close enough to news and give themselves something to gab about at dinner with their friends on Saturday night:
“How ’bout that shooting downtown? The pedophile guy?”
“Yeah, I saw they were talking to the mom of the girls he killed.”
“Like she wouldn’t have a big smile on her face, eh?”
“Can you believe they were gonna let the guy off?”
“The system is all fucked up, you know?”
“I’d of hired somebody to kill him if I was her.”
“Yeah?”
“Damn straight.”
When Nick was finished with the draft, he stored it away and turned off the computer. He’d have enough time to stop at the cafe downstairs and grab a cup of coffee and maybe one of those plastic-wrapped sandwiches and he could eat on the way over to the Sheriff’s Office. He hadn’t bothered to look at the rest of the research files that Lori had sent. Later, if he got back early, he thought. Right now he was already getting cranked up for Hargrave. What the hell was the guy going to say? Just chew him out? Hell, he could take that without a sweat. He hadn’t put anything unethical in the story today, and sure as hell nothing that was going to stink up the investigation. The dead man’s name and the caliber of the bullet? The killer knew the name would come out and the bullet caliber was only good in dismissing some of the nut jobs who would call the cops claiming they’d done the shooting. Oh, yeah? What’d you do him with? A nine-millimeter, you say? Good-bye. Don’t call back again.
No, whatever Hargrave had in mind would be something more than the simple stuff, Nick thought, trying to prepare. But hell with it, he finally whispered to himself, better not to speculate, just let it fall the way it was going to fall.
Nick walked through the front doors of the sheriff’s administration building at 3:50 PM. As soon as the wash of air-conditioning swept over him he was taking the car keys out of his pocket, fishing the cell phone off his belt, checking to see if he had a pack of gum in his shirt, the foil of which would set off the metal detectors. While he stood in line waiting for his turn to pass through the security screen, he looked up into the huge ornate rotunda. The building had been constructed a few years ago to replace what had been little more than a retrofitted warehouse south of the city. The entryway soared up several floors to an atrium roof that let in the signature sunshine of South Florida. Nick thought it far too ostentatious for a cop shop. But what the hell. Your tax dollars at work.
The deputy on the other side of the electronic gateway nodded as Nick passed through without a beep.
“Where are you visiting today, sir?”
“Media relations,” Nick said and tipped his head to the left where the doors to Joel Cameron’s department were located. He watched for a change in the young officer’s face. Did it change when he was told the press was in the house? But the kid just nodded and was already on to the next person passing through the hoops of post-9/11 decorum. Nick gathered his stuff from a plastic bowl and moved on.
The receptionist just inside Cameron’s office recognized Nick immediately, smiled, asked how he was doing.
“Fine, how are you?” Nick didn’t come here often. Most of his work was done out in the streets or by phone. If he was meeting an inside source, it was usually done at a designated lunch spot, Houston’s on Federal Highway, Hot Dog Heaven on Sunrise. Nick stole a look down the hall into the office. It had the same setup as the newsroom, a smaller version, but the same fabric-covered separators that made you think you had a space of your own. Cameron was at the end of the created hallway, heading his way.
“Thanks for being on time, Nick,” Cameron said, moving briskly, not offering a hand or a greeting. He was carrying a legal pad and checking his shirt pocket for a pen. Nick noted that the pad was brand-new, nothing yet on the top page.
“The detectives want us to meet them upstairs in a conference room,” Cameron said, opening the door to the lobby and holding it for Nick. “We’ll have to get you a pass.”
Nick shrugged at Cameron’s iciness. The media officer had already told Nick that Hargrave was a hard-ass who never talked to the