Page 15 of Blood Moon

“Fifty years of reporting news and current affairs. The code of honor among law officers is sacrosanct. Band of brothers. Blue wall of silence. You know.”

“But during the investigation, he mouthed off,” she argued. “He was quoted as saying that it had been sloppily conducted. Rushed. You read what he’d said.”

“Yeah, yeah. People bitch and moan off the cuff. But it’s different when backed against a wall and asked to go on record.”

“I don’t think he was speaking off the cuff then. I thinkhe wanted people to hear, to know, that the investigation was being streamlined. I also think he was right.”

“Take off your rose-colored glasses, Beth. Nobody gives a damn about what’s right or wrong anymore. Or accurate. Even if Bowie was right back then, it no longer matters now. Obviously not even to him. Especially not to him. He was your golden key. If he blew you off and wouldn’t listen to you—”

“Then no one will,” she said.

“Which I told you before you went down there. So, when are you coming back?”

“Tomorrow. I’m booked on a four o’clock flight.”

“That late in the day?”

“There’s a morning flight. I could stand by for it, I suppose.”

“Do that. The sooner you drop this, the better. Start thinking about how you’re going to impress your new executive producer, not alienate him.”

“I can’t stomach Brady.”

“Then he should excel.” He gave a phlegmy laugh. “Nobody could stand me either. Nobody even liked me a little.”

She would have told him that she liked him a lot, but he would have rebuffed it, even knowing that it was true. More than a mentor, he was a father figure and plain-speaking friend she depended on for sound advice, even if she didn’t welcome it.

“Sorry to have disturbed you. Try to get some sleep. I’ll call you when I land.” Before he could disconnect, she said, “One more thing, Max.”

“I know, I know, don’t smoke.”

“You mispronounced his name.”

“Huh?”

“It’s Bowie. Like the knife.”

Chapter 4

Sunday, March 9

After a virtually sleepless night, Beth decided not to be deterred by her blustery conversation with Max. He was viewing the situation from the perspective of one who’d already lost his standing.

But Winston Brady hadn’t asked for her resignation. He hadn’t insisted that the Mellin story was ready for airing and for her to leave it alone. Of course he was unaware of her renewed interest in it, but still. Until he specifically forbade her to back off or risk losing her job, she would persist… at least until the afternoon flight to New York.

Having determined that, she brewed a cup of coffee using the sputtering machine in her hotel room and braced herself with a few swallows before calling the Auclair PD.

“Detective Bowie, please.”

A woman with a soft drawl and pleasant manner told her that he hadn’t come in yet. “Can someone else help you?”

“No. I really need to speak with him.” She asked for his cell phone number, but wasn’t surprised when told that it was department policy not to give out personal contact information on personnel.

“But I can have him call you back,” the woman said. “What’s your name, please?”

The first time she’d called two days ago, she had been put through to his desk without supplying her name. She was reluctant to do so now. “That’s all right. I’ll try later.”

Having struck out there, she moved to Plan B, which was to contact Crissy Mellin’s mother, Carla. Although she’d been integral to the story, she’d been loath to appear onCrisis Point. She had argued with the dogged producer that she’d lived the ugly story. Why go on TV and rehash it when it wouldn’t change the ending?

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