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“I’ve got something you need to see,” he’d said on the phone fifteen minutes earlier. “If it were up to me, I’d say ‘screw you’ and just do my thing, expose the damned serial killer and be a hero, but my editor has some twisted ethics.”
“You can expose Star-Crossed?” Grayson asked, but inwardly thought, What a crock.
“I’ve got some evidence.”
Grayson had doubted it. “What evidence?”
“It’s something you need to see.”
“What is it?”
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Lisa Jackson
“I’ll come show it to you.”
“If you’ve got evidence, Douglas, you’ll be leaving it.”
“We’ll talk about it.”
“I’ve got a busy day.” Grayson wasn’t buying the bold reporter’s story. Manny had been known to brag and bluster on more than one occasion.
“Not too busy for this. I’ll be there in half an hour.” And Manny had hung up in his brusque I’mso-important way that always bugged Grayson, but then anything Manny Douglas did tended to get under the sheriff’s skin.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t have enough to do. But if the guy had anything, any little shred of evidence or a clue to the killer, Grayson couldn’t afford to turn him away. Outside a mother of a storm was passing through again, though the weather service said that it should break up by late that afternoon. God, he hoped so.
Now, the television set in his office was turned low to the news. Again, the weather was the topic, the report nearly finished.
“And I’ve got good news for all the boys and girls,” the perky blond weather girl at KBTR television noon edition predicted after showing a satellite view of the area. “It looks like Santa is going to get through after all! So put out a plate of cookies and a big cup of hot chocolate tonight. It’s going to be a cold one.” She grinned into the camera, the white ball of her Santa’s hat bouncing near her cheek. “Back to you, Kelly and Darren.”
“Thanks, Rhonda!” Kelly, the smiling anchorwoman, said as she stared straight into the studio camera. Her smile was wide, her hair streaked blond,
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her personality usually bright. Today, her grin slid from her face and her expression mirrored that of her more serious co-anchor, Darren Faust, a squarejawed newsman with thick dark hair and an easy, if fleeting, smile.
“On a more somber note,” she said, glancing down at her notes, “last night Sheriff Dan Grayson of Pinewood County held a press conference on the steps of the sheriff’s office to discuss the latest information on the serial killer known as the Star-Crossed Killer who has been terrorizing the greater area around Grizzly Falls for the past few months. Ever since the body of Theresa Charleton was discovered by hikers—”
Grayson aimed his remote like a gun and shot the television. He knew what he’d said in the press conference, the questions he’d answered about the killer. He didn’t need another run-through. Stretching, he walked into the hallway where a janitor was busily mopping down the floor where dozens of boots had left a trail of melting snow. The janitor was a big man who worked part-time, but lately, with the bad weather, the depart
ment had added hours to his shift.
“Never ends, does it, Seymore?” the sheriff said.
“You got that right!” Chuckling, he worked his way backward from the orange cone he’d placed near the reception area warning that the floor was wet.
Alvarez was at her desk; he’d seen her return a few minutes earlier. Now she was frowning thoughtfully at her monitor and the image of a forest service map of the rugged, mountainous terrain where the killer had shot out the tires of the vehicles of his victims.
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Lisa Jackson
“Learn anything from the DeGrazios?” he asked, stopping in the doorway.
She glanced up. “You mean other than that her kid needs to be taken down a peg or two or twenty?”
