In El Sid’s hardened eyes, she could see the greedy first-team crime staff, senior reporters with their own researchers, trying to hack their way in and carve this story up. Her story.
“Show me what you’ve got,” the city editor finally said. He came around, peered over her shoulder, read a few lines off the computer screen. “A lot of it’s okay. You probably know that. ‘Anguished’ belongs over here,” he said, pointing at the screen. “It modifies ‘bride’s father.’ Nothing pisses Ida Morris off like misplaced modifiers and inversions.”
Cindy could feel herself blushing. “I know, I know. I’m trying to get this in. Deadline’s at…”
“I know when deadline is.” The editor glowered. “But down here, if you can get it in, you can get it in right.”
He studied Cindy for what seemed an interminable duration, a deep, assessing stare that kept her on edge.
“Especially if you intend to stay on this thing.” Glass’s generally implacable face twitched, and he almost smiled at her. “I told them it was yours, Thomas.”
Cindy repressed an urge to hug the cranky, domineering editor right on the bull pen floor. “You want me at City Hall?” she asked.
“The real story’s in that hotel suite. Go back to the Hyatt.”
El Sid began to walk away with his hands, as always, thrust into his trouser pockets.
But a moment later, he turned back. “Course, if you intend to stay on this story, you’d better find a police source on the inside — and quick.”
Chapter 16
AFTER LEAVING THE MORGUE, Raleigh and I walked back to the office, mostly in silence. Lots of details about the murders were bothering me. Why would the killer take away the victim’s jacket? Why leave the champagne bottle? It made no sense.
“We’ve got a sex crime now. Bad one.” I finally turned to him on the asphalt walkway leading to the Hall. “I want to run the autopsy results through Milt Fanning and the FBI computers. We also need to meet with the bride’s parents. We’ll need a history on anyone she may have been involved with before David. And a list of everyone at that wedding.”
“Why don’t we wait for some confirmation on that one,” my new partner said, “before we go all out on that angle.”
I stopped walking and stared at him. “You want to see if anybody checked in for a bloody jacket with the lost and foun
d? I don’t understand. What’s your concern?”
“My concern,” Raleigh said, “is that I don’t want the department intruding on the grief of the families with a lot of hypotheticals until we have more to go on. We may or may not have the killer’s jacket. He may or may not have been a guest.”
“Who do you think it belonged to, the rabbi?”
He flashed me a quick smile. “It could’ve been left there to set us off.”
His tone seemed suddenly different. “You’re backing off?” I asked him.
“I’m not backing off,” he said. “Until we have something firm, every old boyfriend of the bride or casualty of some corporate downsizing Gerald Brandt had a hand in could be rolled out as a possible suspect. I’d rather the spotlight wasn’t aimed back at them unless we have something firm to go on.”
Here it was. The spiel. Packaging, containment. Brandt and Chancellor Weil, the bride’s father, were VIPs. Find us the bad guys, Lindsay. Just don’t put the department at any risk along the way.
I chuffed back, “I thought the possibility that the killer could’ve been at that wedding was what we had to go on.”
“All I’m suggesting, Lindsay, is let’s get some confirmation before we begin ripping into the sex life of the best man.”
I nodded, all the while fixing in on his eyes. “In the meantime, Chris, we’ll just follow up on our other really strong leads.”
We stood there in edgy silence.
“All right, why do you think the killer changed jackets with the groom?” I asked him.
He leaned back against the edge of a cement retaining wall. “My guess is that he was wearing it when he killed them. It was covered with blood. He had to get out undetected. The groom’s jacket was lying around. So he just switched.”
“So you figure he went to all that trouble making the slash mark and all, thinking no one would notice. Different size, different maker. That it would just slip by. Raleigh, why did he leave it behind? Why wouldn’t he stuff the bloody jacket into a bag? Or roll it under his new jacket?”
“Okay,” Raleigh conceded, “I don’t know. Your guess is?”