“Your secretary took the call?”
“No, she’d already gone home. I took it myself.” Something trembled through the shield of shock. “You think I killed her? You think I did that to her? Why?” She lurched to her feet, swaying like a drunk as the overcoat slid to the floor. “How could I? Why would I? Do you think I lured her here, and murdered her, then taped it all so I could show it to all my loyal viewers in the morning?”
“Calm down, Miss Reynolds.” Jenner got cautiously to his feet. She looked as though she might dissolve if he touched her. “No one’s accusing you of anything. I’m just trying to get the facts.”
“I’ll give the facts. Someone killed her. Someone blew her face away and propped her up on the set. Oh God.” She pressed a hand to her head. “This can’t be real.”
“Sit down and catch your breath.” Jenner took her by the arm. There was a commotion in the corridor behind him and he turned to the door.
“Goddamn it, I want to see her.” Finn shoved his way clear of the cop trying to detain him and burst through the doorway. “Deanna.” He sprinted forward as she swayed toward him. “You’re all right.” He vised his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. “You’re all right.”
“Finn.” She pressed against him, desperate for the feel of his flesh, his warmth, his comfort. “Someone killed Angela. I found her. Finn, I found her.”
But he was already drawing her away, appalled by the swelling and matted blood on the back of her head. Relief twisted into a dark, keen thirst for revenge. “Who hurt you?”
“I don’t know.” She burrowed back into his arms. “I didn’t see. They think I did it. Finn, they think I killed her.”
Over her trembling shoulder he stared stonily at Jenner. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Miss Reynolds is mistaken. We have no intention of charging her at this time. Nor, in my opinion, in the future.”
“Then she’s free to go.”
Jenner rubbed his chin. “Yes. We’ll need her to sign a statement, but we can do it tomorrow. Miss Reynolds, I know you’ve had a shock, and I apologize for having to put you through the questioning. I advise you to go by the hospital, have someone take a look at you.”
“I’ll take her. Deanna.” Gently Finn eased her back to the chair. “I want you to wait here a minute. I need to talk to Lieutenant Jenner.”
She clung to his hand. “Don’t leave.”
“No, just outside the door. Just for a minute. Detective.”
Jenner followed Finn into the corridor, nodding to a uniform to back off. “She’s had a rough night, Mr. Riley.”
“I’m aware of that. I don’t want you to add to it.”
“Neither do I. But certain wheels have to turn. I’ve got a nasty murder, and as far as I can tell, she’s the only witness. You wouldn’t mind telling me where you were tonight?”
Finn’s eyes cooled. “No, I wouldn’t. I was taping a segment on the South Side. I’d guess I’d have about a dozen witnesses to place me there until about midnight. My driver took me home, dropped me off just after one. I put in a call to 911 at one-twenty.”
“Why?”
“Because my house had been trashed. You want to verify that, contact your superior.”
“I don’t doubt your word, Mr. Riley.” Jenner rubbed his chin again, toying with the timetable. “You said one-twenty?”
“Give or take a minute. Whoever broke in left a message for Deanna on the bedroom wall. You can check with your associates for details. I’m getting Deanna out of here.”
“I’ll do that.” Jenner made another note. “Mr. Riley, I’d take her out another way. I wouldn’t want her going through the studio.”
“Hey, Arnie!” Another plainclothes cop signaled from the studio end of the corridor. “M.E.’s finished here.”
“Tell him to hang on a minute. We’ll be in touch, Mr. Riley.”
Saying nothing, Finn turned back into the dressing room. He took off his own coat, pushing Deanna’s limp arms through the sleeves. He didn’t want to waste time looking for hers. “Come on, baby, let’s get out of here.”
“I want to go home.” She leaned heavily against him as he led her out.
“No way. I’m taking you to E.R.”
“Don’t leave me there.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
He took the long way around, circumventing the studio, choosing the angled stairs that led to the parking lot. Because he knew what to expect before he opened the door, he kissed her brow, held her by the shoulders.
“The place is going to be swarming with reporters and Minicams.”
She squeezed her eyes tight, shivered. “I know. It’s okay.”
“Just hold on tight to me.”
“I already am.”
When he shoved the door open, the flash of klieg lights blinded her. She shielded her eyes and saw nothing but eager bodies rushing toward her, microphones stabbing out like lances and the wide, demanding eye of the camera.
Questions hurtled at her, making her hunch her shoulders in defense as Finn propelled her through the surging sea of reporters.
She knew most of them, she realized. Liked most of those she knew. Once upon a time they had competed for stories. Once upon a time she would have been among them, pressing forward, scurrying for that one telling picture, that one mumbled comment.
Then flying to the news desk to get the item—she was an item now—on the air minutes, even seconds, before the competition.
