The Ticket Out by Helen Knode Read Free Book Online Page B

you, Lockwood thinks I did it.”
    â€œI was kidding, Ann. You can’t take a joke anymore.”
    â€œI can when it’s funny. Have you talked to the cops?”
    â€œSome guy named Smith came by a few hours ago.”
    â€œHe’s Lockwood’s partner. What did you say?”
    â€œTell the pigs as little as possible, that’s always been my rule.”
    â€œBarry, Jesus, a woman was murdered!”
    â€œAnd I’m sorry for it, believe me.” He pushed a folder across the desk. “I’ve put together the clips on the Burger King siege.”
    I leaned my elbow on the folder so he couldn’t take it back. I said, “I think your friend Scott Dolgin knew her. I saw him try and talk to her.”
    â€œYes, he told me, but he was just being a good host. As far as we can tell, she crashed the party. She wasn’t on my list or Scott’s, and nobody I’ve called knew who she was.”
    â€œBut she knew about In-Casa Productions. I heard her say it was a farce.”
    Barry tapped the folder. “I want twelve hundred words on Lockwood by next week. Let’s concentrate on that.”
    He could act like he didn’t hear me, but I’d already set the research in motion. I’d called Mark from home and he agreed to call his Industry contacts for information on the former film student Greta Stenholm.
    Barry tapped the folder again. I opened it and checked out a handwritten note on top. I recognized Vivian’s writing and skimmed a couple of sentences: it was cop-groupie gossip about Douglas Lockwood’s love life. Vivian liked the juicy stuff.
    I closed the file, smiling. “I thought you wanted an experienced reporter for this assignment.”
    â€œI changed my mind. You’re already inside his line of defense, and you have an excuse for maintaining contact. No other reporter would get that kind of access—”
    The telephone interrupted him. Barry ignored it. It rang three times before I said, “Aren’t you going to answer?”
    Barry shook his head. “It’s been ringing all day—every news organization in town wants to talk to us.”
    I’d seen reporters on the street when Lockwood drove me to the House of Pies. A lieutenant had been briefing them, but Lockwood’s presence caused a bigger stir than the murder. He’d referred all questions back to the lieutenant and refused interviews to the on-camera people. I missed the evening news so I didn’t know how the murder, or Lockwood’s reappearance, was treated.
    The phone stopped ringing. I said, “Doesn’t everyone have their hands full with Rampart?”
    Barry said, “Rampart’s getting old, and she was a foxy blond killed in a rich neighborhood.”
    â€œGood thing we have the exclusive.”
    â€œYou’re not doing her.”
    I leaned toward him. “Scott Dolgin is a typical—”
    â€œYou don’t know anything about Scott.”
    â€œI know that he’s not news.
I want Greta Stenholm.”
    Barry took a deep breath and came on with his tone of patronizing omniscience. “Ann. Doug Lockwood is our only concern now. This newspaper’s mission, one of them, is to get dirty cops off the streets of L.A. I think we can pressure Lockwood into retirement if we make it a big enough issue.”
    I forgot to be diplomatic. I thumped the desk with my fist.
    â€œLook, yesterday I realized I was sick of my job. You said yourself that my reviews had gotten bitchy, and I was going to ask you for a break. Now I don’t want a break. Now I have an opportunity to write a real blood-and-guts story about Hollywood. I care more about movies than I do about the LAPD—”
    Barry broke in. “You’ve made that clear at editorial meetings.”
    I thumped the desk again. “Because it’s not my fight! I have nothing earth-shattering to add on the subject of police brutality and