White River Burning полностью

The mayor’s eyes were wide open. The sheriff was leaning forward, as if he’d misheard something. Beckert went on. “We know from our source that three individuals may have been involved in the plot to murder Officer Steele. Two of those conspirators, Jordan and Tooker, provided an alibi covering the time of the shooting. All this means is that the third member of the conspiracy was probably the actual shooter. From a messaging perspective, the focus of our search has been narrowed. Not changed. Even more important, when mentioning Jordan and Tooker, avoid the word ‘innocent.’ There are many ways to be guilty of murder. Pulling a trigger is only one of them.”

The sheriff was moistening his lips. “I do admire your way with words, Dell.”

Kline looked uneasy. “Do we know anything more about this third man?”

“Our source is working on that.”

“Are they willing to get on the stand, if it comes to that?”

“One step at a time, Sheridan. Right now, the priority is information. And so far the information from this source has been pure gold. If I mentioned testifying publicly, it would evaporate.”

Kline didn’t seem surprised by the answer.

“One more point regarding the Willard Park incident,” said Beckert. “It’s important to avoid incendiary phrases. Let’s agree right now on the proper wording. These two individuals were found dead, details to be determined by autopsy. Do not refer to them as having been beaten to death.”

Frown lines creased the mayor’s fleshy face. “But if that’s what happened . . . ?”

Beckert explained patiently. “Found dead is neutral. Beaten to death is emotionally charged in a way that could exacerbate the situation on the street. We can’t prevent the media from using the term, but we should definitely not encourage it.”

Some puzzlement lingered in the mayor’s expression, and Beckert went on. “It’s the description of an event that the public actually absorbs, the images and emotions conveyed by the words, not the event itself. Words matter.”

“You’re talking about spin?”

Beckert frowned. “That term minimizes its importance. Spin isn’t the icing on the cake. It’s the cake. Messaging is everything. It’s politics, Dwayne. And politics is no small thing.”

Shucker nodded with the dawning grin of a man seeing the light.

Beckert turned toward Torres. “Okay, bring us up to date.”

“Yes, sir. At seven ten this morning our 911 center received a call from a local citizen walking his dog—reporting the discovery of two bodies in Willard Park. The 911 center contacted White River PD, and mobile patrol officers were dispatched to the location. First officer on the scene conducted a prelim interview with the caller, observed and confirmed the facts, secured the site, and reported to the duty sergeant, who notified Deputy Chief Turlock, who notified me. Upon arrival, I contacted our evidence unit, the ME’s office, and the photographer who—”

Kline interrupted. “You checked the bodies for signs of life?”

“Yes, sir, as part of my initial observations. As additional mobile patrol units arrived I enlisted their support in taping the scene perimeter. When the evidence officer arrived, I assigned three patrol officers to assist him in a wide-area cross-grid search. I ordered the remaining patrol units to close off vehicular and pedestrian access to the vicinity.”

The mayor looked worried. “How big a vicinity?”

“About fifty acres in the no-go zone, but the evidence search is currently concentrated in two or three acres.”

“How about the media vultures?”

“They’re subject to the same no-go zone as the general public.”

“I hate them bastards.”

“They can be difficult, but we’re keeping them at bay.”

That got Gurney’s attention. “They showed up at the site this morning?”

“Yes, sir. First thing. As we were setting up our perimeter tapes.”

“Your initial communication regarding the incident—it occurred by phone or radio?”

“By phone, sir.”

“Interesting.”

Beckert’s gaze rested on Gurney for a moment before he turned back to Torres. “Let’s move on to your crime-scene assessment.”

“Yes, sir. It will be clearer if I begin with the photographs and video I just received from Paul Aziz.”

The sheriff raised his head like a hound catching a scent. “Azeeez? I thought Scotty Maclinter did our forensic photos.”

“That’s correct, sir, but he suffered an injury last night at the VFW. He’s in the hospital.”

“What kinda injury?”

“He fell down the stairs on his way to the men’s room.”

“Hah. I do believe the boy’s done that before. Be advisable in future for him to pee in the parking lot. Meantime, who’s this Aziz?”

“One of our dispatchers, who also happens to be a professional photographer. He filled in for Officer Maclinter once before. Excellent work.”

“Hell kinda name’s Aziz?”

“I’m not sure, sir. Possibly Jordanian or Syrian?”

“Well, ain’t that somethin’? Seems like our country’s gettin’ more and more of them kind of people.”