But she was no longer the observer. She was the observed. How could she tell them how she felt? How could she tell them what she knew? Her mind was like glass, throbbing from some deadly, high-pitched whine. She thought if she couldn’t have silence, she would explode and shatter.
“Christ, Dee.”
A hand reached for her, hesitating as she cringed away. And she saw Joe, the Minicam on his shoulder, his baseball cap askew.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and swore again. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s all right. I’ve been there, remember? It’s just the job.” She climbed gratefully into Finn’s car and closed her eyes. Tuned out.
Jenner turned the studio over to the forensic team. Since he’d already had two men question the occupants of the building, he decided to wait until morning before doing a follow-up there. Instead, he left the CBC Building and drove to Finn Riley’s home.
He wasn’t surprised, or displeased, when Finn pulled into the driveway behind him.
“How’s Miss Reynolds?”
“She’s got a concussion,” Finn said tersely. “They’re keeping her overnight for observation. I had a feeling I’d find you here.”
Jenner nodded as they started up the walk. “Chilly night,” he said conversationally. “Dispatch showed your call came in at one twenty-three. First unit arrived at one twenty-eight.”
“It was a quick response.” Though it hadn’t seemed quick as he’d spent that endless five minutes looking over the destruction of his home. “Are you handling B and Es, too, Lieutenant?”
“I like to diversify. And the truth is”—he paused just outside the door—“I figure I’ve got an interest in this. Between the business in Greektown and the investigation on those letters Miss Reynolds has been getting, I figure I’ve got an interest. Does that bother you?”
Finn studied Jenner in the starlight. The man looked tired, yet completely alert. It was a combination Finn understood perfectly. “No.”
“Well then.” Jenner sliced through the police tape over the damaged door. “Maybe you’ll take me on the grand tour.”
Riley was a pretty snappy dresser, Jenner mused as they moved inside. The kind who leaned toward leather jackets and faded jeans. Jenner had tried on a leather jacket once. He’d looked like a cop. He always did.
“Did you mention the trouble here to Miss Reynolds?”
“No.”
“Can’t blame you. She’s had a rough night.” He glanced around. The place looked as if it h
ad been bombed. “So have you.”
“You could say that. Almost every room was trashed.” Finn gestured toward the living area off the main hall. “I didn’t take a lot of time going through it.”
Jenner grunted. Word was the minute Finn had learned of the trouble at CBC, he’d sprinted out, leaving the destruction behind.
“You must be pretty steamed.” That was putting it mildly, Jenner mused. What he saw on Finn’s face was cold rage. If he’d run across the perp, he’d have sliced him into little pieces. Though it was unprofessional, Jenner would have given a great deal to see it.
“I can replace the things,” Finn said as they started upstairs.
“Yeah.” Jenner stepped inside the bedroom, nodded toward the wall. “So our friend’s taken to writing on walls.” Taking out his pad, Jenner copied the writing style onto a blank page. This was the first time the writer had exposed himself this way. “Makes a statement.” One quick scan and he’d taken in the devastation of the room. “Forensics are going to have a hell of a time sorting through this mess.” He toed a broken perfume bottle with his foot. “Tiffany,” he commented. “A hundred fifty an ounce. My wife, she likes that scent. I bought her the cologne for her birthday. And those sheets. Irish linen. My grandmother had a tablecloth. I used to rub my face over it when I was a kid.”
Nearly amused, Finn leaned on the doorjamb and studied Jenner. “Is this how you conduct an investigation, Lieutenant? Or do you moonlight for an insurance company?”
“Always was a sucker for quality.” He slipped his pad back in his pocket, just above the snug weight of his weapon. “So, Mr. Riley, I’d have to say we have a connection.”
“So, Lieutenant, I’d have to agree with you.”
“Murder happened by midnight.” He scratched the back of his neck. “The drive from CBC to here takes fourteen minutes, at the speed limit. He spends, say, ten minutes setting the stage, turning on the equipment. Another ten to get over here. You get home about twenty after one. Yeah, I’d say that’s enough time.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, Lieutenant. What’s next?”
“We’ll canvass the neighborhood tomorrow. Somebody might have seen something.”
“You haven’t had time to interview Dan Gardner.”
“No.” A ghost of a smile moved Jenner’s lips. “My next stop.”
“Mine too.”
“Mr. Riley, you’d be better off going back to the hospital, watching over your lady. Leave this to me.”
“I’ll watch out for Deanna,” Finn returned. “And I’m going to talk to Gardner. I’m going to use everything and everyone I know to get to the root of this. I can go with you, Lieutenant, or I can go around you.”
“That’s not friendly, Mr. Riley.”
