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By Root 572 0

the shop’s own Watergate brand of Scotch and bourbon, which he found amusing, and a bottle each of a mid-priced red and white wine. Small sourdough rolls from the Watergate Bakery completed his shopping. He seldom took cabs in the city but decided to do so this morning and was back in his apartment before noon. He spent an hour arranging his purchases on a large serving platter, which he put in the refrigerator along with the white wine, and tidied up the apartment. He knew of a florist a few blocks away and went there, returning with a simple bouquet of colorful flowers in a vase purchased from the shop.

He answered a knock on the door. It was Rudy. “Busy?” he asked.

“Yeah, I am, Rudy.”

“What’s with last night?” Rudy asked.

“I don’t have time, Rudy. But I suggest you get your act together, at least if you want me as a friend.” He closed the door in his neighbor’s face and smiled. He was glad Rudy had come to ask about what had occurred the previous evening. If nothing else, he provided decent chess and checkers competition.

After a light lunch, he practiced the guitar until two, napped until three, and passed the hour before his brother was to arrive by reading a recently published book about Islam and its emerging role in world affairs.

• • •

The Bread Line was doing its usual frenetic business when Wilcox walked in. Vargas-Swayze had secured a table, and he joined her. She looked as though she hadn’t had much sleep; there were dark, puffy circles beneath her large, dark brown eyes. She’d applied her makeup more heavily than usual that morning, he noted, and was wearing even more jewelry than was her custom.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’ve been better.”

“Hubby problems?”

“Yup. Would you believe the bastard is trying to get me to pay him alimony?”

Wilcox couldn’t help but chuckle. “Looks like fem lib has gotten expensive. Coffee?”

With coffee, and cinnamon buns in front of them, he said, “What is it you want to ask me, Edith? I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Okay,” she said, “I know you’re following the serial killer trail, Joe. I think you’re wrong—there’ve only been two killings, not a half-dozen—but that’s your call. I’m sure it’s selling papers. I’m operating on the theory that the murders are unrelated.”

He started to respond, but she said, “Hear me out.”

“Okay,” he said, and sat back in listening mode.

“Let’s say the same guy did both murders. If so, I’m convinced that he works for the Trib.”

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense to me that an outside sicko would find his way into the paper and kill Kaporis there. Offing somebody in a park is easy. Pulling it off at the Trib is too hard. Why would he take the chance?”

“Have you taken a close look at our security lately?” Wilcox asked. “It’s even worse than at the airport.”

She came forward. “But why would he do it, Joe? If both homicides had taken place inside a news organization, I’d think differently. But there’s one at the Trib, and one in the park. No, Joe, either the murders are unrelated, or you’ve got a whackjob working at the paper.”

Wilcox thought a moment before saying, “Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say—and I’m still going with the serial killer scenario—let’s say there’s someone working at the Trib who killed both Jean Kaporis and Colleen McNamara. That squashes the personal motive. Right? You’ve been running with the theory that Jean was killed by someone who’d had a relationship with her, got rebuffed or something, and became mad enough to strangle her. But why the McNamara girl? He was rebuffed by her, too? What is he, some ugly guy with terminal bad breath? We’ve got a couple of strange-os working at the paper, but nobody fitting that description.”

She smiled. “I interviewed everybody who was in the newsroom the night Kaporis died, and I’d say there are a couple of guys who fit that description.”

“I hope you’re not including me,” he said.

“Present company excepted,” she said. “You know every one of the men I interviewed, Joe. You’re a reporter. You pick up on things others wouldn’t. Give me a name or two I can zero in on.”