Page 58 of Return of the Spider
“Be safe,” Sampson said. “And keep an eye on that line you’re walking.”
“I’ll do that,” Donovan said. She smiled at us wanly and left.
“Fine-looking woman,” Sampson said when she was gone.
“Brave too,” I said. “Nerves of steel.”
Diehl and Kurtz went to their desks, grabbed their things, and left to spend the rest of the day with their families.
We were getting ready to leave ourselves when something on the muted television in the squad room caught my eye. Under the wordsBREAKING NEWSwas a photo of a pretty, older blond woman. The chyron below readLOCAL REAL ESTATE AGENT STRANGLED. POLICE SEEK PUBLIC’S HELP.
Sampson left to use the men’s room. I unmuted the TV. The screen jumped to a young reporter standing near a strip of yellow police tape with officers behind him going to and from a house on a tree-lined street.
“Fairfax County detectives are telling us that Brenda Miles, a longtime real estate agent in Northern Virginia, was found strangled to death late yesterday by a friend who’d become concerned when she missed a dinner date Saturday evening and didn’t answer her door on Sunday.
“Miles, fifty-two, had held an open house here in Groveton shortly before she was murdered. Witnesses reported seeing a tall, slightly stooped man wearing a green coverall, running shoes, and a ball cap and carrying a toolbox leaving the scene.
“He drove away in an older white panel van with no markings on it. Detectives are asking anyone who may have seen the suspect or the white panel van in the Groveton area on Saturday night to call the Fairfax County Sheriff’s Office.”
I stared at the screen, then muted it when the broadcast turned to other news. Sampson came back and said, “Ready?”
“Give me five minutes,” I said, and called the Fairfax County Sheriff’s Office.
Dispatch patched me through to Detective Deb Angelis, the lead detective on the case, who was still on the scene.
“Angelis,” she said, sounding tired.
I identified myself and said, “I know you’re swamped, Detective, but did your witnesses get the license plate on the white van?”
“No. The light above the rear plate was conveniently out.”
“Not even the state?”
There was a pause before she said, “We’re withholding that for the moment.”
“Let me take a wild guess. Pennsylvania?”
After another pause, Angelis said, “How did you know that?”
I pumped my fist. “We had a van like that around the area where Conrad Talbot, the lacrosse player from Alexandria, was shot. We have footage of it.”
“That I would like to see, Detective Cross. Thank you.”
“Would you mind if my partner and I came and looked at the scene? We’ll share whatever we’ve got.”
“Sure,” she said. “Body’s long gone, but we’ll be here a few more hours.”
I hung up, looked at Sampson. “The white van is in play. We better tell Pittman.”
The chief groaned when we told him. “C’mon, there have to be a thousand panel vans like that in the greater metro area.”
“But not near murder scenes with broken lights over Pennsylvania plates,” I said.
The chief began to knead his temples. “So he’s no longer impersonating Berkowitz, is that what you’re telling me? After I went out on a limb to support your theory?”
I held up my hands. “I’m just following a common denominator, a beat-up white van with a faulty light above Pennsylvania plates. Shouldn’t we at least go and take a look, sir?”
The chief chewed on that a moment, then flicked his hand at us. “Go. But you’re not on department time. You’re on your own.”
