Murder at the Washington Tribune - Margaret Truman [52]
“Get somebody to counter what they say.”
Wilcox’s expression was quizzical.
“Get one of the young women you interviewed. No, better yet, get back to somebody in Jean’s family, or the McNamara girl’s. MPD will debunk the serial killer idea, get somebody to answer that, say something like it’s okay for the cops to claim everybody’s safe, but ‘that doesn’t do my little girl any good.’ Something along those lines. I don’t want to lose the momentum on this. Newsstand sales were up yesterday. You’re striking a nerve, Joe. Don’t lose it.”
As Wilcox started to leave, Morehouse asked, “Anything new on the escort service connection?”
Wilcox hesitated. “No. I had Kathleen check every escort service in the city. She came up with a cropper.”
He didn’t enjoy lying to his boss, but felt justified in this case. It was bad enough that he’d fabricated an MPD source to give the story a necessary peg, but he wasn’t about to sully the reputation of Jean Kaporis. It would be easy to link her to prostitution by innuendo through her roommate’s way of making a living. It wouldn’t matter that the roommate denied Jean had taken her up on her suggestion that she become a paid escort. The simple fact that they lived together would be enough to plant that unsavory seed.
He sat at his desk and pondered what to do with Morehouse’s suggestion—no, order—that he come up with someone to counteract what the MPD was likely to say at their press conference, that no serial killer was being sought in D.C. He decided his best source would be Colleen McNamara’s fiancé, Philip Connor.
“Hello, Mr. Wilcox,” Connor said.
“Hello, Philip.” Wilcox said. “How is everyone holding up?”
“Pretty good. Colleen’s mother really liked your story this morning.”
“I’m happy to hear that. Tell you why I’m calling. The police are holding a press conference this afternoon to debunk the theory that a serial killer might be loose in the city, and might have killed your fiancé.”
“I didn’t know that,” Connor said. “I thought they told you they believed it.”
“One of my sources did. You see, Philip, the problem is that the police and the politicians in this city don’t want to look as though they’re not doing their job in keeping citizens safe. They way they figure it, the less the citizens know, the better. But think of the ramifications of that. People let their guard down and it creates a much better opportunity for the killer to strike again, to kill another young woman like Colleen. Pretty scary, huh?”
“It sure is.”
“I just thought you’d want to know about this, and give you a chance to make a comment.”
“Gee, I—”
“Having the police take this unsubstantiated stand sure doesn’t do you or Colleen’s family any good, does it?”
“No.”
“And it certainly doesn’t do Colleen any good. The point, Philip, is that it would provide a valuable public service for you to let the citizens know of the pain you and Colleen’s family have suffered. That way, maybe Colleen’s death won’t be in vain if you point out how important it is for the city’s young women to be vigilant, to look over their shoulder, take some extra precautions. I admire the police as much as anyone, maybe more. I work with them every day. But they aren’t always right. Does what I’ve said make sense?”
“Sure it does. If people don’t stand up for what’s right, then—”
“Exactly. I knew you’d see it that way. What statement do you want to make?”
“I don’t know, I—”
“You said that even though the police aren’t calling it a serial killing, you feel every young woman in the city should be aware and concerned until the killer is caught.”
“I—”
“Which is so true, Philip. So true.”
“That’s the way I feel.”
“And so do I. I appreciate the chance to speak with you again. I’ll stay in touch.”
Wilcox plugged in the quote he’d created for Connor, and added additional information on the American history of serial killers. At a few minutes before four, he went to a small lunchroom off the newsroom, turned on the TV, and waited for the press conference to begin.