Be Mine Read Free Page A

officer murdered in his home in Upper Market.
We missed it. Everyone’s there but us. I’m on my way.”
    Tom thrust the managing editor’s memo into Irene’s hands. Her face
reddened as she folded it.
    “It’s early,” she said. “Lots of time to catch up.”
    Tom’s cold stare threatened to rip open old wounds from ancient
battles with Pepper but he didn’t have the desire or the time to get into it
now.
    “A murdered cop,” she said. “What else do you know?”
    “That’s it right now. Since we’re behind I could use some help.”
    “This is sensational. Simon!” Pepper waved another reporter over.
“We need to be strong on this story, it’ll be huge. People will eat this up.
Who’s the victim? Any other details?”
    “Nothing yet. Where’s Molly?”
    “I don’t know. You go. I want you on this.”
    Simon Lepp, the paper’s science writer, joined them at Tom’s desk.
    “I’m putting you on a breaking murder story with Tom. You’re going
to learn from our master crime specialist.”
    “All right.”
    “Your job is to guarantee the Star owns this story. You do
whatever Tom needs to make it happen. I’ll put more bodies on it. But you’re
both on this murder until I take you off. Got it?”
    “Sure.” Lepp nudged his round rimless glasses as Pepper strutted
away.
    Tom shook his head, struggling to find a fresh notebook while
concealing his disgust at the whole thing. And why assign Lepp to this story?
No offense but he’d prefer a seasoned crime reporter like Molly or Della
Thompson.
    Lepp was a soft-spoken bookish type who’d covered the science beat
for years. He’d never touched a crime story. The guy seldom left his cubicle
way off in a far-flung corner. The thing was almost overrun with Boston ferns and spider plants. He was bright. His family had moved around a lot when he
was a kid. His father had been some kind of research genius. Lepp had won a
slew of awards for producing page-eating eye-glazers about things only Nobel
winners at Berkeley and Stanford understood.
    “You sure you want to do this?” Tom asked.
    “I’m sure. I’ve become a little bored with science. I’ve watched
what you and Molly do. I told Irene I thought a switch to breaking crime news
would be exciting.”
    Tom looked at him. No one else was available to help at the moment.
    “Want me to deputize you?”
    “Just tell me what to do.”
    After making a few quick calls, Tom jotted details on a page in his
notebook, then tore it off. “There’s a press conference at ten-thirty at the
Hall of Justice, police commission room. You go to that. As soon as they
release a name get the library to search for stories on any cases the dead cop
may have handled. Track down the victim’s detail, or district, academy buddies,
search the newsletters, call POA and OCC.”
    “POA and OCC?”
    “Police Officers’ Association. You’ve got time to swing by there
before the newser. They may know about the victim and friends. OCC, the Office
of Citizens’ Complaints, may know of any beefs against the cop. Get them to
speculate on whether it could be linked to anything. We’ll get our court guys
to ask about cases too. We’ll cast out a wide net and see what we get.”
    Tom reached for his jacket just as his desk phone began ringing.
    “Right, that’s good. Where’re you headed?”
    “I’ll poke around here and there with sources. You go ahead without
me. Make sure your cell phone’s on.”
    Tom reached for his phone hoping it was Sydowski. If anyone had data
on this thing, it would be him.
    “Hey, Reed,” Vickson said. “All I’ve heard is the dead guy’s an
inspector. A detective.”
    “An inspector. Which detail?”
    “Don’t know.”
    “Thanks.” Tom gulped the last of his coffee, slipped on his jacket,
then headed for the news reception area. The switchboard was ringing as the
elevator doors opened.
    “Tom,” Tammy, the receptionist, said. “You’ve got a call.”
    “I have to go.”
    “Hang