Teddy walked Bruce back to the alley from which he’d emerged. He took away his car keys and locked him in the trunk. He drove the car up into the hills overlooking the ocean, pulled off the road, and got out.
Knowing Bruce was an ex-marine, Teddy was careful unlocking the trunk. He was prepared for Bruce to come out swinging, but the young man was subdued, compliant. If anything, he seemed baffled.
He blinked at Teddy and said almost plaintively, “I don’t understand.”
“What?”
“You’re a producer.”
Teddy was dressed as Billy Barnett. “So?”
“How could you do this?”
“What did you think producers did?” Teddy shook his head. “You’re unlucky, Bruce. You picked the wrong producer. You killed Manny Rosen, didn’t you?”
“Who?”
“The gossip columnist. So he wouldn’t tell anyone about the stories you planted smearing Tessa Tweed.”
“I didn’t plant any stories.”
So that had been Viveca. “I know you were protecting Viveca, making sure that if she didn’t win the award, no one else would have it. See, I know all that. So killing this witness wasn’t going to do you any good. Or Viveca, either.”
Bruce looked forlorn and confused, as if there was no accounting for how he’d wound up in this place, under these circumstances. Teddy almost felt sorry for the man.
With one swift motion Teddy brought the butt of the gun down on Bruce’s head.
Teddy backed the car up and aimed it at the cliff. He wrestled Bruce into position behind the wheel. He revved the engine, slipped the car into gear, stepped back, and slammed the door.
The car plowed straight through the guardrail and hurtled over and down. It hit the bottom and burst into flames.
Teddy watched for a moment to make sure no flaming figure miraculously staggered out of the wreck. None did. He turned and walked down the mountain.
About two miles away Teddy figured it was far enough. He stopped at a driveway, took out a burner phone he carried for just such purposes, and called an Uber.