Page 9 of 4th Silence
He narrows keen eyes at me. “Before my time, I’m afraid.”
“Who worked the homicide desk back then?”
“Lots of people.”
A non-answer. The investigative reporter prefers to be the one asking the questions. Should I offer him a deal if he works with us? I don’t have enough facts yet to put myself in that hole. “How about a cup of coffee?”
He knows the offer is more than a formality. He stays on my good side and we do discover something? He’ll gather key facts for his story and enhance his credibility within the news community. “I’d like that. Is your mother here?”
The thought of turning her loose with him makes me pause. It’s my best option at the moment, though, to keep her from going to JJ’s office—inevitable Armageddon if that happens. “You do realize she’s a reporter, too. She writes for the Crime Desk at the D.C. Investigative Journal.” Not high-profile, and her articles rarely receive more than a few comments now and then, but she takes her job very seriously. “She’ll purposely mislead you because she plans to be the one to break open this case.”
He’s undaunted. “My angle is more about the resurgence of cold case groups. What motivates them. What drives them.” The words flow off his tongue as if he’s practiced this speech. Cue the pitch. “Across the country this year, several have been instrumental in assisting overworked and underfunded police departments solve important investigations.”
Yep, there it is. While all of that may be accurate, I’m skeptical that’s his motivation. If he can get the scoop on who murdered Tiffany, it will make his career.
He must realize, however, that what I said is true—Mom likes publicity, but she wants to be the one who solves this whale of a cold case. She won’t share that trophy with him or any of his colleagues. “Titillating story there,” I mutter.
He frowns.
Matt comes in from outside, looking like a model for a ski resort as he shakes snow from his hair. He rakes his fingers through the thick strands, and it stands straight up, but appears as though he styled it that way on purpose.
I hate him and his shampoo commercial hair. Mine is always a disaster—if I get a blowout, it instantly frizzes. If I try to put curls in it, they fall flat. Most of the time, I just keep it in a ponytail and forget about it.
“The snow is easing,” Matt says. “Are we still having our morning meeting?”
“Pushing it to tomorrow.” I have to leave shortly to get across town for that trial, and Meg needs a nap. If she doesn’t crash soon, she’s going to start hallucinating.
Moot point. It’ll never happen. Better to keep her busy.
Matt introduces himself to Bob, and they exchange a couple comments about the weather. The phone calls have slowed, and Haley hands me a stack of blue message slips. “My ear’s filing a hostile work complaint.”
“Noted.” I don’t look at the slips as I lead Bob to the conference room. Meg is gathering all of the papers and shoving them into their boxes. Mom already has two steaming mugs of coffee waiting and gives Bob a huge smile.
More introductions, and I help Meg finish removing the case information from sight before I drag her across the hall to my office. “I have to testify in the Costnick trial at the Moultrie Courthouse.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll run interference with Mom.”
“That courthouse takes me right past the U.S. Attorney’s building.”
She gives me a curious look. “And?”
“If the man we want to talk to won’t come to the phone…”
She grins, getting my meaning. “We show up in person.”
“Maybe we can chat with Alex, too. Get some perspective on what he remembers about that night.”
“I like this plan.”
It’s a terrible plan, but I like it, too.
Matt appears in the doorway. “Can I come?”
“Don’t you have the Anderson case to review?” I ask.
“Closed it last night. I couldn’t sleep, and a deep dive into a hunch paid off.”
“Good for you,” Meg says. “I couldn’t sleep either.”
