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Mary closed her eyes for a second. She took a deep breath. “I had heard, but I was hoping it wasn’t true.” She shook her head. “Oh, my God. Fuck! Do they know who?”
“No. They haven’t arrested anyone.”
“Dammit. Was he in any kind of trouble?”
“I don’t believe so. He didn’t seem worried about anything.”
“Where…where did he—”
“At home…in his kitchen.”
“How do you know? Were you there?”
“Yes—well, no…” Theo dropped her notebook. She slid out her chair to retrieve it from under the table. Her hand was shaking.
“I’m so sorry,” Mary said. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying to understand what happened.”
“I’m not sure what happened,” Theo lowered her voice. “I found Dan’s body, but I hadn’t seen him that day. It’s why I went to his house.”
“Were you and Dan…you know?”
Theo was startled. “We wrote together… I mean in the same place…not the same book.” She paused wondering if she was speaking to an old flame of Dan Murdoch’s. Theo’s first thought was that Mary was too young…but then she caught herself. Mary Cowell was probably older than she. “How did you know Dan? Did you work with him?”
“Not the way you did. Jesus! You poor thing! I can only imagine what it was like to find him like that.”
Theo tried not to allow her mind’s eye to conjure images. “It was horrible,” she whispered. “There was so much blood.”
Mary reached across the table and took her hand. “I know we’ve only just met, but if you want to talk?”
Theo pulled herself together. “I’m fine—really.”
Mary released her hand. “Dan and I moved in the same circles back in New York. He used to make me laugh. Was it a robbery, do you think?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Did the killer take anything? Oh, my God, they weren’t after a manuscript or something, were they?’
“I don’t know… I don’t think so.”
“Because that would be a story—Writer Killed for Manuscript!”
“I don’t think—”
“There was another man killed in Lawrence the other day, wasn’t there?” Mary clutched the large silver cross that hung on a leather cord around her neck. “Did he and Dan have anything in common? Do the police believe we’re dealing with a serial killer?”
“I don’t know,” Theo said flustered.
“But you were there…when the second body was found?”
The question was like cold water. “How did you know that?” Theo demanded.
“Someone must have mentioned it. What exactly was your relationship to the second victim?”
“Who did you say you were?” Theo moved her chair out.
The woman placed her business card on the table and pushed it towards Theo. “Mary Cowell. The Kansas City Star.”
Theo left the card where it was. She’d been talking to a journalist. “I have to go,” she said, standing.
