The 20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20)(62)

Tuohy interrupted. “Let me see your card.”

Cindy handed him one from her jacket pocket. She glanced over his head and saw the framed picture on the wall of a gutted deer hanging head down from a tree, Tuohy standing beside it, grinning.

Cindy zipped up her Windbreaker as he pinned her card to the bulletin board over the coffee station.

He turned around and patted down the flyaway hair in his horseshoe-shaped fringe. His smile was absolutely chilling.

“What do you want to know?” he said.

“Everything. Why don’t I just let you tell me what happened here?”

She pulled out her phone, pressed Record, and put it on the counter between them. She said, “Can you spell your name for me?”

He said, “I could, but I won’t. Turn that off.”

Cindy sighed, then complied.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s my job to cover this story.”

“Do not use my name. I will deny I ever spoke to you.”

“Deal. Let me start over. What can you tell me?”

“There was a guy staying here last night,” said Tuohy. “What I heard is that he shoved our cleaning woman down the stairs. We’re insured. But her papers are wonky. I don’t know for sure. Not my business. Oh. A couple of cops got injured.”

“Shot?”

“Shot? No. Who told you that?”

The manager wouldn’t give her the name of the cleaning woman or of the man who’d booked the room, or the names of the police officers, saying, “I don’t want to lose my job, understand?”

“Of course,” Cindy said. “I feel the same way. Thanks for your time.”

Cindy shook off the yucky feeling of the last five minutes and walked out to the street, where a couple of uniforms were taking down the tape. She didn’t know any of them, but she found one who didn’t look like a hard-ass. He was in his thirties, wore a wedding band, and still knew how to smile.

She checked the name on his badge—Officer S. Bender—and introduced herself to him, saying that she was head crime writer at the Chronicle.

She said, “By chance, do you know Inspector Rich Conklin of Homicide? He’s a close friend. Was he involved in the incident?”

The cop said, “Yeah, he responded to the call. He’s fine.”

Cindy exhaled her relief and asked, “Could you tell me what happened here?”

“I will because your close friend is on the Job, but do not quote me. I’m not authorized to speak to anyone about an open case, let alone the press.”

“All right, Officer B-e-n-d-e-r.”

“Ha-ha. No, I mean it. Really.”

“No problem. I promise to keep your name out of the story.”

He gave her a stern look.

“I swear.”

She extended her hand and they shook on it.

Then Bender told her what he had heard. None of it was firsthand, but it was a scoop. Big one.

“It was that guy Barkley, who fired at the cops, I think. And he escaped. The thinking is that he could be one of those drug dealer killers, but I have not heard that officially. ‘Unconfirmed, unidentified person says,’ right, Ms. Thomas?”

“Exactly.”

“Good. Word is that after this incident went down, he stole a squad car and disappeared again. I also heard that he used to be a Navy SEAL.”

“Wow, and thanks, Mr. Anonymous Source Close to the Police Department.”

Bender grinned.

“I mean it. Thanks very much.”

Cindy groaned through the traffic jam on Highway 101, and after parking her car in the garage across from the Chronicle, she headed upstairs and went directly to Tyler’s office.

“Got a minute?” she asked.

“For you? Take two minutes.”

“Henry, I got a scoop on background.”

“Better than the carjack piece?”

Cindy said, “I can do both.” Then she laid out what she knew about the incident at the Sleep Well Motel.

“Get going,” said Tyler. “You have three hours.”

Cindy went to her office and set up her scanner on the windowsill. She’d gathered a lot of information on Barkley since his wife fired on police, giving her husband a chance to escape. She had a research file on the sniper victims, and Bender had confirmed what she’d heard—that Barkley had been a Navy SEAL.

At her request McGowan had gathered a stack of research on the SEALs, and now, as if she’d called him up, McGowan was at her door.

“Need help?”

“I’m drafting something,” she said. “Tyler wants to see it by six. Now that we’re working together, I’d like your input before that.”

“Okay, Cindy. I’ve checked the news feeds. There’s nothing about the Sleep Well Motel.”

Damn it. She hadn’t told him about that. He had police contacts of his own. Or he’d been snooping with his ear to Tyler’s office door.

“Good,” she said. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

She opened her research folder and highlighted portions of the research she’d need. She could do this.

She could do it fast and well.





CHAPTER 91





IT WAS THREE o’clock when Cindy was ready to write.