have a decent life. And I just don’t want to have it all blow up. But Miller said you were investigating him, that you thought he might have killed Corinne Weatherly and that I could be part of some pattern of him harassing or pressuring women. So he released me from the confidentiality agreement to tell you what happened.”
Jessie sat with that for a minute.
“You know this doesn’t absolve him of anything related to the murder?” she finally said.
“I realize that,” Tanner acknowledged. “I don’t know what happened with her. All I can tell you is that he was never violent with me. He never pressured me. He never offered me anything to be with him, financial or otherwise. He did suggest an abortion. But he even backed off that.”
“When you filed suit,” Jessie reminded her.
“Yes. I guess you have to draw your own conclusions. I’ll tell you what I told him. I’m going to tell the truth outright, not shade it to protect him or hurt him. He was fine with that. You’ll have to be too.”
Jessie was. She thanked Tanner, hung up, and sat quietly for a moment. This revelation didn’t exonerate Boatwright. But it didn’t implicate him either. Just like everything else in this case, every step up the hill seemed to be followed by a slip back down.
“Let’s go talk to Willem Struce,” Trembley said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m eager to hear his explanation for why he lied about his whereabouts on Sunday.”
Jessie nodded silently. She was eager too. But she was also apprehensive. She didn’t say it out loud but her gut was telling her that whatever explanation Corinne’s husband provided, it would leave them with more questions than answers. This was the kind of moment when she wished she could bounce theories off Ryan, whose experience and open-mindedness dwarfed that of her and Trembley combined. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason she missed Ryan.
She blinked hard, fighting back the tears that had collected at the edges of her eyes.
Stay focused. Stay alert. That’s what Ryan would want.
She regained control. The tears didn’t come. But there was nothing she could do about the hollow pit in her chest.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Unlike their last visit to the Weatherly/Struce house, this time they weren’t alone.
Sometime between yesterday and now, both the media and the public had uncovered the address and swarmed it. There was a TV truck across the street, barely on the shoulder, making it difficult for cars to pass on the narrow road.
Paparazzi was stationed at the very edge of the property, taking photos and video as they called out for Willem to make an appearance. A smattering of fans sat on the curb, holding up homemade signs of support when the cameras were on them, dropping them when they weren’t.
Trembley pulled into the driveway, more out of necessity than preference. There was nowhere to park on the road within a hundred yards of the house and neither of them, especially Jessie, wanted to navigate the crowd. She was tired of being infamous.
They walked up to the door and rang the bell, ignoring the one paparazzo who yelled out to Jessie, “Going to any Klan rallies later?”
Willem opened the door quicker than yesterday and looked more alert too. He ushered them in quickly and slammed the door after them. He shuffled down the hall without a word and motioned for them to follow him. Only when they were all standing around the kitchen island did he speak.
“I asked the authorities to send someone to keep those jackals at bay. It’s taken hours for you to respond.”
“I’m afraid we’re not here to offer protection, Mr. Struce,” Trembley told him. “We can check on the status of your request with Hollywood Station. But we’re here to ask you a few additional questions.”
“That’s fine,” Struce said. “Shall we retire to the living room?”
He led the way without waiting for a response. Jessie noted that he was definitely sharper than on their last visit. His eyes were clear. His dress shirt was neatly pressed. His thinning hair was immaculately gelled and brushed. And this time, he wore shoes, or at least house slippers. As soon as he sat down in his rocking chair, Trembley started in. Jessie liked the tactic.
Don’t let him get comfortable.
“Why didn’t you tell us about the cheating, Mr. Struce?”
“What?” Struce asked, horrified.
“Corinne’s affairs—why weren’t you honest about them?”
“Oh dear. I didn’t realize this was how it would be. You have to understand.”