QB1 by Pete Bowen Page A

out. He
asked me not to talk about us to anyone. He said he had to figure
it out on his own. He wouldn’t say what the problem was. He just
said he was working through some problems and he hoped we could
stay together. This was after he had been living by himself for a
month, after just walking out. I didn’t really have anywhere to go,
so I stayed. I have a music studio in the house, so I just kept
working. I was waiting to hear what we were going to do.”
    “Was there another woman?”
    “He said there wasn’t.”
    “Were you guys not getting along before all
this?”
    “Well, he had become distant. He said it was
a contract thing that would eventually resolve itself. I thought he
just needed some space so I didn’t bug him about it. I guess I’m
not confrontational. When he said he was moving out in April, I
couldn’t believe it. The next week I decided to go up to Sonoma to
have a change of scenery. And, I met you there.”
    “He moves out for a month and then says he’s
going to leave town for awhile and you don’t hear from him for a
month and then one night he shows up murdered in the garage.”
    “That’s about it.”
    “What happened last night?”
    “I took an Ambien at midnight and at around 2
AM I woke with the SWAT team in the room. I was in bed and there
were men in my room with guns. I got dressed and they took me to
the police station. They read my rights and asked if I needed a
lawyer. I said no because I didn’t know anything about what had
happened. They gave me a test to see if I fired a gun and a blood
sample. I had nothing to hide. I didn’t even see the body. I just
saw lots of people around the car and the place lit up with police
cars. It was a nightmare. They questioned me for a long time. They
decided to release me and then asked me who I wanted to call. I
couldn’t think of anyone and so I said you.”
    “What are you not telling me?”
    She thought for a few seconds, “Nothing.”
    “They’ll look at every phone call or email
you’ve ever made. If there is anything else, tell me or your lawyer
now and we’ll deal with it.”
    She looked at me and said, “There is
nothing.”
    “Someone either followed Tony from the
airport or knew he was showing up at the house last night. Was
there any contact between you and him, email, cell phone? This is
all easy to determine. If there is anything you’re not saying, tell
me now and we’ll deal with it.”
    She turned to me and looked me in the eye.
“Like I told the police, Tom, I don’t know anything.”
    We found a number for Rosenbloom’s agency.
Liz called him and arranged an appointment for 1:30 downtown. He
said he was anxious to see her and had been trying to contact her.
I thought about logistics and said, “I think we should get a
driver. That way we won’t have to fuck with parking.” I called a
friend with a limo and arranged to be picked up. I showered, put on
a suit. Roger, Liz and I piled into the car. She had on a black
dress and looked stunning. I told her so.
    “Wow, this is a big car, isn’t it? I rode in
one of these when I was on Leno.” Roger had his little netbook
computer open on his lap. He had an Internet roaming card my office
paid for. It came in handy sometimes.
    “Anything new in the investigation?” I asked
as we drove downtown. Roger typed.
    He was looking at news stories. “A number of
Arab extremist organizations have taken credit for the shooting.
The FBI cautions not to take this seriously until something is
proven. It’s an article from the AP. Other news organizations have
picked up the story.”
    I called Tonelli, told him about working with
the team and asked him if he had anything. He told me that he
couldn’t talk but would speak to the guys upstairs, see what he
could share and get back to me. I saw Liz wipe a tear away from her
eye.
    Reading the computer screen Roger said,
“There are some stories about sports teams and celebrities
increasing security. The President has