Read Online Murder at The Washington Tribune by Margaret Truman - Free Book Online Page A

Twenty-seven years old, according to her driver’s license. She’s got a press pass.”
    â€œA press pass?” he said incredulously. “Who’d she work for?”
    Edith shook her head. “I’ve already said too much, Joe. Try me later.”
    She turned to leave but he grabbed her arm. “What about the couple over there who discovered her?”
    â€œOlder guy, pretty young lady. He lives in the burbs. The way I figure it, he’s married and in town for an evening with his young honey. But I don’t know that.”
    â€œI want to talk to them.”
    â€œBe my guest, but you’re wasting your time. The guy’s panicked that his name will become public. She says he didn’t want to get involved, but she insisted they call nine-one-one. Good luck.”
    She was right. The man and woman refused to give him even their names, the man snarling, “Get the hell away from us!”
    Wilcox was on his way back to the crime scene when a voice said, “Hey, Joe.” It was a cops reporter from a rival newspaper, who’d just arrived. “What’ve you got?” he asked.
    â€œNot much,” Wilcox replied. “One dead female. That’s all I know.”
    â€œHomicide?”
    â€œProbably. See you later.”
    As he retraced his route up the path to K Street, Wilcox saw that two TV remote trucks, their antennas extended, had been positioned at the park’s entrance. Coming down the path was Roberta, followed by a cameraman and sound technician.
    â€œHey,” Joe called to her, “fancy meeting you here.”
    â€œHi, Dad. Looks like we missed the action.”
    â€œYeah. It’s been buttoned up.”
    â€œWhat’s the scoop? Another murder? Must be the full moon.”
    â€œApparent homicide. Female. That’s all I know, hon.” He was surprised how easily he could lie to his own daughter.
    â€œHow come you were here?” she asked, that question suddenly crossing her mind.
    â€œI was in the neighborhood,” he said.
    She looked at him quizzically.
    â€œLook, I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Right now I’d better get back and file.”
    â€œBased on what?” she asked.
    â€œI’ll make some calls, like you will.” He kissed her cheek and was gone.
    His guilt kicked in the minute he was back in his car and on his way to the newspaper, but it didn’t last long. He was too focused on the events of the evening and his need to write about it. He evaded questions by others in the newsroom as he went to his computer terminal and began the story. When he was finished and had printed it out, he walked into the night Metro editor’s office and laid the draft on the desk in front of him.
    â€œThis is good stuff, Joe,” Barry said after reading it. “You can’t nail down who she worked for?”
    â€œI will,” Wilcox said.
    â€œWhat about an MPD statement backing up the possibility that a serial killer is on the loose?”
    â€œI’ll get that, too.”
    â€œPaul will love it,” Barry said, laughing and handing the story back.
    â€œHe’d better,” Wilcox said.
    He was tired as he drove home to Rockville. But once there, he got a second wind. He settled into his den and placed a call to Edith Vargas-Swayze’s cell phone. “Sorry to bother you, Edith, but I figured you were still on duty.”
    â€œWrong, Joe. I just got home. You didn’t wake me.”
    â€œGood. Look, I’m working on a story about tonight’s Franklin Park murder and I need something more tangible about where the victim worked.”
    â€œI can’t give you that, Joe.”
    â€œIt doesn’t have to be specific, Edith. A newspaper? Radio? TV?”
    â€œShe was a line producer for a TV station.”
    â€œOh. Which one?”
    â€œJoe, that’s it until we decide to release more.”
    â€œI understand. You know what I’m