Chasing Venus Read Free Page B

it.”   She levered herself up from the chair,
tossed a frozen burrito in the microwave for dinner, and marched upstairs to the
spare bedroom she used as a study.   She’d shower later.   For now
she’d work.   She clicked on the file
for chapter seventeen and settled in.
    There was only one
murder mystery she would let herself dwell on.   The one in her own imagination.

 
    *

 
    Reid Gardner sat by a
bank of phones in Crimewatch ’s
Hollywood studios.   Past 2 AM, it
was chilly and deserted, with most of the overhead lights off and the rest
dimmed.   In the newsroom behind him,
the cleaning lady clattered, emptying trash cans, occasionally running the
vacuum, humming a tune he couldn’t name.
    Still he waited, even
four hours after the show had gone off the air; still he hoped for one more
call to come in on the viewer hotline.   He loved when that happened.   It meant they were getting a tip from someone who’d seen the show, a tip
that might end up putting a fugitive behind bars.   That night, like every other night for
the past five years, there was one scumbag in particular Reid wanted to take
down.
    An incoming call button
flared red.   Phone headset on, fresh tipsheet on the computer screen, Reid jabbed the
button.   “ Crimewatch hotline.”
    “Yeah, I got somethin ’ to say.”   The caller was male, youngish.   Per usual.
    “Go for it.”
    “That Espinoza dude on
your show tonight?”
    Damn.   Not Reid’s personal Most Wanted.   Still, of the ten they’d profiled on the
broadcast, an important grab.   “You
know where he is?”
    “Not right now.   But I seen him.”   Cocky.   Per usual.
    “You’re sure it was
him?”
    Silence.   Not a good sign.   Then, “Yeah, I’m sure.”
    Right.   This call was rapidly moving south on
the priority list.   “Where?”
    “Outside Omaha, dump of
a town called Murdock.”
    Reid shook his head but
moved his fingers dutifully over the computer keyboard.   Unlikely.   The last place they’d been able to
confirm Espinoza’s whereabouts was South Florida.   “That off interstate eighty?”
    The guy chuckled.   “Hey, pretty good, man.   Nobody ever knows jackshit about Murdock.   You got a big ol ’ map there or somethin ’?”
    “No.”   Except for the one in Reid’s head.   Bagging fugitives wasn’t a desk job.
    The guy on the line
paused.   Then, “Who is this,
anyway?”
    No point lying.   “Reid Gardner.”
    “No shit!”   He pronounced it shee -it.   “You the host and you answer the friggin ’ phones?   In the middle of the night?   Not for me, man.   If   I was you, I’d be livin ’
large.”
    “Not my style.”   He noted that Sheila Banerjee had come
into the newsroom.   The scent of
patchouli was the first clue.   The fact
that they were the only two staffers left in the building was the other.   “Anyway, give me what you got on Espinoza.”
    That didn’t take
long.   In the meanwhile Sheila hiked
a slim hip onto the table beside Reid’s phone and swung her right leg lightly
back and forth, keeping her sandal on with a graceful arch of her toes.   The soft fabric of her skirt swished rhythmically,
lulling Reid into remembering just how tired he was.
    He finished the call
and peeled off his headset, then leaned back in the rolling chair and pinched
the skin between his eyes.
    “Finally ready to call
it a night?”   Sheila’s voice was
soft, her Delhi accent more pronounced in the wee hours.
    He raised his head to
regard her.   “You didn’t have to
stay.”
    She said nothing, just
met his gaze.   And really, there was
nothing to say.   It wasn’t just
loyalty to her producer job that kept Sheila Banerjee at her desk well past
midnight, and they both knew it.
    She looked away.   “There was one tip tonight that might be
worth something.”
    He knew which one.   “I saw it.”
    She read his skepticism
and arched her brows.   “You don’t
think it’s any good?”
    He