An Intimate Murder (The Catherine O'Brien Series) (12 page)

“I’m sorry but I don’t believe in censorship. I believe Andrew has been instructed to give me all access.”

Icy fingers squeezed my heart and heat boiled into my cheeks.

Now she's on a first name basis with the chief?

This day had slid so far down into hell Satan would need a shovel to find us.

Louise leaned forward within inches of Jane’s face. “You will be given all access, but you will not have access to the victim’s family. You will also not go to press until either Detective O’Brien or I have read and approved your story.”

“That’s censorship.”

“Call it what you want but we cannot allow you to jeopardize an ongoing investigation by publishing sensitive information. You want a story on the inner workings of an investigation, then that’s what the content of your stories will be limited to.”

Jane Katts stood, fumbled for, and finally found, her cell phone.

“We’ll see,” she said, and then stormed out of the room.

My eyes had gone panorama-wide. I waited for the chief to turn various shades of red and then progress into purple. He looked as stunned as I felt.

“Detective Montgomery?” He found his voice after a few minutes. “Have you gone completely mental?”

Louise smiled and shook her head.

“Not at all, chief. When I found out that Ms. Katts was using her influence at the Mayor’s office, to arm twist the department into giving her an exclusive on this case, I called a friend of mine at the Mayor’s office.”

Louise looked over her shoulder to where Jane Katts was furiously gesturing while barking into the phone.

“Jane is about to learn that my friend is higher up on the political food chain than her friend.”

Check and mate.

“Louise swiveled toward the chief. “The Mayor has agreed that we have full discretion on which areas we allow her to see and the information we feel is fit for publication.”

“But you can’t force the paper to censor her,” I said. “I don’t think they’ll go for us having final approval on the story.”

“Actually, I already spoke to another friend of mine who sits on the board of directors at the paper. I simply explained the situation to him.”

“That can’t be it,” I said and turned to watch Jane Katts have a complete meltdown. She was learning a valuable lesson on how to run with the big dogs.

“The blood-suckers at the paper couldn’t care less about our investigation. What else did you promise him?”

Louise stood and crossed to me. She laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“I promised him, that when the investigation was over, we would both sit down for an exclusive. He scoops all the other news agencies in the Twin Cities and we have final say during the investigation.”

“Thanks for having my back on this one, Louise.”

“When do I not have your back, Catherine?”

We watched Jane’s meltdown like spectators at a fireworks display.

“This was fun,” Louise said.

“You have a mean streak two trucks wide.” Chief stepped up behind us. “I never thought you had it in you, Louise.”

“I guess I’ve been hanging out with Catherine too long.”

“No.” I shook my head and patted Louise on the back. “You have surpassed the master on this one.”

She pressed the palms of her hands together and bowed to me. I returned the gesture.

“She’s your puppet now, Catherine. Ms. Jane Katts can only go where you want her to, when you want her to, and see what you want her to.” Louise crossed to the door, opened it, and stood back. “Let’s go pull her strings.”

Jane finished whining to whomever she thought could help her out of the bind, and snapped her cell phone closed. A pronounced pout affixed to her face and for an instant, she looked like she must have as a spoiled child who always got her way.

“If you’re done jaw jacking, Ms. Katts, we have work to do.” I strode past her without a glance in her direction. “You’re wasting time.”

I didn’t turn back to see if she followed and frankly I didn’t care. Jane Katts could throw herself on the ground in a full-blown tantrum and I wouldn’t care. She gambled and lost, but that didn’t mean she would lie down and accept defeat.

No, Jane Katts was too dangerous. We were able to push back her line, but the battle was far from the finale.

The first stop on Ms. Katts’ whirlwind tour of a murder investigation was our desks to retrieve Louise’s file on Walter Wren.

As I picked up my purse, the phone on my desk rang. I debated over answering then I caught a glimpse of Jane Katts from the corner of my eye. She’d been the reason I didn’t want to answer my phone in the first place. Whoever was calling couldn’t be that bad, after all the boogey man was standing right behind me.

I lifted the receiver just before the ring that would throw the call into voicemail. “Detective O’Brien speaking.”

“Yes, Detective O’Brien.” A male voice said. The person on the other end cleared his throat. “Sorry. This is Stephen Hathaway in records.”

He said it as if he wasn’t sure that was his name.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “What did you find out? Anything?”

“Actually, yes.” He sounded full of pride, which made me believe he hadn’t been in records very long. If he had, Rainey Harper would have squashed his pride by now. “I have the phone number for the Sheriff of McCann County. His name is William Rose. He’s listed as the lead investigator on the Marion Luther murder investigation.”

“You are the best, Stephen.” I found a pen and dug the business card I had written Linda Myers’s phone number on, from my pocket. “Hit me with the phone number.”

I jotted the number and then tucked the card back into my pocket.

“Was that phone call relevant to this investigation?” Jane had taken out a mini-tape recorder. She shoved the mic end toward my face.

“If it was, I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

She pulled the recorder away from me and held it under her chin.

“Officer—”

I shot a warning glance her direction.

“Sorry.
Detective
O’Brien’s desk is messy and disorganized. Very apt considering the state of the investigation so far.”

She pressed stop and smiled.

“Too bad you won’t be able to print any of that.” I gestured toward the tape recorder. “It would have made a sensational story: messy cop the reason the investigation is botched. You should think of moving to tabloid journalism. Oh, never mind. I forgot which paper you worked for.”

