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.Kirsten pushed herself up from her chair.She looked across the sea of heads at the city editor’s desk.Michaels was on his feet.“What?” Kirsten said, hoping he picked up on the annoyance in her voice.“Triple slaying on Freret Street.”The newsroom din faded.Kirsten grabbed her phone and waved it at him.Two seconds later, it rang.Michaels didn’t bother with a greeting.“Since the command desk put out the call a couple of hours ago, there hasn’t been any chatter about it.I think Homicide must be using a secure frequency, something they almost never do.”“He couldn’t have killed three women at one time?”“It’s not three women,” Michaels said.“It’s a mother and her two children.”“How do you know that?”“A source at EMS just told me.”“Jesus,” Kirsten said.“Still, that doesn’t sound like the serial killer, and I don’t have time to chase it down.I’m trying to finish my story for tomorrow.”“You remember that call Detective Gaudet got right before he and Landry bolted out of our meeting?”“Yeah.”“As soon as I got back to my desk and flipped on my scanner, the command desk was dispatching detective and crime-lab units to Freret Street.”Kirsten noticed a slight tremor in the editor’s voice.“I’ll make a call,” she said.“Thanks.”Kirsten hung up and dug through her imitation Prada handbag for her cell phone.She had Gaudet’s number saved.She rang his phone but the call went straight to voice mail.She didn’t bother leaving a message.Like Murphy, Gaudet never checked his messages.It was a cop thing.Kirsten slung her briefcase over her shoulder and walked across the newsroom to Gene Michaels’s desk.The city editor turned his chair to face her.She noticed his face was a couple of shades whiter than its customary chalk color.Michaels was in his early sixties.Kirsten knew that he and his wife had lost a son several years ago.It was something he always carried with him.The news of the murder of two children had evidently hit him hard.“I’ll go, but I need an extension on my deadline,” Kirsten said.Michaels glanced at the clock radio on his desk.It was 7:05.Deadline was nine o’clock.“How much?”“Eleven o’clock.”He shook his head.“Ten is the best I can do.”Kirsten nodded.“If this thing on Freret is a goose chase.”“I have a bad feeling,” Michaels said.“I think the killer just stepped up, exactly like Murphy said he would.”CHAPTER SIXTEENTuesday, July 31, 7:45 PMMurphy stood outside the front door of the house on Freret Street using a flashlight to look for signs of forced entry, when he happened to glance down the driveway and see Kirsten pressed against the crime-scene tape, in the middle of a small scrum of reporters.She was waving at him.He ignored her.She stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled like a truck driver at a carload of naked cheerleaders.Murphy stepped back inside the house.During the next hour, Kirsten called his cell phone six times.At a quarter to nine, he stepped outside to get some fresh air.She was still there.A photographer stood next to her snapping pictures of Murphy.Murphy walked down the driveway.He stood across the yellow tape from Kirsten.“You’re harder to get rid of than a dose of the clap,” he said.Her eyes narrowed.“You should know.”“What do you want?”As the other reporters pressed in, sensing a fight, Kirsten nodded toward the yard next door, signaling she wanted to get away from her colleagues.“I need to talk to you.”Murphy shook his head.She didn’t let his refusal stop her.“Is this case connected to the serial-killer investigation?”“As far as I know there is no serial-killer investigation.”“Is it true the victims are a mother and her two young children?”A talking head from TV was yammering into his cell phone, careful not to mess up his perfectly coiffed hair.He stopped talking when Kirsten mentioned dead children [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Kirsten pushed herself up from her chair.She looked across the sea of heads at the city editor’s desk.Michaels was on his feet.“What?” Kirsten said, hoping he picked up on the annoyance in her voice.“Triple slaying on Freret Street.”The newsroom din faded.Kirsten grabbed her phone and waved it at him.Two seconds later, it rang.Michaels didn’t bother with a greeting.“Since the command desk put out the call a couple of hours ago, there hasn’t been any chatter about it.I think Homicide must be using a secure frequency, something they almost never do.”“He couldn’t have killed three women at one time?”“It’s not three women,” Michaels said.“It’s a mother and her two children.”“How do you know that?”“A source at EMS just told me.”“Jesus,” Kirsten said.“Still, that doesn’t sound like the serial killer, and I don’t have time to chase it down.I’m trying to finish my story for tomorrow.”“You remember that call Detective Gaudet got right before he and Landry bolted out of our meeting?”“Yeah.”“As soon as I got back to my desk and flipped on my scanner, the command desk was dispatching detective and crime-lab units to Freret Street.”Kirsten noticed a slight tremor in the editor’s voice.“I’ll make a call,” she said.“Thanks.”Kirsten hung up and dug through her imitation Prada handbag for her cell phone.She had Gaudet’s number saved.She rang his phone but the call went straight to voice mail.She didn’t bother leaving a message.Like Murphy, Gaudet never checked his messages.It was a cop thing.Kirsten slung her briefcase over her shoulder and walked across the newsroom to Gene Michaels’s desk.The city editor turned his chair to face her.She noticed his face was a couple of shades whiter than its customary chalk color.Michaels was in his early sixties.Kirsten knew that he and his wife had lost a son several years ago.It was something he always carried with him.The news of the murder of two children had evidently hit him hard.“I’ll go, but I need an extension on my deadline,” Kirsten said.Michaels glanced at the clock radio on his desk.It was 7:05.Deadline was nine o’clock.“How much?”“Eleven o’clock.”He shook his head.“Ten is the best I can do.”Kirsten nodded.“If this thing on Freret is a goose chase.”“I have a bad feeling,” Michaels said.“I think the killer just stepped up, exactly like Murphy said he would.”CHAPTER SIXTEENTuesday, July 31, 7:45 PMMurphy stood outside the front door of the house on Freret Street using a flashlight to look for signs of forced entry, when he happened to glance down the driveway and see Kirsten pressed against the crime-scene tape, in the middle of a small scrum of reporters.She was waving at him.He ignored her.She stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled like a truck driver at a carload of naked cheerleaders.Murphy stepped back inside the house.During the next hour, Kirsten called his cell phone six times.At a quarter to nine, he stepped outside to get some fresh air.She was still there.A photographer stood next to her snapping pictures of Murphy.Murphy walked down the driveway.He stood across the yellow tape from Kirsten.“You’re harder to get rid of than a dose of the clap,” he said.Her eyes narrowed.“You should know.”“What do you want?”As the other reporters pressed in, sensing a fight, Kirsten nodded toward the yard next door, signaling she wanted to get away from her colleagues.“I need to talk to you.”Murphy shook his head.She didn’t let his refusal stop her.“Is this case connected to the serial-killer investigation?”“As far as I know there is no serial-killer investigation.”“Is it true the victims are a mother and her two young children?”A talking head from TV was yammering into his cell phone, careful not to mess up his perfectly coiffed hair.He stopped talking when Kirsten mentioned dead children [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]