Marked for Murder. Lauren Nichols
blazer thrust a microphone at her. The woman’s smooth chin-length hair was as black as her eyeliner.
“Chief McBride? Nancy Talbot, Channel 29 News. What can you tell us about the murder? Are there any leads?”
“First of all, it’s still Officer McBride. Second, this investigation is in its infancy. It’s too early for me to comment on anything. We’ve contacted the Pennsylvania State Police, and they’re handling the evidence we’ve collected.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“Evidence it wouldn’t be prudent to share at this time.”
Talbot pressed on, her voice rising. Sarah’s “pushy” comment had been right on the money. “The teenage boys who found the body in the park said the victim had been strangled with a scarf. They also said there were four gold stars on her forehead. Two years ago, two young women were killed in the same park in the same way, and marked with one, then two gold stars. Does that tell us there was a third murder? Are you looking for a serial killer, ma’am?”
Great. It wasn’t bad enough that the kids had blabbed; they’d blabbed to a reporter. “As I said, I’m not at liberty to answer your questions right now. I’ll be releasing a statement later today.”
“I appreciate your position, but the public does need answers—if for no other reason than to maintain their own safety. Some of the young women we’ve interviewed are frightened. The earlier victims, Missy Kennicott and Trista Morgan, were both blondes. Leanne Hudson was blonde. Shouldn’t you be warning young blonde women to be extremely cautious when they walk your streets?” She thrust the mic at Margo again.
A thin crowd had begun to form outside the stone-and-timber police station, interested onlookers who’d been attracted by the news van. Across the street near the diner and municipal parking lot, people were taking their time getting into their cars.
“Ms. Talbot, we’re cautioning all women who travel the streets after dark to be cautious. We’ve suggested that they walk with a friend until the situation’s resolved.”
“Of course,” she said, quickly pressing on. “You mentioned that you’ve asked the Pennsylvania State Police for assistance?”
“That’s correct.”
She jumped on Margo’s answer with both feet. “You say that as though it’s standard procedure. Yet former Chief Wilcox chose to go it alone when the other two murders occurred. Should he have brought in the PSP two years ago?”
Margo didn’t realize Cole had followed her outside until she felt his weighty stare and spotted him standing in the shallow crowd. He, too, appeared to be waiting for her answer.
Regret tightened her chest.
It would be so easy to say no, John Wilcox hadn’t acted responsibly. Moreover, she suspected that some grudging part of Cole wanted her to state that publicly. The investigation and Cole’s dismissal had marked the beginning of the end of their relationship. But answering that way would denigrate her boss’s memory and cause undue pain to the families of those first two girls. With a polite smile, Margo ended the interview.
“My apologies, Ms. Talbot, but I have work to do. I can tell you that my department and I have made this a top priority. In fact—”
Shifting her gaze to the camera, she spoke clearly and succinctly. “If the man—or woman—who took Leanne Hudson’s life is watching, I have a message for you. We will find you. And when we do, I will personally do what ever it takes to see that you’re prosecuted to the full extent of the law. There’ll be no deals. You’re going to pay.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Cole said gravely as they went back inside the station. They passed Sarah, who was on the phone again, scribbling something on a long pink notepad, a half-eaten sandwich and takeout drink at her elbow.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about that little speech of yours,” Cole said. “You made it too personal.”
“Because it is personal. Someone took the life of a girl this department was sworn to protect, then made sure he’d get a wagonload of publicity by mimicking an unsolved case.”
She was keenly aware of him following her toward the desk she’d inherited, so close she could feel his warmth. She glanced at him briefly, thinking that conversation between them was a lot less strained when they were talking about someone or something else. “Did you see the look on that reporter’s face? She found the whole thing tantalizing. She’s not going to file a tragic story, she’s going to sensationalize it, and we’re going to have so many curiosity seekers driving through town, I’ll have to deputize Sarah to keep traffic flowing.”
“I don’t care about that reporter. I care that you might’ve just made yourself a target. If the same person killed all three girls, he obviously despises women. What if he hates women in authority even more?”
“And what if Leanne Hudson’s death had nothing to do with the previous murders?”
Irritation entered his tone. “I’d still tell you that coming on like Dirty Harriet was a mistake.” He fell silent for several seconds, and she could almost hear the thoughts clicking through his mind. “Are you saying you think this murder could be a copycat?”
“I don’t know. We’re looking at it both ways. And I wasn’t trying to be Dirty Harriet.”
“No?”
“No.” She sank into her chair, transferred the Kennicott and Morgan homicide files to a drawer, then leaned her weary back into soft leather and met Cole’s eyes. Suddenly, she was so exhausted, all she wanted to do was curl up in a corner and sleep for a year. “Cole, I don’t have the energy to fight with you today.”
“I’m not trying to start a fight. I’m merely saying that you don’t have to put yourself out there the way you just did.”
“Look. I don’t think you understand my position. A woman at the helm of an investigation like this has to show strength. The public—especially the parents and families of those dead girls—needs to know that I’m dedicated to finding whoever did this to them. I don’t want them to doubt my commitment for a second.”
She was about to go on when she suddenly looked at him—really looked—and realized that beneath his brusque delivery and despite their rocky past, he did care about her, just a little. It was her undoing.
Margo felt the old knocking in her heart, and an emotional lump rose in her throat. “My heart aches for these people, Cole. That’s why I’m going to use every tool at my disposal and everything I’ve ever learned to do my best for them. But the truth is…” She drew a breath. “The truth is, it should be you sitting in this chair. You were right. John was wrong.”
For a time, the only sounds in the room were the whir of the air conditioner and the sounds of their own memories. Then the phone rang again, jarring them both.
Turning around, Sarah excused herself for interrupting. “Margo, Brett’s on line one. The Hudson girl’s roommate never showed up at their apartment. He wants to know if he should stick around for a while or head back here.”
It took her a moment to reply. “Tell him to wait. I’ll join him there in a few minutes.” She looked up at Cole. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
“No problem,” he said, unreadable thoughts clouding his eyes. “You have things to do. Maybe I’ll drop by your place later.”
Stunned, not sure why he’d do that—or if she could even handle another meeting—Margo swallowed and moistened her lips. “You’re not driving back to Pittsburgh?”
“No.” There was no explanation attached to the word, and she didn’t think she could ask for one. Instead, she watched him leave—watched him bump knuckles with Sarah, then step into the late-August sunshine and close the door behind him.
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