Page 43 of Deep Tide

She turned around, instantly wary.

A man approached her from the parking lot. Dark hair, dark eyes, medium build.

“You’re Detective Lawson, right?”

“Who’s asking?” she said, although she had an idea, based on the lanyard around his neck that looked like a press pass.

“Miguel Vidales with the San Antonio Tribune.”

“I have no comment.”

He smiled slightly as he stopped in front of her. “I haven’t asked for one.”

“Well, don’t bother. All press inquiries need to go through our public information officer.”

They didn’t actually have a public information officer. The closest thing was Denise, their receptionist, who screened calls and passed everything on to Brady to handle.

“You’re the lead detective on the Amelia Albright case, correct?”

“Did you hear what I said? You need to direct your questions to our PIO.”

He sighed and looked her over. “I’m not here to ask questions.”

“Why are you here, then?”

He glanced around. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“Not really.”

“Could you just give me a minute? I drove all the way down here to speak with you.”

She looked him over, annoyed. But also curious. How did he know she was the lead on this case? She hadn’t been quoted in any articles on this thing. At least, she didn’t think she had. She hadn’t intentionally talked to any reporters.

He tucked his hands into his front pockets. He wore jeans and an army green jacket with worn black sneakers, and he looked way more casual than the TV reporters who’d been down here covering the story. Of course, most of them had already left town, and she didn’t expect to see them back again unless something dramatic happened, such as an arrest. Barring some huge break in the case, Nicole wasn’t anticipating that anytime soon.

“Five minutes.” He rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “That’s all I need.”

A uniformed officer stepped through the door and cast a glance at her before heading to the parking lot. The last thing she needed was to be seen giving an interview to a reporter in front of the police station.

“Five minutes.” She checked her watch and then nodded toward the corner of the building. “This way.” She led him around to a side courtyard where there was a picnic table illuminated by a floodlight. She leaned against the table and checked her watch again, just to make the point that she was timing him.

He glanced around. “Mind if I smoke?”

She shrugged. “It’s your lungs.”

He reached into his jacket for a pack of Marlboros and tapped out a cigarette. He lit it with a cheap lighter and watched her as he blew out a stream of smoke.

“I take it this is your first homicide case to lead?” he asked.

In response, she glanced at her watch.

“I haven’t seen your name in the news,” he added.

“Yeah, well. I try to avoid reporters.”

The side of his mouth quirked up.

“I’m surprised your paper sent you all the way down here,” she said, happy to burn up his time with small talk. “What is that, a three-hour drive?”

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