try calling you at work tomorrow.”
I had a feeling in my bones that the “something awful” was the murder of Mrs. Fremont. If Sammy wasn’t in danger before, she probably was now. Where on the streets could she hide out? What place that other runaways wouldn’t know about?
I paced around my desk. I couldn’t leave—I couldn’t afford to miss a call from any of these kids. I started thinking about Julie Montgomery. She was about seventeen or eighteen. I remembered Jacob’s blush when I had asked him about his source inside the Montgomery campaign. Could Jacob and Julie be friends? More than friends? Considering the bitter rivalry between the two candidates, it didn’t seem likely. But it wasn’t impossible.
My thoughts were interrupted by Lydia, who was walking toward me with a piece of paper in her outstretched hand. “Have you seen this?” she asked. “It’s being hand-delivered to the homes of most registered voters today.”
“Stop Satanism in Las Piernas,” I read aloud, sinking into my chair. There was a dim photo of Jacob Henderson, dressed in black, his face lit by firelight, talking to a woman in a dark robe—she looked like Sammy, from what I could see. They were in a circle of other robed figures. The spiel below the photo was pretty much as Jacob had predicted. It didn’t look good.
“The phones have started ringing off the hooks,” Lydia was saying. “Looks like Henderson has had it. I think it’s going to get worse; the Fremont murder story has been on the radio, and Wrigley wants to tag it ‘The Satanist Murder.’”
I could see Mark Baker, who covered crime stories, starting to make his way over to me. The phone on my desk rang. I picked it up.
“Irene?” It was Pete Baird, Frank’s partner.
“Yeah, Pete.”
“I’m worried about Frank. You have a fight?”
“Not really. He’s upset—look, let me call you later, okay? I’m in a crowd here.”
“Okay, but let me call you instead. We’re on our way out.”
I hung up, noting the expression of extreme curiosity on Baker’s face.
“Was that Frank?”
“No,” I said, glad to be able to tell the truth. “What’s up?”
“It looks like there may be some tie-in between the D.A.’s campaign and the murder of the Fremont woman. You got anything that might help me?”
I was spared answering by John Walter’s booming “Kelly!”
“If I’m alive when I leave his office, I’ll find you, Mark.”
He nodded in sympathy, and I walked toward John’s office. Even though I could see John turning red, I stopped by Lydia’s desk on the way.
“Lydia, there are three people trying to reach me.” I handed her the message slips. “If any of them call, please get me out of John’s office.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Please, Lydia.”
I must have sounded desperate, because she nodded her head.
“Don’t let me interrupt your busy day, Kelly!” John bellowed.
I straightened up and said, “I appreciate your understanding, John.”
He turned on his heel and I made haste to follow.
I closed the door and sat down. He glowered at me.
“You know what, Kelly?” He held up a copy of the Montgomery flyer and waved it back and forth. “I’ve got an itch somewhere that tells me you knew something about this hit piece of Montgomery’s yesterday.”
“Almost right, John. Jacob Henderson met me yesterday morning, asking to talk to me off the record. He told me he had heard from someone in the Montgomery campaign that this was going out. He tried to explain why he was at this gathering in the photo. I spent yesterday morning trying to find out if there was going to be a hit, but although it was pretty clear some kind of mudslinging was going on, I couldn’t get anyone to confirm the nature of the piece. I spent the afternoon trying to confirm Jacob’s version of the story. He claims that he was there to talk a friend into leaving, and that he’s not part of the coven. I talked to the friend, and she backs him
I had a feeling in my bones that the “something awful” was the murder of Mrs. Fremont. If Sammy wasn’t in danger before, she probably was now. Where on the streets could she hide out? What place that other runaways wouldn’t know about?
I paced around my desk. I couldn’t leave—I couldn’t afford to miss a call from any of these kids. I started thinking about Julie Montgomery. She was about seventeen or eighteen. I remembered Jacob’s blush when I had asked him about his source inside the Montgomery campaign. Could Jacob and Julie be friends? More than friends? Considering the bitter rivalry between the two candidates, it didn’t seem likely. But it wasn’t impossible.
My thoughts were interrupted by Lydia, who was walking toward me with a piece of paper in her outstretched hand. “Have you seen this?” she asked. “It’s being hand-delivered to the homes of most registered voters today.”
“Stop Satanism in Las Piernas,” I read aloud, sinking into my chair. There was a dim photo of Jacob Henderson, dressed in black, his face lit by firelight, talking to a woman in a dark robe—she looked like Sammy, from what I could see. They were in a circle of other robed figures. The spiel below the photo was pretty much as Jacob had predicted. It didn’t look good.
“The phones have started ringing off the hooks,” Lydia was saying. “Looks like Henderson has had it. I think it’s going to get worse; the Fremont murder story has been on the radio, and Wrigley wants to tag it ‘The Satanist Murder.’”
I could see Mark Baker, who covered crime stories, starting to make his way over to me. The phone on my desk rang. I picked it up.
“Irene?” It was Pete Baird, Frank’s partner.
“Yeah, Pete.”
“I’m worried about Frank. You have a fight?”
“Not really. He’s upset—look, let me call you later, okay? I’m in a crowd here.”
“Okay, but let me call you instead. We’re on our way out.”
I hung up, noting the expression of extreme curiosity on Baker’s face.
“Was that Frank?”
“No,” I said, glad to be able to tell the truth. “What’s up?”
“It looks like there may be some tie-in between the D.A.’s campaign and the murder of the Fremont woman. You got anything that might help me?”
I was spared answering by John Walter’s booming “Kelly!”
“If I’m alive when I leave his office, I’ll find you, Mark.”
He nodded in sympathy, and I walked toward John’s office. Even though I could see John turning red, I stopped by Lydia’s desk on the way.
“Lydia, there are three people trying to reach me.” I handed her the message slips. “If any of them call, please get me out of John’s office.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Please, Lydia.”
I must have sounded desperate, because she nodded her head.
“Don’t let me interrupt your busy day, Kelly!” John bellowed.
I straightened up and said, “I appreciate your understanding, John.”
He turned on his heel and I made haste to follow.
I closed the door and sat down. He glowered at me.
“You know what, Kelly?” He held up a copy of the Montgomery flyer and waved it back and forth. “I’ve got an itch somewhere that tells me you knew something about this hit piece of Montgomery’s yesterday.”
“Almost right, John. Jacob Henderson met me yesterday morning, asking to talk to me off the record. He told me he had heard from someone in the Montgomery campaign that this was going out. He tried to explain why he was at this gathering in the photo. I spent yesterday morning trying to find out if there was going to be a hit, but although it was pretty clear some kind of mudslinging was going on, I couldn’t get anyone to confirm the nature of the piece. I spent the afternoon trying to confirm Jacob’s version of the story. He claims that he was there to talk a friend into leaving, and that he’s not part of the coven. I talked to the friend, and she backs him
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