Page 81 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“How can you be one jump ahead of the police?” He was blocking the door and she had no choice but to deal with him.

“I’m not a jump ahead.”

“You wrote that story about the serial killer before the police made a statement. I just heard that there’s going to be a press conference at six.” He checked his watch. “In twenty minutes. What do you bet that they’re going to paraphrase everything you already printed and bring up the possibility of a serial murderer?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Isn’t that a surprise.”

“So, why aren’t you there, acing the competition.”

“I’m on my way,” he said bitterly. “I think I’m staring at the competiti

on right now.”

“Oh, Norm, give it up,” she shot back and eased past him.

“You know, Gillette, you probably don’t even need to bother with the press conference. Your ‘source’ gives you the goods before the rest of us.”

“It really bugs you that I have a source, doesn’t it?” she asked, bristling. She’d taken his guff long enough.

“What bugs me is that you trade on your name. Being the daughter of Big Ron Gillette opens a lot of doors for you that are closed to the rest of us working stiffs.”

“You think it’s my name?”

“I know it is.” His smile, beneath his moustache, was as false as fool’s gold.

“Well, you just go on thinking that way!” She somehow managed to bite back the hot retort that was on the tip of her tongue. “It’ll get you nowhere fast.” Then she was off, running across the street to the parking lot, her cheeks flaming, her ego bruised even though he hadn’t said anything she hadn’t heard before or even thought herself. She threw her purse and briefcase into the backseat and climbed behind the wheel of her hatchback. Don’t let him get to you, she told herself as she wheeled out of the parking lot. Don’t give him the satisfaction of winning. You know what’s true. Maybe that was the worst part. She wasn’t trading on her father’s name, but she was using her brother’s death and his friend’s guilt to get her story. She drove like a madwoman to the police station where she squeezed into a parking lot behind the WKAM television van. It was nearly dark as the press conference was about to begin at the station steps. Streetlights glowed and the air was cool, but dry. Reporters, cameramen, and curious onlookers were milling around, held in line by several uniformed policemen.

Within minutes Norm Metzger and Jim Levitt arrived. Norm, now wearing a wool cap and trench coat, pushed his way to the front of the crowd while Jim adjusted a lens for his camera and followed in the wake Norm created. Like a damned lapdog, Nikki thought, content for once to be on the outer rim of the reporters. She thought about the E-mail she’d received from the Grave Robber and smiled to herself. That was her ace in the hole. Despite its chilling message. No matter what she heard from the police, it wouldn’t compare to the direct communication she’d received from the killer. Which she intended to share with the cops. When the moment was right. After she’d published it.

The wind was cold and she adjusted her jacket as the press conference got started. A police spokeswoman named Abbey Marlow made a short statement about what was happening. She gave some broad facts about the killings, alluded to the fact that the killer would probably strike again, and could be in the Savannah area. She asked the press and public to help the police and if anyone had seen anything unusual or suspicious to report it to the police department and specifically the task force that was being assembled. She released the names of the victims and answered a few questions.

“Are the victims related or connected in any way?” a dark-haired woman from a local channel asked.

“Not that we can tell.”

“Is it true two bodies are pushed into one coffin?” This time it was Norm.

“We have found two coffins, each with the original occupant and another victim.”

“And they were buried alive?” Norm again.

“Yes.”

“Do you have any leads?” Max O’Dell from WKAM got in his licks.

“The investigation is progressing, but we do ask everyone for any information they may have to bring it forward.”

Nikki thought guiltily of the note in her purse as she scribbled and recorded the rest of the questions and answers.

“Does the killer have an M.O.?” O’Dell persisted. “I mean, aside from burying his victims alive?”

A few sardonic chuckles erupted, then dissipated into the rising wind that pushed a lock of Abbey’s reddish hair over her eyes.

“Of course, I can’t comment on that because I don’t want to jeopardize the investigation.”

“Has the killer tried to contact you?” Nikki said and Abbey Marlow seemed to tense a bit. Her gaze drilled into Nikki’s. “Again, I’m not at liberty to say.”

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