenner said. "Did you make the identification of George?"
"Yes."
"Good man."
Evans came forward to stand beneath the car. Various sections of the underside had been marked with yellow cloth tags. Evans said, "Okay, what's up?"
The plainclothesmen looked at one another. Then one of them began to speak. "We've been examining this Ferrari, Mr. Evans."
"I see that."
"This is the car that Mr. Morton recently bought in Monterey?"
"I believe so."
"When was that purchase made?"
"I don't know exactly." Evans tried to think back. "Not long ago. Last month or so. His assistant, Sarah, told me George had bought it."
"Who bought it?"
"She did."
"What was your involvement?"
"I had none. She merely informed me that George had bought a car."
"You didn't make the purchase or arrange insurance, anything like that?"
"No. All that would have been done by George's accountants."
"You never saw paperwork on the car?"