Senseless by Mary Burton Read Free Book Online Page B

crime reporting no longer sold papers like it once had. With twenty-four-hour cable shows and the Internet available, people didn’t turn to their local paper for news.
    “Christ, I am not a snot-nosed reporter writing for some hayseed paper.” He glanced at the awards on his wall and took another pull from the beer, which had grown hot and bitter. He crossed his loft apartment that overlooked the Potomac and opened the refrigerator, stocked with three six-packs of beer, a couple of cartons from the neighborhood Chinese restaurant and a few cartons of eggs.
    Connor twisted open the top on another beer. He should slow the pace. He had another meeting with his editor in the morning and needed to be alert.
    The phone rang. Connor ran long fingers through shoulder-length hair as he crossed the room to a thirties-style rotary phone. “Donovan.”
    “It’s Marks.”
    Elaine Marks on the assignment desk at the paper. “We have a story for you to cover. Homeless shelter burned.”
    “My stuff isn’t selling papers anymore.” His petulant tone sounded childlike.
    “You’re gonna want to cover this story.” Her calm, clear voice reminded him of his mother.
    “Why? Even if it was arson, who really cares about a shelter burning?”
    She laughed, refusing to offer him an ounce of sympathy. “My, my, you are in a snappish mood this evening. ”
    “See your paycheck cut by forty percent and then let’s see how much you smile, sweetie.” The sourness of his demotion churned him like spoiled milk.
    Elaine lowered her voice a notch. “Stop your bitching and moaning. This story could have legs under it. ”
    “Then tell me.”
    “Got a tip from someone from the scene just a few minutes ago. Cops found a murdered woman behind the shelter.”
    He dug into the beer label with his thumbnail. “And why should I care? Chicks get murdered all the time.”
    She muttered an obscenity under her breath. “Oh, man, you are gonna owe me the best bottle of champagne money can buy.”
    “Spit it out, Elaine.”
    “The victim had a funky brand on her stomach.”
    “A brand?” He lowered the bottle from his lips. His stomach clenched a little excitement. “What kind of brand?”
    “Four-pointed star, baby.”
    Connor didn’t speak for a long moment as his mind tumbled through the past. The Sorority House Murder had been the series he’d done ten years ago that had landed him on the map. He’d gone from covering petty crimes to his own bylined column. The story’s details had been a dream: a modern-day Delilah on scholarship who had killed her rich lover and then burned the sorority house to hide evidence. She’d cried rape, but friends testified she and the boy had been lovers. His little Delilah had simply gotten angry when lover boy had broken off their relationship. In the end, the jury had sentenced the girl to ten years in prison.
    “You remember the star, don’t you?” Elaine said.
    “What are the chances that this story connects with the old story?”
    “I don’t know. Probably none, but who cares? You’re clever. You can at least stir a little trouble with an alleged connection. Either way couldn’t hurt. From what I’ve heard, your column is begging for a little sex and drama. ”
    Connor shuffled through the papers on his desk until he found a pen. “I’ll make it work.”
    “That’s my boy.”
    “Give me the address.”
    It was past midnight when Lenny Danvers stared at the brick colonial with dark windows, tall boxwood shrubs and two uncollected newspapers in the neat gravel driveway. The house’s size and location said: money. The dark windows and newspapers said: on vacation. The boxwoods said: cover and protection. He’d been driving around for hours looking for this very combination.
    The other houses on the street appeared dark and quiet, but to play it safe he parked his rented Saab at the end of the block and then jogged back to the house he’d just scoped. Quickly, he slipped behind the tall