reticence was due to his job, and she would make it clear that a source was sacred. She would die before betraying one.
Or hoped she would.
She touched the small recorder in her pocket. She used it for all interviews since her fingers often didnât move as quickly as words. It was her protection against any charge that she misquoted someone. She usually threw the tapes out or reused them.
She looked at her watch. Forty minutes left.
If he came.
He hadnât wanted to meet her. Heâd wanted to get rid of her. Yet she couldnât rid herself of the feeling that he had something inside he wanted to say.
She thought back over the day. It hadnât been that productive. Sheâd basically rewritten yesterdayâs story, staring with a lead saying the investigation was intensifying but that local officials were saying little. Neither the sheriff nor the police chief had been available today, and the only real news had been the funeral plans.
They were scheduled for tomorrow. Two of the murdered officers attended the same church and a joint funeral was planned. The third officerâs funeral would be later in the day.
Sheâd talked to the pastors of both churches, learning even more about the two men with families and about the officer who had recently married. He and his new wife had had counseling sessions at the church before their wedding, according to the pastor. The bride was a longtime resident of the county, and he had relocated and changed jobs so she could remain close to her family.
An irony that ripped into her heart. She couldnât even imagine the guilt the woman might feel.
Another look at her watch. Fifteen minutes.
Would he come?
Then she saw an older-model sedan entering the lot. Sandy usually drove a red pickup. For a moment, she felt a sudden chill although the temperature hovered in the midnineties. She switched on her miniature recorder in her pocket and went to the driverâs side of her car.
She saw Sandy step out of the car and went over to him. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked years older than his thirty-some years.
âThanks for coming,â she said.
âI just came to tell you not to contact me again,â he said. âI could lose my job if anyone thinks Iâm talking to you.â
âYouâre not,â she said. âYou havenât told me anything.â
âJust being seen with you â¦â
She waited for him to finish the sentence. When he didnât after several seconds, she tried to prompt him.
âIâm just asking about background. Stuff I could get from anyone.â
âThen try âanyoneâ,â he said shortly. âNot me.â
âSurelyââ
âLook,â he said, âyou donât know whatâs involved here.â
âNo,â she said, exasperated. âYou wonât tell me.â
He was silent.
âYou said before, or intimated, that a ânosyâ reporter could be in danger. It sounded as if you might have an idea who may have been involved.â
âAnyone who kills three cops is dangerous.â
âBut wouldnât they be long gone by now? Unless someone is protecting them?â
His mouth tightened, and he wouldnât meet her eyes.
She tried a different tack. âTell me more about the sheriffâs department. Judge Godwin said itâs a closed shop. What did he mean?â
âThat crazy old coot.â Sandyâs voice was harsh. âYou canât pay any attention to what he says.â
âIs it?â she persisted. She hadnât really thought it was important before. Why wouldnât a local sheriff hire people he knew and trusted? Sheâd basically wanted a little color, a paragraph, but something about his reaction alerted her instincts.
âIs it what?â
âA closed shop? Didnât you tell me your father worked for the sheriffâs office?â
He stared at her for a long moment.
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