Murder at the Washington Tribune - Margaret Truman [38]
Her statement that someone within MPD was denying that there was a serial killer on the loose was to be expected.
But the claim, “by an unnamed source within MPD,” that they were now looking at someone from outside the Trib in the Kaporis case, was worth following up. Who was his daughter’s source? Did she really have a source? It would have seemed inconceivable to him, until now, that she, or any other responsible journalist, would fabricate a source.
He paused, pushed that thought from his mind, and geared up for lunch with Hawthorne.
CHAPTER TEN
Maybe you’re talking to the wrong people, Roberta.”
The comment was made by the managing editor of the six o’clock news, Roberta Wilcox’s boss. He’d called her into his office to discuss coverage of the murders.
“I’m working every source I have,” she said, her voice mirroring her defensiveness.
“I know you are,” he said, “but somebody over at MPD seems to be working the other side of the street from you.” He’d come to television from editorial positions with print media, including the National Enquirer, where he’d earned a reputation as a tough, inventive reporter. There were those who said that inventive reporters were akin to creative accountants, many of whom ended up in jail. No matter. Roberta’s boss was good at sensing what enticed viewers to tune in, and the ratings proved it.
“I’m not sure I understand,” she said.
“Somebody at MPD is floating the serial killer theory. Your father’s article confirms that.”
“I don’t know who he spoke with.”
“Can you ask?”
“I did. He’s not about to divulge his sources.” She smiled and answered his next question before he asked it. “Even to his daughter.”
He slid a sheet of paper across the desk. On it was a long list of typed names. She scanned it and gave him a quizzical look.
“People who’ve called in asking about the serial killer. They’re concerned, of course.”
“We don’t know if there is a serial killer,” she said. “I can’t get anyone at MPD to even proffer the possibility. The official line is that the two murders were committed by two different people.”
“ ‘Official line,’ ” he repeated, scornfully. “Since when do we adhere to the official line? Look, Roberta, the Trib, thanks to your father, is ahead of us on this. If it ends up that there isn’t a nut running around killing people, so be it. But we can’t ignore the possibility.” She started to say something, but a wave of his hand silenced her. “Let’s at least cover the story on the basis that there could be a serial killer in D.C.”
“All right,” she said. “Any suggestions on how to go about that?”
“Sure,” he said. “Start by interviewing single women in the District. You’re a single woman, Roberta. You’ll be able to empathize with them and get them to empathize with you. Also, dig into the history of serial killings in the area, do a profile on serial killers from the past. I’ll clear airtime for you tonight and in the future. We’ll run it as an investigative series, a five- or six-parter, and buy print ads supporting it. Questions?”
“I can’t do the interviews and do the research at the same time.”
“Use freelancers for the research. Pull out all the stops.” He pointed to the list of callers on his desk. “This is going to mushroom. I want it to mushroom and I want to stay ahead of it.” He sat back in his chair, hands behind his head, and smiled. “Should make you feel good, getting the jump on your father, huh?” he said.
• • •
Gene Hawthorne was reading National Press Club literature in the club’s lobby when Wilcox arrived.
“Drink?” Wilcox asked.
“I don’t drink,” the younger man said.
“I’ll bet you’re a