Page 8 of 25 Alive

Cindy adjusted the phone and said, “Sorry, can you hear me now? Rich, I have to ask you something—”

“About Jacobi,” he said. “Lindsay and I are working on it. It’s horrible. And now this.”

So it was true. But what was “now this” about? “This what?”

“I’ll call you later. Okay?”

“I just want to say one more thing.”

“I’m listening. Make it quick.”

“Whoever wrote this letter and sent it to theCity News Flash. In New York! And used Jacobi’s name! Whoever wrote the letter quoted the ‘I said. You dead’ written inside the cover of a matchbook and used Jacobi’s name. That information could have only come from the killer or a leak—”

“A leak?” Conklin barked. “What are you saying?”

“This anonymous letter in theFlashwas dated this morning at 9:15 a.m., 6:15our time. That’s inside news that could have been sent by the—”

Rich raised his voice and said to Cindy, “What are you saying?” Then, “Oh, God. I hear you. I’ll call Brady.”

“It’s going toblow up,Rich. I’ve already been called by theExaminerlooking for a quote. It’ll be twenty-four-hour newsstarting now… If Brady has contacts in New York—”

“I’ll move as fast as possible, Cindy. Brady’s in a meeting with Clapper. You talk to Tyler,” he said, meaning Cindy’sboss, Henry Tyler, theChronicle’s publisher. “We need some time before this story breaks.”

“Richie. It’salreadyout,” Cindy said loudly to the dead phone line.Damn it. She clicked off the phone, then grabbed the printout of the letter in this morning’sCity News Flashand ran for Tyler’s office.

CHAPTER11

HENRY TYLER WAS editor-in-chief and publisher of the greatSan Francisco Chronicle,and he and Cindy had a special relationship. Years ago, she’d been instrumental in locating his kidnapped five-year-old daughter and getting her home. He’d thought of Cindy as a family member ever since.

As Cindy crossed the teeming newsroom and struck out for Tyler’s corner office, she reminded herself not to box Tyler in. If he gave her the go-ahead, she would write the story. If not, she would try him again, later.

Cindy knocked on the chief’s door.

Tyler called out, “Come innnnn.” Then the boss said, “Hey, Cindy. I have three minutes.”

“I only need one.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

Cindy laid down what she was now thinking of as “a psycho-killer’s self-promotional ad” on Tyler’s desk. She picked up a pencil and drew an arrow to the headline on the letter sent to a New York tabloid, then put the page in front of Tyler.

“Did you see this?” Cindy said.

Tyler pushed his glasses up so they were closer to his eyes as he read. “What the hell?”

“I need a green light,” she said.

“Jacobi? Warren Jacobi was murdered? Is this true?”

Cindy lowered her head. “I’m 99 percent sure, but—”

“Get 100 percent, Cindy. Call your husband.”

“I already did. He can’t talk to me about this. I also confirmed it with my source on the police blotter. Sort of. He would only confirm that a call came in about a possible crime in that area. He wouldn’t tell me the victim’s name.”

Tyler said, “Call Lieutenant Brady. If he won’t help, I’ll call Chief Clapper. Call your friend Dr. Washburn. If you can get a reliable source on record, you’ve got your green light. I want to see your copy an hour before you submit it to edit.”

Cindy said, “Thanks, Henry.” As she left Tyler’s office, she was already composing her lede.

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