Sunday was the only day Dick Hangood got to sleep in and he usually didn’t crawl out of bed before four in the afternoon, so when his phone rang at three, he leaned over and stared bleary-eyed at the caller ID, saw that it was Willard Fowler Newton, and almost didn’t answer. The only reason he even bothered was because Dick’s lover, Anton, was still asleep and the phone would wake him up. He slipped out of bed, took the portable phone, and clicked it on as he went into the living room. He slouched down into a leather armchair and immediately his dog leapt into his lap.
“You have one minute and then I’m going back to sleep, Newt, and unless this involves Brad Pitt and gratuitous nudity, I am probably going to fire you. Just so you know.” Dick Hangood was the editor and co-owner of the
Willard Fowler Newton said just fourteen words: “The guy Malcolm Crow shot and killed last night was the Cape May Killer.”
Dick Hangood sat up in the chair so fast he sent his Pomeranian flying off his lap and onto the hardwood floor where—in a fit of pique—he began savaging Anton’s socks, which were lying atop his shoes by the sofa. “Newton,” he said tiredly, “if you are jerking my chain—”
“Dick…I interviewed someone who was involved in what happened the other night.” He was stretching that. Mike Sweeney had told him about the Cape May Killer connection, but Mike was on the periphery of what had happened.
For Hangood shifting gears into true newsman mode was an effort, but he managed it. “Who else knows about this?”
“No one.”
“I mean, what other papers are there?”
“I’m serious—no one. The cops have been keeping this hush-hush. What I mean is…some other reporters know about the cop killings, but no one else knows about the Cape May Killer angle. I’ve been following the story all day,” Newton said urgently.
Hangood was still trying to find sense in this. “But the chief already issued a statement about the shooting at the Guthrie place. No one said anything about it being related to Cape May.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why this is what we in the news business call a scoop.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Newt.”
“Wake up, Dick…this is the real thing. We have to go to press right now. We have to get this out in a couple of hours. We’ll never have another chance—”
“Shut up and let me think.”
“There’s more…”
“More?”
“Early this morning two police officers were murdered out at the Guthrie farm. I saw the bodies, Dick. I have pics. Long range, sure, but pics. And I, um…overheard some conversations between the two lead cops. I know the whole story, Dick, and how it ties back in with the Cape May thing. I have it all.”
Hangood felt like the floor was tilting under him. His mouth moved like a Kissing Gourami for several seconds before he managed to say, “Newt—if this is on the level, if this is what you say it is—then this story is going to be picked up on every news service in the world. You could get a Pulitzer for this.”
Newton said nothing. He was hyperventilating.
(9)
“I gotta take a leak,” Polk said to Toombes and ambled off down the hall. She barely shrugged. He went down past the men’s room, looked over his shoulder to make sure Toombes was out of his line of sight, and then cut into the fire tower. He closed the door and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, punched in a number, and waited. Vic Wingate answered on the third ring.
“Vic, it’s Jim.”
“You get yourself switched like I told you to?”
“Yeah, they got me guarding Crow all day.”
“He talk to anyone?”
“Just the doctor. Saul Weinstock.”
“What did they talk about?”
“I wasn’t in the room then, but it couldn’t have been much of anything.”
“So you don’t know when they’re going to do the autopsy?”
“Actually, Vic, I do. It’s scheduled for this afternoon.”
There was silence at Vic’s end. “That soon, huh? Shit.”
“It’s an ongoing criminal investigation. Has to be done fast. That a problem?”
“Of course it’s a problem, numb-nuts. We can’t let Ruger get sliced up.”
“Why not, Vic? He’s dead, I don’t see how he’s important to the Man at this point. He’s out of the game, far as I can see.”
Vic laughed. “Yeah, well, you’ve never been too swift at the best of times, Jimmie, my boy. Trust me when I tell you that Ruger is not out of the game.”
“But, I don’t get it—”
“No. You
“Why?”
“Because I damn well said so. And because the Man wants it that way—or is that not enough of a reason for you?”
“No, sure, it’s cool. I was just asking—”
“Well, don’t. Look, they’re bringing in some new stiffs for the doctors to play with. If this goes the way I want it to, then they’ll autopsy them first.”
“Why?”
