“Now who’s out there?”
“Channel 29 News from Johnstown—a cameraman and a pushy woman reporter.”
Cole walked to the room divider. “She got pushy with you?”
Sarah slid a funky giraffe-head purse off her shoulder and set it beside her lunch. “Well…maybe I just didn’t like her black eyeliner.” She reached across the low barrier to hug him. “Good to see you again, honey.”
“You, too, Sarah,” he said, returning her hug. She’d been a staunch supporter and voice of outrage when Wilcox had fired him. He’d always appreciated that.
Sarah released him and stood back, beaming. “How’s the P.I. business?”
“Like anything else. Hectic one day, slow the next.”
“Which means?”
He shrugged. “It’s a paycheck.”
“A paycheck’s good,” she returned, clearly annoyed. “But you should be earning it here.”
“Thanks, but it was time for me to move on.”
The air beside him stirred as Margo strode past him, tucking those wispy strays back into her bun on her way to the door. Suddenly he found himself feeling sorry for her—another wrinkle he hadn’t expected. And for some reason he couldn’t fathom, he wanted to help. “Want me to tell them you’ll have a statement later?”
She registered surprise, but only for an instant. “Thanks, but they’re just doing their jobs. Every newspaper, radio and TV station within a two-hundred-mile radius has called this morning. It was only a matter of time before the vans showed up.”
The phone rang again. Snatching up the receiver, Sarah spoke in a melodic singsong. “Charity Police Department. How can I direct your call?”
“Lousy way to start a new job,” Cole said in an undertone.
“Yes,” Margo replied.
Sarah raised a hand to stop Margo from leaving, then thanked the caller and hung up. “C.O.D.’s official,” she said somberly. “The Hudson girl’s hyoid bone was broken. Death by asphyxiation.”
“Thanks, Sarah,” Margo murmured.
Then Cole watched her square her shoulders, take a breath and go out to meet her interrogators.
Margo barely had time to adjust to the bright sunlight before a reporter in crisp white slacks and a navy blazer thrust a microphone at her. The woman’s smooth chin-length hair was as black as her eyeliner.
“Chief McBride? Nancy Talbot, Channel 29 News. What can you tell us about the murder? Are there any leads?”
“First of all, it’s still Officer McBride. Second, this investigation is in its infancy. It’s too early for me to comment on anything. We’ve contacted the Pennsylvania State Police, and they’re handling the evidence we’ve collected.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“Evidence it wouldn’t be prudent to share at this time.”
Talbot pressed on, her voice rising. Sarah’s “pushy” comment had been right on the money. “The teenage boys who found the body in the park said the victim had been strangled with a scarf. They also said there were four gold stars on her forehead. Two years ago, two young women were killed in the same park in the same way, and marked with one, then two gold stars. Does that tell us there was a third murder? Are you looking for a serial killer, ma’am?”
Great. It wasn’t bad enough that the kids had blabbed; they’d blabbed to a reporter. “As I said, I’m not at liberty to answer your questions right now. I’ll be releasing a statement later today.”
“I appreciate your position, but the public does need answers—if for no other reason than to maintain their own safety. Some of the young women we’ve interviewed are frightened. The earlier victims, Missy Kennicott and Trista Morgan, were both blondes. Leanne Hudson was blonde. Shouldn’t you be warning young blonde women to be extremely cautious when they walk your streets?” She thrust the mic at Margo again.
A thin crowd had begun to form outside the stone-and-timber police station, interested onlookers who’d been attracted by the news van. Across the street near the diner and municipal parking lot, people were taking their time getting into their cars.
“Ms. Talbot, we’re cautioning all women who travel the streets after dark to be cautious. We’ve suggested that they walk with a friend until the situation’s resolved.”
“Of course,” she said, quickly pressing on. “You mentioned that you’ve asked the Pennsylvania State Police for assistance?”
“That’s correct.”
She jumped on Margo’s answer with both feet. “You say that as though it’s standard procedure. Yet former Chief Wilcox chose to go it alone when the other two murders occurred. Should he have brought in the PSP two years ago?”
Margo didn’t realize Cole had followed her outside until she felt his weighty stare and spotted him standing in the shallow crowd. He, too, appeared to be waiting for her answer.
Regret tightened her chest.
It would be so easy to say no, John Wilcox hadn’t acted responsibly. Moreover, she suspected that some grudging part of Cole wanted her to state that publicly. The investigation and Cole’s dismissal had marked the beginning of the end of their relationship. But answering that way would denigrate her boss’s memory and cause undue pain to the families of those first two girls. With a polite smile, Margo ended the interview.
“My apologies, Ms. Talbot, but I have work to do. I can tell you that my department and I have made this a top priority. In fact—”
Shifting her gaze to the camera, she spoke clearly and succinctly. “If the man—or woman—who took Leanne Hudson’s life is watching, I have a message for you. We will find you. And when we do, I will personally do what ever it takes to see that you’re prosecuted to the full extent of the law. There’ll be no deals. You’re going to pay.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Cole said gravely as they went back inside the station. They passed Sarah, who was on the phone again, scribbling something on a long pink notepad, a half-eaten sandwich and takeout drink at her elbow.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about that little speech of yours,” Cole said. “You made it too personal.”
“Because it is personal. Someone took the life of a girl this department was sworn to protect, then made sure he’d get a wagonload of publicity by mimicking an unsolved case.”
She was keenly aware of him following her toward the desk she’d inherited, so close she could feel his warmth. She glanced at him briefly, thinking that conversation between them was a lot less strained when they were talking about someone or something else. “Did you see the look on that reporter’s face? She found the whole thing tantalizing. She’s not going to file a tragic story, she’s going to sensationalize it, and we’re going to have
