the press was considered essential, Eddy Povich was an exception. A crime reporter for the Washington Chronicle, Povich was a weasel of a man in every sense of the word. Skinny as a rat and no taller than five feet, he would stoop to any level for a story. The fact that he was a cousin of the U.S. attorney and had access to information no one else had made him even more despicable. Cops in the District and beyond ran over each other for the privilege of avoiding him.
"Get out of here, Povich. You know better than to enter a crime scene during a preliminary investigation."
"Stop treating me like a rookie, Calhoon. I know the drill." Povich’s beady eyes shot back to the now dark screen. "What happened? The hooker was blackmailing one of her Johns, so he iced her?"
Mitch was having difficulty holding back his temper. "I’m warning you, Povich. If you print a single unsubstantiated word the way you did with the Gallagher case, I’ll come after you personally."
But the reporter wasn’t a man who was easily intimidated. "The public has a right to be informed, Detective."
"Then inform them that a woman was murdered. Nothing more."
"At least give me her name."
"Not until her next of kin has been notified."
"What about her John? I can tell you know him. Who is he? Some political bigwig?" Povich grinned, exposing small yellow teeth. "The president maybe?"
"That information is confidential."
"You know I’m going to find out anyway. All I have to do is pick up the phone and call my cousin."
"Then why don’t you do that and get the hell out of my way?"
"Because I prefer to get my stories from the horse’s mouth." His irritating smile grew wider. "I’ll even spell your name right this time."
Mitch had about all he could stomach. He nodded to McCormack, who immediately took the reporter by the arm and escorted him out of the apartment, deaf to the man’s protests.
When the reporter was safely out of the way, Mitch removed his gloves, threw them into a paper bag and used his cell phone to call headquarters.
"I need an address for one Eric Logan," he said when Officer Devane in Records answered. "That’s Eric with a c and Logan, L-ogan."
Mitch could hear the click of computer keys as Devane began searching the Washington Area Law Enforcement System database, known as WALES. A few seconds later, he was back.
"It’s 1035 Norton Lane in Potomac, Maryland."
"Thanks, Pete."
The pounding inside his head woke him up. Moaning, Eric opened one eye, then the other. It took him a moment to realize he was in the Corvette, curled up in the front seat in a fetal position. And that he was freezing.
Gripping the steering wheel with his left hand, he pulled himself up slowly. Little by little, the fog lifted from his brain and he remembered. He had been too drunk to drive home, which explained the splitting headache, and there had been no vacancy at the motel next door.
Peering through the windshield, he surveyed the small parking lot. Christ, he could have been mugged. Or even killed. And the bitch of it was. the binge had been a complete waste of effort. His problem hadn’t gone away. It was still there, as insolvable as before.
Shivering from the cold, he turned on the ignition and cranked up the heat. As the powerful engine roared to life, the radio, which he had tuned to a twenty-four-hour news station, came on.
The broadcaster’s first words hit him like an iced dagger.
"A Dupont Circle woman, who has been identified as Gina Lamont, was found strangled to death in her home early this morning. Although no arrest has yet been made, a full-scale investigation is under way to locate Eric Logan of Potomac, Maryland. According to several witnesses. Logan, who is engaged to industrial heiress, Megan Hollbrook. was seen leaving a Georgetown party on Saturday night in the company of the victim. Ms. Hollbrook could not be reached
"Get out of here, Povich. You know better than to enter a crime scene during a preliminary investigation."
"Stop treating me like a rookie, Calhoon. I know the drill." Povich’s beady eyes shot back to the now dark screen. "What happened? The hooker was blackmailing one of her Johns, so he iced her?"
Mitch was having difficulty holding back his temper. "I’m warning you, Povich. If you print a single unsubstantiated word the way you did with the Gallagher case, I’ll come after you personally."
But the reporter wasn’t a man who was easily intimidated. "The public has a right to be informed, Detective."
"Then inform them that a woman was murdered. Nothing more."
"At least give me her name."
"Not until her next of kin has been notified."
"What about her John? I can tell you know him. Who is he? Some political bigwig?" Povich grinned, exposing small yellow teeth. "The president maybe?"
"That information is confidential."
"You know I’m going to find out anyway. All I have to do is pick up the phone and call my cousin."
"Then why don’t you do that and get the hell out of my way?"
"Because I prefer to get my stories from the horse’s mouth." His irritating smile grew wider. "I’ll even spell your name right this time."
Mitch had about all he could stomach. He nodded to McCormack, who immediately took the reporter by the arm and escorted him out of the apartment, deaf to the man’s protests.
When the reporter was safely out of the way, Mitch removed his gloves, threw them into a paper bag and used his cell phone to call headquarters.
"I need an address for one Eric Logan," he said when Officer Devane in Records answered. "That’s Eric with a c and Logan, L-ogan."
Mitch could hear the click of computer keys as Devane began searching the Washington Area Law Enforcement System database, known as WALES. A few seconds later, he was back.
"It’s 1035 Norton Lane in Potomac, Maryland."
"Thanks, Pete."
The pounding inside his head woke him up. Moaning, Eric opened one eye, then the other. It took him a moment to realize he was in the Corvette, curled up in the front seat in a fetal position. And that he was freezing.
Gripping the steering wheel with his left hand, he pulled himself up slowly. Little by little, the fog lifted from his brain and he remembered. He had been too drunk to drive home, which explained the splitting headache, and there had been no vacancy at the motel next door.
Peering through the windshield, he surveyed the small parking lot. Christ, he could have been mugged. Or even killed. And the bitch of it was. the binge had been a complete waste of effort. His problem hadn’t gone away. It was still there, as insolvable as before.
Shivering from the cold, he turned on the ignition and cranked up the heat. As the powerful engine roared to life, the radio, which he had tuned to a twenty-four-hour news station, came on.
The broadcaster’s first words hit him like an iced dagger.
"A Dupont Circle woman, who has been identified as Gina Lamont, was found strangled to death in her home early this morning. Although no arrest has yet been made, a full-scale investigation is under way to locate Eric Logan of Potomac, Maryland. According to several witnesses. Logan, who is engaged to industrial heiress, Megan Hollbrook. was seen leaving a Georgetown party on Saturday night in the company of the victim. Ms. Hollbrook could not be reached
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