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Shit. Problem was, although the mute suspect was most certainly-well, probably-the stabber, Jake had no way to determine whether this Hewlitt was the hero he claimed to be, or was involved in some way.

A witness? A good Samaritan? A partner in crime? Who was who in this deal? Sure seemed like-but “seemed” didn’t matter.

“Just doing our jobs. Sir.” Jake tried to balance the proper police procedure with the potential outcomes. Getting sued for false arrest always loomed. Police brutality, although there clearly wasn’t any, would be a pain to handle. On the other hand, if this Hewlitt was part of the crime and Jake let him go, some theoretical lawsuit would be the least of Jake’s problems. Plus, either he or D would have to ride with the injured guy in the ambulance. Even strapped down and cuffed, no telling what might happen. Or what he might decide to say.

“We have to bring you downtown, sir.” Jake nodded at D, cocked his head toward the alley entrance.

“You’re taking me out there, in front of everyone, in freaking handcuffs?” Hewlitt’s face got even redder, the cords in his neck tightening, showing taut above his collar. “You don’t think that’s prejudicial? There’ll be a raft of TV cameras, hell knows what else. I’m warning you, Officers-”

D opened his mouth to protest, Jake raised a palm to stop him. Guy might have a point.

“If my picture gets on television in these handcuffs?” Hewlitt tried to gesture, failed. “I’ll own the damn police department. And I’ll own you.”

* * *

Bobby Land, totally psyched about his new name, had caught a flash of orange as the second ambulance made the sharp right into Franklin Alley, the same alley where the leather-jacketed cops had gone. An ambulance? With a suspect on the loose? Had to be connected. And where there was a connection, there was a good picture.

“Jane? I mean, Ms. Ryland?” Bobby touched her shoulder, just for an instant, didn’t want to spook her.

The reporter turned around, took the viewfinder from her right eye, pointed the camera at him, then at the pavement. He could tell she was deciding what to do. His life hung in the balance. Well, not really, but this chance meeting felt momentous. His chest tightened. If she ignored him, he’d push harder.

“Hang on, okay?” she said. She’d already turned back to the crowd, aiming her little camera at City Hall.

Good. Bobby watched her back, saw her inching closer to the action, camera aimed steady, even in those high heels. He could tell she was kinda nervous about him, she’d retreated a little before, keeping her distance from him, but he couldn’t worry about that. She’d understand soon enough. And accept him.

But he couldn’t delay much longer. Whatever was going on in that alley was already under way. News would not wait for anyone, even Jane Ryland. Taking a chance, seizing the moment, like his professor always said, he took a few quick steps, got close enough to tap her on the shoulder again. He had the eye, and this was his chance to prove it to her. This would make his career.

10

Jane recoiled at the touch on her shoulder.

She’d told that annoying kid to wait. What was up with him? “Hang on,” she called over her shoulder.

The ambulance with the ME riding along pulled away. Maybe this kid-Bobby? Robby?-actually had witnessed what happened, maybe gotten photographs of it, as he’d said. She reminded herself to be wary. Someone at a story often tried to latch on to her, to any reporter, something about the lure of fame or celebrity, as if being near a person who was “on TV” had some cachet. Everyone had an agenda, even if it was only proximity. Why did everyone hate TV but lust after celebrity?

But if he had actual crime pictures, that’d be big. And Jane needed big. She needed exclusive. She needed something that would clinch her a job at Channel 2.

It bugged her, though, that the groupie vibe coming from this kid was getting louder and louder. Reporters thrived on news tips, but sometimes tipsters got too invested, deciding they were part of the team. And once under way, an escalating fantasy relationship was tough to untangle. Jane still had people calling her years after they’d contributed to a story. Maybe it was the power of revealing a secret, of being the one in the know. The power of telling. But what if this kid knew something? Couldn’t hurt to find out.

“Sorry,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I think it’s going down in Franklin Alley.” Bobby, she remembered. Land. Like the camera. “I saw two cops, plainclothes, heading down there. And now an ambulance. It’s, like, around the corner, so you can’t see, but maybe you should-”

Jane glanced left, right, scanned the crime scene. Ambulance gone, cops still questioning clumps of possible witnesses. Traffic had started again, lunchtime returning to almost normal. Except for the bloodstain on the sidewalk. Two other TV stations had arrived, including her ex-employer, now competitor, Channel 11. Ha. With a bit of luck and a lot of fast driving, she’d beaten everyone on this story, and now they had to play news catch-up. Little late, she imagined the fun of telling them. Excitement’s over. They’d get aftermath, that was all. Score two for Jane.

Was this kid about to provide score three? This day was not playing out as she’d imagined. Not anywhere near.

“Okay, Bobby,” she said. She’d already started walking toward the alley, turning her back on her competitors. “Show me.”

* * *

The moment her computer flipped to 1:00 P.M., the minute she saw the double zeros, Tenley clicked the mouse, putting her computer station to sleep and setting herself free. Forty-five glorious minutes. Outside, maybe in the sun. Where life happened for real, not on video.

She had to admit she was curious. Something was going on in Curley Park. Even though Dahlstrom stopped the recording, that didn’t make it not exist. You couldn’t erase reality. She was bummed about the deleted video, but it wasn’t her fault. They better not blame her for it.

Out in the City Hall corridor, around the corner, she ducked into the ladies’ room-four stalls, all empty-and rolled up the waistband of her skirt so at least she looked cool. She untucked the tail of her T-shirt, EFFING AWESOME it said, and tied her cardigan around her waist. She looked in the mirror, just long enough to remember her earrings were gone, but her hair would cover all those little holes. Now if she could get out of here without running into her mother. Mom’s office was on a different floor, so all she had to do was pray to the elevator gods to protect her from coincidence. She hardly ever saw her mom at City Hall. It wasn’t like bring-your-daughter-to-work time around here-that’d be the day. Tenley looked again at her mirror image, frowning. She was sorry she was such a disappointment.

But that’s how the cookie crumbled, huh, family? One daughter dead, the other a disaster.

She pushed open the door, checked the time on her cell phone. Forty minutes to go. Down the zigzag staircase, out past floor three, no mother, past two, alone, past one, banging out the metal side door into the surprising glare of sunshine on Congress Street.

It was usually crowded at lunchtime, but today the swirl of cars and pedestrians had a feel of-off. Cops all over the place, some in uniforms directing traffic. Globs of bystanders milling around by the statues. She looked both ways on Congress, ignoring the crosswalk-pretty funny if someone upstairs was watching when she jaywalked, ha ha-and stepped onto the sidewalk by the park. A strip of yellow tape-CAUTION CAUTION CAUTION-prevented her from getting any closer to whatever she’d already missed. An empty brown paper bag caught the breeze, puffed up, and blew away.