Bury the Lead - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,8
hair so lightly colored that at first glance it looks like he’s going bald, though he isn’t. He has chiseled good looks; he’d be a natural as a Russian movie star.
I don’t know how much Vince is paying his reporters these days, but there is no way that journalism is Cummings’s only revenue source. Sell his suit, shoes, and watch and you could buy something with bucket seats. And he looks comfortable in them, like there are plenty more just like them back home in a walk-in closet the size of North Dakota.
“I don’t know if Vince told you,” he says, “but I’m not keen on the idea of you getting involved in all this.”
I’m not quite ready to share anything Vince told me. “Why is that?” I ask.
“Because I can handle it on my own, and I’m afraid you’ll get in the way. And nothing personal, but defense attorneys are not my favorite group of people.”
“That must keep them up nights,” I say as dryly as I can manage.
His grin is without humor. “I wouldn’t know.”
“It’ll help me avoid screwing things up by knowing what it is I’m dealing with. So why don’t you start at the beginning?”
He gives me a brief rundown of the events, providing little more than I got from reading the stories. The killer contacted him by phone at the office after the first murder, praising the reporter’s “understanding” of his work.
“Why did he think that?” I ask.
Cummings shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I accidentally wrote something that hit him close to home. Maybe he just liked my style. I’ve made something of a study of the criminal mind, but I can’t quite read them.”
“But he told you he would be communicating through you exclusively?”
Cummings nods. “His exact words were, ‘You will reveal me to the world.’”
“So you went to the police.” I already knew that he did, so I’m just trying to move the story along.
He nods. “Of course. The first thing they did was tap my office phone, but they neglected to cover my home phone, which is where he called the next time. Our local police strategists leave something to be desired.”
“Any idea how he got your number?”
He shakes his head. “None.”
“You said you were afraid I would get in the way. Can you be more specific?”
“If you’re looking over my shoulder, it will make it harder for me to do what I want to do.”
“Which is?” I ask.
He looks me straight in the eye. “I’m going to catch the son of a bitch.”
Just then the phone rings. I see him take a nervous breath before answering it. Every call could be the killer. After a moment he picks up the receiver. “Hello?”
He shakes his head slightly, telling me that this isn’t the call. “I’m leaving now,” he says into the phone before hanging up. He stands, grabs his jacket, and heads for the door. “There’s a press conference in twenty minutes.”
I start following him, even though he hasn’t asked me along. “Are you covering it or part of it?”
He smiles the first genuine smile I’ve seen. “Good question.”
We take separate cars to state police headquarters in Hackensack. Because the murders have been committed in three different communities, no one department has jurisdiction, and the state cops have taken over. Even though they’d never admit it, the mayors of the towns in question are breathing a sigh of relief. Real pressure is starting to mount to catch this guy, and the intervention of the state cops takes them off the political hook.
I get stuck in some traffic behind Cummings, and by the time I arrive he is already up on the stage with the state police brass. I take a spot along the side of the room, as the press mills about, waiting for the conference to begin.
“This is a new one for you, isn’t it, Andy?”
I look up and see Pete Stanton, a Paterson police lieutenant and my closest and only friend in the department.
“What is?” I ask.
“Usually, you wait until we identify and catch the scumbags before you represent them.”
I shake my head. “A lawyer can go broke waiting for you idiots to make an arrest. So I’ve already got myself a client.”
“Who?”
I point to the stage. “The intrepid young reporter. And the newspaper he represents.”
Pete was the detective assigned to the first murder, before anyone had an idea that there was a serial killer on the loose. Since I’m basically in an information-gathering mode at this point, I might