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Jo’s eyes narrowed. “The detectives in charge determine which information gets withheld and which is disseminated. And law enforcement gets extremely insular when one of our own is murdered, let alone two of us in two days. Whoever’s feeding you information has an agenda.”
Bernard remained silent.
Jo studied Bernard’s face. Her gut told her Bernard was being deceptive, not just being professionally evasive. Still, Bernard had made good on her end of their deal so far, and it was too soon to completely alienate her as a potential ally. She made a quick decision.
“Hopefully we’ll know something more by the time we hold the press conference.” Jo turned and strode away, raising her hand where Bernard couldn’t see to signal Arnett not to say more.
They were halfway to the car when Bernard called out. “Detective Fournier—I need to show you something.”
Jo stopped and turned around. “Show us what?”
Bernard pulled out her phone and tapped at it as she closed the distance between them. Then she held it up to reveal a text:
Assistant District Attorney Sandra Ashville was shot outside her home on Lake Pocumtuk this morning. One down.
An aching chill gripped Jo. “Whose number is that?”
Bernard glanced around. “I have no idea. I tried to trace it and couldn’t. But there’s more.” She tapped again, then displayed another text:
Judge Winnie Sakurai was killed this morning in the Zen topiary garden of Burkefeld Gardens. Two down.
Jo again checked the source. “From a different number.”
“Yes,” Bernard said. “I couldn’t trace that one, either.”
Jo met and held her eyes. “Failing to inform us of this could be seen as obstruction of justice.”
“That’s why I’m informing you now.” Fear showed in Bernard’s eyes. “When I got it, my first instinct was not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I was thinking more in terms ofmyagenda rather than what agendatheymight have until you just pointed that out.”
Jo found that awfully naive for a journalist, but didn’t have time to push her on the issue now. “Screenshot those and text them to me,” Jo said. “Our tech expert will track them. And she may need to see the actual phone and your phone records.”
Bernard frowned. “I have sources for other stories I need to protect.”
“And we have a killer who’s counting down their murders to a journalist, with language that strongly suggests they’re going to kill again. And with two murders in two days, that gives us less than a day to find them before the killer does.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
“Both burner phones,” Lopez told them back at HQ. “Let me guess. You’re shocked and stunned to hear it.”
Jo half-smiled—she would in fact have bet her retirement fund that’s exactly what they’d find. “Any chance you were able to trace them to place of purchase?”
“One from a Walmart in Worcester, the other from a Walmart in Boston. Both with cash, so the trail ends there. One about two months ago, the other a few days after that, so the security footage for both purchases is long gone.”
“Also not a surprise,” Arnett said. “Can we get data on where the phones pinged at the relevant times?”
Lopez cracked the knuckles of one hand. “Already submitted the requests.”
Arnett pointed at her hand. “Where’d you pick that nasty habit up? You’ll get arthritis.”
Lopez scrunched her brow at him. “First of all,thanks, Dad. And second of all, that’s a myth.”
“You’re deluding yourself,” he said.
“Google it.” Lopez purposefully cracked each knuckle on the other hand one at a time.
“Disgusting,” Arnett grumbled.
“She’s right, I was talking to Matt about that the other day. And, she’s been cracking her knuckles for years,” Jo said. “But she only does it when she’s intensely stressed. Just like you get crabby when you’re frustrated. In this case, by murdered colleagues and mystery texts.”