Her face blanched slightly.

“You driving, Louise?” I heard keys rattle behind me.

Louise’s car is a pewter Toyota Prius. The Prius is a safe car, however, when Louise is behind the wheel, her Prius becomes what I affectionately call the Chariot of Death. An experience I think Jane Katts should live for herself. For someone who likes to believe she’s in complete control of all situations, the terror of riding with Louise should fry the balance of her resolve to follow us around.

“Shot gun!” I called when we were halfway to the car.

There was no way I would ride with Louise without a shoulder strap and an airbag for protection.

“Where are we going?” Jane got in the compact backseat, but failed to buckle her seatbelt, understandable since a seatbelt wasn’t required in the back seat in Minnesota. This would be her second huge mistake of the day. One I felt no urgent need to correct.

“We’re going to interview a client of Jonathan Luther,” I said. “You will wait in the car.”

She slid to the center of the back seat, what my brother and I called riding on the hump.

“Detective, I’m not going to sit in the car waiting for you like a dog in a grocery store parking lot.”

Louise glanced into the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry, Ms. Katts, we’ll crack the window.”

She careened around the exit ramp and out of the parking garage. Jane tumbled across the back seat and slammed against the driver’s side rear window.

If it had been anyone other than Louise driving I would have found the move malicious, but there’s a reason I hold tight to the chicken-bar when exiting the parking ramp.

“Jesus.” Jane righted herself. “Take it easy, Detective.”

“I’d buckle my seatbelt if I were you,” I said and gripped the chicken-bar extra tight as we approached the loop down to the main level.

Jane took my advice and braced herself against the back of the driver’s seat.

“This isn’t some sick initiation right, Ms. Katts. Louise really does drive like she’s being chased by the devil.”

I doubt if she believed me. We were, after all, the enemy and not to be trusted.

“Why can’t I sit in on your interview?”

By the time we reached the street, Jane had fallen into rhythm with Louise’s driving, which was akin to getting your sea legs during a raging storm.

“Maybe I can help,” she said. “I’m a veteran interviewer and I know a lie when I hear one.”

I bet. Liars probably gave off a special pheromone that only other liars could smell.

“I’m sure you can,” I said. “But this guy might be hesitant to speak if he thinks his words will be plastered all over the front page tomorrow morning.”

Hell, if I had known my words would grace the front page,
I
would have thought better about speaking.

“We’ll fill you in when we’re done.”

“Edited of course.” She tucked her hands under her thighs and slouched against the seat. The spoiled child had returned.

Louise jerked into the left lane and around a slow moving truck. Jane flopped against the door.

“Ouch!”

A piece of me thought that maneuver was malicious. The idea came to me when I saw the wicked little smile twist Louise’s lips as she jerked the car back into the right lane.

“We will limit the scope of the information we share with you to procedural,” Louise said. “You said you wanted to slant your story to the procedures of an investigation.”

She glanced up in the rearview mirror again. “Right?”

If Jane Katts dared to tell the truth, that this was just a ploy to get the scoop on the Luther murder, she would be out on the sidewalk.

I held my breath waiting to see if Jane would roll the dice.

She stared hard at Louise’s reflection trying to decide if she could afford to be a high roller, or if the deck were stacked against her. She settled against the leather of the back seat. “Of course, Detective. I’d be grateful for any information you could share with me on the ins and outs of an investigation.”

She drew her mini-tape recorder from her pocket and held it out.

“For instance. How did you know where to begin on this case?”

Was that a procedural question, or a sneaky back door attempt to get information out of us? Damn, having her with us would be stressful. Every question, no matter how innocuous it seemed on the surface, seethed with poisonous barbs beneath.

I prayed that Louise would know. I waited, pretending to be wildly interested in the passing scenery.

“We always begin with those closest to the victim,” Louise said after a few moments. “Spouses, children, brothers, sisters, friends, coworkers.”

“You said, children. Does that mean you consider Chad Luther a suspect?”

“What that means, Ms. Katts, is that we follow the same procedure for all investigations.”

“Okay.” She thought for a moment. “And what if none of those suspects pan out? Then where do you look?”

“There’s a progression,” I said. “From immediate family, to friends, and coworkers, to any one who might have had a grudge against the victim.”

I held up my fingers, one for each progression. She nodded.

“And if none of those leads pan out?”

“Pray for a miracle.” I laughed.

Louise moved her head slowly from side to side.

“What? I was joking.”

Jane had clicked off her tape recorder by the time I admitted to having a sense of humor. She was now writing something in a small, spiral bound, notebook.

“Oh come on,” I said and crooked my arm over the seat. “You had to know I was kidding.”

“What does it matter, Catherine?” Louise wheeled around another slow-moving vehicle causing Jane to smear whatever she was writing. “It’s not like we’ll let her print that comment.”

“Maybe I’ll take this story to another paper,” Jane chimed.

“And violate your non-compete?” Louise said. “You’re smarter than that, Ms. Katts.”

Jane snapped the notebook closed. “You’ve got me by the short-hairs, so you might as well use my first name.”

“Alright, Jane,” Louise said. “Was there anything you wanted to know about our procedures?”

“How do you know it wasn’t a professional hit?”

“We didn’t say anything about this not being a professional hit,” I said.

She waved off my protest. “Not just this case – any case. When you walk into a crime scene, how can you tell that you’re not dealing with a mob hit of some kind?”