“I’m not feeling friendly, Lieutenant Jenner.”
“Don’t imagine you are, but this is police business.”
“So was Greektown.”
Jenner’s brows lifted as he studied Finn. The man knew which buttons to push, he mused.
“I like you,” Jenner said after a moment. “I liked the way you handled yourself in Greektown. Saw you take that hit.” He scratched his chin, considered. “You just kept right on reporting.”
“That’s my job.”
“Yeah, and I got mine. I’m willing to bend the rules a bit, Mr. Riley, for a couple reasons. One, I really admire your lady, and two . . . I figure there’s a ten-year-old girl out there who just might owe you her life. I might not have mentioned, I have a granddaughter that age.”
“No, you didn’t mention it.”
“Well.” Jenner simply nodded again. “You can follow me in your car.”
When Deanna surfaced, it was midmorning. Yet it wasn’t necessary to orient herself; she remembered everything too clearly. She was in the hospital under observation. She wished she could laugh at the term. She understood that she would remain under all manner of observation for a long time.
She turned her head, mindful of the dull ache swimming inside, and studied Finn. He was dozing in the chair beside the bed, his hand covering hers. Unshaven, exhausted and pale, he was the most comforting sight she could imagine.
Not wanting to disturb him, she shifted slowly. But her slight movement woke him.
“Are you hurting?”
“No.” Her voice was weak; she put an effort into strengthening it. “You shouldn’t have sat up all night. They’d have found somewhere for you to stretch out.”
“I can sleep anywhere. I’m a reporter, remember?” He scrubbed his hands over his face, then stretched out the kinks in his back. “You should try to get some more sleep.”
“I want to go home. A mild concussion isn’t enough to keep me in the hospital.” She sat up, but cautiously, knowing if she so much as sneezed he’d run for a nurse. “No double vision, no memory lapses, no nausea.”
“You’re pale as wax, Deanna.”
“You’re not looking so hale and hearty yourself. Want to crawl in here with me?”
“Later.” He scooted over to sit on the side of the bed and touched his hand to her cheek. “I love you.”
“I know. I don’t think I could have gotten through last night without you.”
“You don’t have to get through anything without me.”
She smiled, but her eyes strayed from his to the television bracketed to the wall at the foot of the bed. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard the morning news?”
“No.” He turned, looked at her intently. “No,” he repeated. “We’ll deal with it later.”
Yes, she thought. Later was better. “It was horrible the way she died. Horrible the way it was all so perfectly staged. I need to think about it, but I can’t seem to.”
“Then don’t. Don’t push it, Deanna.” He looked over as he heard Fran’s voice, lifted high in indignant rage as she argued with the guard outside the door. “I’ll tell her you’re resting.”
“No, please. I want to see her.”
Finn had just gone to the door to have a word with the guard when Fran burst in. She bulleted toward the bed and snatched Deanna into her arms. “Oh God, I’ve been sick ever since I heard. Are you all right? How bad are you hurt?”
“Just a bump on the head.” She returned the embrace, squeezing hard. “I was just about to get up and get dressed.”
“Are you sure?” Fran drew her back; she might have been examining one of her children for symptoms. “You’re so pale. Finn, go get the doctor. I think he should take another look at her.”
“No.” She took Fran’s hands firmly in hers. “They just wanted me overnight for observation. I’ve been observed. The office? What’s going on?”
Something flickered in Fran’s eyes, then she shrugged. “Chaos. What else? The cops are taking statements from everyone.”
“I should go in, do something.”
“No.” The protest came quickly, fiercely. “I mean it, Dee. There’s nothing you can do, and if you came in at this point, you’d only add to the confusion. As soon as I go back and tell everyone you’re okay, it should calm down a little.” Her lips trembled before she wrapped her arms around Deanna again. “You really are okay? It must have been horrible for you. Every time I think of what could have happened—”
“I know.” Comforted, Deanna cradled her head on Fran’s shoulder. “Angela. God, Fran, I still can’t believe it. Who could have hated her that much?”
Pick a number, Fran thought. “I don’t want you to worry about the show or the office. We ran a re-broadcast today. Cassie’s canceling and rescheduling guests we’d booked for the next week.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’m the producer, and I say it is.” After a last squeeze, Fran pulled back and turned to Finn for support. “Are you going to throw your weight in with me?”
“It doesn’t appear to be necessary, but sure. I’m taking her up to the cabin for a while.”
“I can’t just leave. Jenner’s bound to want to talk t
o me again. And I have to talk to Loren, to my staff.”
Finn studied her a moment. There was pain in her eyes as well as the dregs of terror and shock. “Here’s the way I see it,” he said mildly. “I can spring you out of here later today and take you