Deadline by John Dunning Read Free Book Online Page A

especially their body language, was loud and clear. It was obvious that they hadn’t known each other. The stud saw her sitting alone and went right to work. She told him her name. It was so easy it was almost a joke. It had taken less than five minutes for the guy to get to her.
    Walker was in no hurry to leave. He thought he knew where they were going: if not to her place, he could at least find her there when he wanted her. He still had some thinking to do about this one. A wrong move could…he didn’t know what it might do. Melinda Baker displayed all the symptoms of a schizophrenic. Her house was for sale and her daughter was dead. She lived in secret and visited the grave at midnight. She carried a gun and she picked up men in dark bars. Obviously she had given thought to leaving town. In her place, he thought, he might too.

Four
    W ALKER WAS A GREAT believer in the powers of the subconscious, that part of the brain that worked while the rest slept. He slept late the next morning, went into the office around noon and told Kanin he was working on something that might or might not pan out. Kanin wanted to know what, but Walker wouldn’t be pushed. If Kanin knew how close he was to having the Melinda Baker piece ready for the street, he would get that look that all city editors get when they smell a story coming. Then he’d start pushing Walker to get it done. They would ride roughshod over the woman before he could learn what she was about. The tiny details, the little threads of emotion that would make a sensational story something truly fine would be left dangling, hinted at but only half developed.
    He drove past the Baker house again. The sign said FOR SALE BY OWNER. There were two phone numbers beneath it, which Walker had copied into his notebook yesterday. An identical sign, with the same two numbers, was posted outside the Gunther house. From a phone booth three blocks away, he tried both numbers. There was no answer at either. He spent his day in the county clerk’s office, looking up records of the property transactions. Hal Gunther and Melinda Baker had bought the houses at the same time, from a single source, and had lived there for five years. Mrs. Baker’s handwriting was clear and quite ordinary. In the late afternoon Walker ate alone and went home to try the numbers again.
    He flipped the TV dial while he looked through his notebook for the numbers. NBC was repeating a special on Radio City. Gregory Peck was host, there were appearances by Ann-Margret and Beverly Sills, and a promise of backstage interviews with the Rockettes. He turned the sound down while he made his calls. Melinda Baker answered almost at once.
    “Hello.” As Kanin had said, her voice was soft.
    “I saw your sign. Is the house still available?”
    “Yes.”
    “How much are you asking for it?”
    “Forty-five thousand.”
    He paused, just long enough. She said, “That’s open to negotiation.”
    “In that case, I’d like to see it.”
    “Can you come at night? I work during the day.”
    “Tomorrow night?”
    “Sure, fine. Say around eight o’clock?”
    “I’ll be there.”
    “Would you mind giving me your name?” she said. “So I’ll know it’s you. I like to know who I’m letting in.”
    “My name is Jason Webster.”
    His first lie. It was an unwritten rule in journalism, Thou Shalt Not Lie. Ethically, a reporter should always identify himself fully to anyone who might find himself quoted in a story. After that, the source is fair game, and anything he says may be published and used against him. A rule of Hoyle, made up by people who never had to play the game.
    He made his second call.
    A man answered and Walker went through the routine again. He gave the same name, and the man told him to come by tomorrow after work. Five o’clock. Again the asking price was forty-five grand. And again, when Walker paused, the man said he was open to a deal.
    Gregory Peck flashed on the Sony screen. Walker wondered if