Follow Her Home by Steph Cha Page B

Diego didn’t know it. I decided against awakening his conscience—despite his questions, I was grateful that he came and I wanted his guidance. Marlowe may have worked alone, but I had something he didn’t—I had friends I could trust.
    â€œYou’re going to help me, then?”
    â€œSomething like that. I’m going to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”
    I tightened my fist around the shifter. “Thanks. And sorry I blew up at you.”
    â€œIt’s okay.” He looked at his lap.
    â€œYou know, I did come to you for advice. Can you answer a legal question?”
    â€œI’ll do my best.”
    â€œDoes finding the body and staying away from the police make me a criminal?”
    He shook his head with some vigor. “No. You didn’t do the killing, and California’s pretty lax on Good Samaritan laws. Do you remember the Sherrice Iverson case a while back?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œAwful murder. Grown man molested and killed a seven-year-old girl in a casino bathroom. His friend walked in and saw him fondling her, and after he did the killing, the murderer confessed to the friend, who shrugged and walked away. There was a lot of outcry that nothing happened to the friend, but nothing ever did. You didn’t try to hide the body or anything, so I think you’re good.”
    â€œGood. I have enough on my plate.”
    â€œYeah, as to that other stuff on your plate—legal or not, I still don’t love that you’re not en route to a police station right now.”
    â€œI—”
    â€œBut I get it. I do get it. That’s why I’m here and not calling it in myself.”
    â€œThank you.”
    After a while, he said, “So we’re sitting in your car with a dead body in the backseat.”
    â€œYep.”
    He blinked hard and scratched his ear. “Do you know who it is?”
    â€œNo one I know.”
    â€œDid you check for ID?”
    â€œI—no.” I started to wonder how I had failed to do so, and then I remembered the feeling of death against the back of my hand. Further handling had been far from my mind. “Should I? He’s fully dressed.”
    â€œAnd we’re not assuming that the murderer was careful, are we?”
    I turned off my engine and sat, limp.
    â€œWill you come with me?”
    â€œOf course.”
    We got out of the car and stood behind the trunk. The street was clear for the time being. Wheat-colored insects, silent and faceless, made patterns in the warm summer air.
    â€œWe have to be quick,” I said. I breathed in and out. “Just warning you again, there is a dead body in there.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œYou’re not freaking out?”
    â€œI am, but it’s okay.”
    I stood with my keys in hand, staring at the trunk.
    â€œAre you okay, Song?”
    â€œI’m okay.”
    â€œDo you want to wait in the car? I can check for the wallet.”
    I dug my heels into the ground. “Thanks, Diego, but it’s okay. I can do it.”
    I checked the street once more for people, then popped the trunk, keeping one hand on the door in case someone came by. I made a quick wish that the body wouldn’t be there.
    And it wasn’t. My trunk was as it had been before last night, free of rotting flesh and fiery red hair. Marlowe had seen a corpse or two disappear in his day—in The Big Sleep he left a dead smut dealer on the floor for a few hours, and came back to a clean scene. Of course, he’d broken into someone else’s house to find the body, so it hadn’t been his floor.
    â€œThere was a body in here. A tall, skinny one, with bright red hair.” I looked up at Diego, willing him to give me credit. “I wouldn’t make this up. You know that.”
    He nodded slowly. “I don’t need you to produce the body. But it was there when you came here?”
    I reasoned through the events of the