Murder at the Washington Tribune - Margaret Truman [37]
“Thanks.”
“Joe, Paul suggested I pop by and spend some time with you. He thought I might be helpful in the pieces you’re working on. I know you’re well sourced, but I’ve got a few contacts that could be helpful.”
“Do you? I appreciate the offer, Gene, but—”
He was about to blow him off, but thought of what Jillian had said. Was there the possibility that Hawthorne had a personal relationship with Jean Kaporis?
“That would be great,” Wilcox said. “How about lunch?”
“Today?”
“Yeah. I’m free. I’ll take you to the Press Club.”
He knew what Hawthorne was thinking. He’d once heard Hawthorne comment that he wouldn’t be found dead being a member there. “Bunch of over-the-hill hacks,” he said, “has-beens drowning in martinis and rehashing the past.”
The young reporter’s mischaracterization hadn’t surprised Wilcox. Typical of him and others like him, shallow young people lacking any understanding and appreciation of institutions like the Press Club. President Calvin Coolidge had laid the cornerstone for the club in 1926, making it the oldest professional and social media organization in the country, and the largest with more than four thousand members. Its Speakers Luncheon series was the most prestigious and influential news lecture series in America; more heads of state had appeared at the club than at any forum in the world outside the Oval Office. Its membership included the most important names in journalism, men and women of distinction who’d defined responsible journalism.
Over-the-hill hacks and has-beens? Wilcox had thought after hearing Hawthorne pontificate to young colleagues.
“Okay,” Hawthorne said. “What time?”
“Twelve-thirty. I’ll meet you in the lobby. You know where it is, I assume.”
“Sure I do. But one thing, Joe.”
“What’s that?”
“No pitches over lunch, okay? I’m not the club type.” A big grin accompanied this statement.
“Oh, no fear of that, Gene,” Wilcox said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
He watched Hawthorne swagger off. Joe wondered whether the heat of his anger showed in his reddened face and the pulsating veins in his neck.
Jean’s father was warm and cooperative on the phone, and said he and the Mrs. would be happy to talk to him any time. To Wilcox’s relief, he said they would be happy to drive to Washington to meet. The only caveat was that they not have to come to the Tribune Building where their daughter had died. They agreed to meet for breakfast at nine the following morning at the Old Ebbitt Grill on Fifteenth, NW.
With that interview nailed down, he called the office of the District of Columbia’s medical examiner. His doctor friend was one for whom he’d done favors over the years.
“Hello, Joe,” the assistant ME said, his voice sounding like it was being squeezed through a very narrow opening. “Nice piece this morning.”
“Thanks.”
“But what’s this serial killer nonsense? It takes two to tango, Joe, but three or more to qualify as serial murder.”
“So I’ve been told. But it wasn’t my idea. MPD’s floating that theory.”
“They should know better. What can I do for you?”
“I need a confirmation that both Jean Kaporis and Colleen McNamara were murdered in the same way, by asphyxiation. Strangulation.”
“You have it.”
“Have what?”
“Confirmation. That’s the way both young women were killed.”
“I can quote you on that?”
“No. You’d better quote the boss. He’s signed off on manner of death in both cases. I’ll tell you this. If a third young woman, who happens to work in the media, ends up being killed in a similar fashion, I’d say then there might well be a serial killer in our midst.”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” Wilcox said.
“Yes. Let’s hope. Stay in touch.”
He spent the remainder of the morning starting work on a follow-up story for the next day’s edition. As he walked through the newsroom on his way to lunch, he looked up and stopped to watch Roberta deliver a report on the noon news.
“I’ve been told by a reliable source in MPD that emphasis in the Jean Kaporis murder case—the young reporter at The Washington Tribune who was strangled to death a month ago in a storeroom