Next, was to cozy up to Linda Call, the local reporter who wrote each day about the murder. Make her open to the possibility of other suspects. The media access would be invaluable. Sandy knew that most reporters imagine themselves Investigative Reporters. Let’s see how Linda Call reacts to the murder suspect’s sister.
In the building lobby, a young woman behind the counter interrupted her classified ad phone-order to motion Sandy up the stairs. The newsroom wasn’t large, wasn’t busy and wasn’t noisy. A glassed-in cubicle with a large desk and a conference table sat empty in the far corner. Low-hanging fluorescent lights hung down over a dozen desks. Three employees were engaged at their computers. One was a woman.
She was leaning back with her feet on the desk and the keyboard in her lap. Papers and folders were disordered around her on the floor. She wore jeans with a lightweight cotton sweater. Attractive but a tad overweight, she appeared to be in her late forties. Sandy thought it a shame to have nice dark-brown hair like that and do just a no-fuss ponytail. Sandy walked over. “Don’t tell me your big newspaper comes out of this little room?”
The woman turned and took a long look at Sandy. She straightened and made a broad grin. “Hello to you. Yes, deceptive place, huh? State and national items come in digital and need little editing, mainly to make it fit if we use it at all. Feature writers work out of their homes now. Advertising has its own office. That leaves a few others and me. That’s the tour. How do you like your little MX-5?”
Sandy grinned. “I’m not wearing my Miata Rally t-shirt, so how did you figure that out?”
“I was at the window when you pulled in. I’m Linda Call.”
“Sandy Reid. How do you know my car?
“I’m a former auto mechanic masquerading as a reporter. I’ve worked on Miata’s, know every bolt. Wish I had one myself.”
“Mechanics don’t have nice-looking nails. Yours haven’t touched grease in a long time,” Sandy said. “Working your way through college repairing cars would make a good article.”
“Nothing in my life is that classy, Sugar. I dropped out of high school—long story. Was a mechanic in Georgia for twenty years, loved it. Just install the correct part with the correct tool, turn the key and stand back, that baby has to run. No jobs in Georgia so I came down here. I got a job here at the paper selling space. They liked my ad copy and the rest is history. I left out the part about a girlfriend, her boyfriend, a dead dog, and a fire. You just got the short version.”
“So, you know why I’m here?”
“I can guess. You’re either the sister or the wife of the Ray Reid in the clink. No ring, so I’ll go with sister.”
“Correct. He’s guilty by reason of being new in town. I’m going to put more suspects in the pot and stir it up.”
“That’ll get your name in the paper and your picture on TV. God, you’re the poster girl-next-door if I ever saw one. Grab that chair over there, Sugar. Scoot up close so I can get a good look at you. I heard you were in town. I phoned Jerry Kagan a couple days ago; he wouldn’t say anything about you and wouldn’t let me talk to your brother. Maybe you can help me. National TV is interested now. So far, I’m on the inside but I could easily get pushed out.”
“I haven’t seen any TV satellite trucks.”
“They did some videophone and shot some tape at first, but now they’re just standing by. I’ve been feeding the AP but the boss says not to help any TV reporters.
“I’ve read your pieces; you’re as good as anyone up north. Crime reporting is your thing.”
“I’m okay with small crimes. Big stories are rare around here, and I’m probably in over my head. It’s exciting but sad, I knew the senator.” Linda pointed at Sandy’s left hand. “You’re unattached—they don’t have what you’re after in the big city?”
“There’s somebody up there but I’m not looking for wedlock. I’m just a kid didn’t you notice.”
“You’d be surprised what I noticed.” She leaned closer. “Tell me, met anyone that interests you down here?”
“No time, and I don’t plan to be around here long.”
“You have other brothers, sisters?”
“No, just Raymond.”
“Too bad. Every girl should have a big sister, someone to take care of her now and then. Big sisters can be mothers, fathers, and priests. You going to let me interview you? My murder copy is getting stale. Got plenty of rumors that I can't back up.”
“Something for something?”
“Sure, let’s get right to it. What was in your brother’s statement to the police?”
“Geez, you don’t mess around. I can’t divulge that. Too many names, it might prejudice our case somehow.”
“What was your brother doing at the senator’s apartment?”
“Raymond met Towson at a party the week before.”
“Bullshit. Why was he there?"
“He was told someone was in trouble. He went there looking for her. That’s the truth.”
“Who’s her? What sort of trouble? I can’t print half-ass stuff. Does the trouble have anything to do with the murder?”
“Well, Linda, I guess I can’t tell you a whole lot without naming people.”
“So, start naming. I heard there was a fight.”
“No, and not much of an argument either. They were having coffee when Towson decided my brother was there for some sinister reason. When Towson unexpectedly pounded his fist on the counter demanding an explanation, Raymond dropped his cup in surprise. Towson told him to get out. Which he did.”
“Not bad, maybe I can fit that someplace. But the mystery to me is why he was there in the first place. What time did he leave?”
“Around noon. You didn’t happen to see the crime scene, did you?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. Fascinating to be standing where an old acquaintance was just murdered. I’d just talked with him earlier that day. What can I tell you? His place was a large three-bedroom and study. He was shot in the master bedroom literally with his pants down, they told me. CSI had already removed his body by the time I got there. I could see blood stains on that gorgeous wood floor. The king-sized bed was unmade with the bedding was on the floor. They let me peek around; the rest of his place was tidy.”
“You wrote that his aide and the maintenance man discovered the body. Since he was shot in late afternoon, doesn't the unmade bed seem significant to you?”
“You talk like a detective. What do you do in Philadelphia?”
Sandy told her and then asked, “Was he having an affair?”
“I’m sure he had them but he kept that private. I was just covering his gubernatorial campaign. Maybe I should have been more interested in identifying his bed partners.”
“Maybe you should start digging. Every lover is a possible suspect in my mind. Lovers always quarrel, Linda.”
“If I ever get one, I’ll remember that.”
“I understand the Tampa gambling interests wanted the senator out of the way.”
“Out of the way and dead are two different things.”
“How about his neighbor, Mrs. Crawford? Did you know she saw people coming and going that afternoon? One was a woman.”
“Hey! Now you’re talking.” Linda reached over and patted Sandy’s hand. “Who’s your source?”
“Unnamed police source. But that’s it, I don’t know if she identified the woman.”
“That’s fine, that fits. One cop securing the crime scene told me a woman was seen leaving the building around five. He didn’t have the description except he heard she had a red and blue scarf over her head as if hiding her face. I’ll bet it was that Mrs. Crawford who told them that. I talked to the M.E., and he says the murderer could be a woman: small weapon, standing back, low angle, and two shots. A man would step in and keep pulling the trigger just to hear those amusing little bangs.”