Murder at The Washington Tribune by Margaret Truman Read Free Book Online Page B

city’s many so-called escort services? A freelance
what
?
    â€œCould you be more specific?” he asked.
    â€œLook, I have to be someplace. Could we wrap this up?” Another cigarette.
    â€œJean’s mother said that her daughter was seeing someone who works at the
Trib.
She never mentioned that to you?”
    She shook her head, sending her hair into motion.
    â€œNever?” Wilcox said.
    â€œYeah. Well, she said something about it.”
    â€œWhat did she say?”
    A shrug and a stream of exhaled air. “Just that she had a fling with somebody there, some reporter, I guess. That’s all I know. We didn’t talk much.”
    She snuffed out her cigarette, stood, and said, “Sorry, but I have to go.”
    Wilcox replaced the pad and pen in his jacket and followed her to the door, which she opened, standing back to allow him to exit. He was glad to be leaving. He’d begun to sweat despite the apartment’s coolness, and felt lightheaded.
    â€œThanks,” he said, stepping into the hallway. The door closed behind him.
    He hadn’t been there long; it was only three-thirty. He considered calling it a day and going home. Reporters determined how they spent their days, their time pretty much their own when working a story. But Morehouse had asked him to check in, and he’d also scheduled that meeting of his reportorial team at six.
    He stopped in a luncheonette where he had a cup of coffee, and checked his voice mail back at the paper. One call piqued his immediate interest. He caught Vargas-Swayze on her cell phone while she and her partner drove to a second interview with a delivery man. He worked for an office supply outlet and had signed in at the
Trib
early on the evening Kaporis was murdered.
    â€œUp for a drink after work?” Wilcox asked.
    â€œAfter work?” She laughed. “When is that?”
    â€œWhenever you say, Edith. And don’t make it sound like you’re the only one in town working twenty-four hours a day.”
    â€œOh, I forgot, Joe. You media types work long hours, too. Sure. I’ve been meaning to catch up with you anyway.”
    â€œSomething new in the Kaporis case?”
    â€œMaybe. What do you have for me?”
    â€œWe have a task force, too, now. I’m in charge,” he said.
    This time it was more of a giggle. “Where and when?”
    â€œLet’s make it dinner. Eight good for you?”
    â€œSure, as long as it’s dark and out of the way. Can’t risk my reputation being seen with a reporter.” She said it lightly, but he knew there was substance behind the remark.
    â€œMartin’s Tavern. As Yogi said, it’s so popular nobody goes there any more.”
    â€œAre you going to propose to me, Joe?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œPropose. Like in marriage proposal. That’s where JFK proposed to Jackie.”
    â€œI didn’t know that. Besides, I’m a married man.” The minute he said it, he wished he hadn’t.
    â€œAnd I’m still a married woman, at least legally. Get a corner booth.”
    Their thoughts were similar, and they didn’t involve pink elephants.

    â€œWhat was that all about?” Dungey asked as Vargas-Swayze pulled up in front of a commercial building.
    â€œMy source at the
Trib,
Joe Wilcox.”
    â€œSounded like you’re in love.”
    â€œJust goofing with him. He’s a good guy, a straight-shooter.”
    â€œCan’t be if he’s a media whore.”
    She ignored him and led the way into the building.

    â€œWhat did the roommate have to say?” Morehouse asked Wilcox.
    â€œShe confirmed to me that Kaporis had told her she’d been seeing someone from here.”
    â€œA reporter?”
    â€œShe didn’t elaborate. She’s a tough cookie. I think she might be a hooker of some sort.”
    Morehouse’s thick eyebrows went up. “A hooker?”
    â€œShe calls herself a freelancer.