Robert B. Parker’s the Hangman’s Sonnet

Selko screwed up his mouth. “The police chief doth protest too much. I was hoping you’d be straight with me, Stone.”

“You think calling me a liar is going to improve your chances for a story?”

“I’m not calling you a liar,” Selko said, sliding a folded sheet of white paper across the table. “He is.”

Jesse unfolded the paper and read it. When he was done, he stood up and tugged Selko by the arm. “C’mon, we’re going.”

“Where to?”

“The station.”

53

Ed Selko wasn’t pleased about being “asked” to go down to the station with Jesse, but he hadn’t been foolish enough to bark about it too loudly. Even with two drinks in him, the reporter hadn’t lost sight of the fact that getting a story was the point, nor had he lost sight of the fact that the story would be a better one with Stone on board. At the paper, pure speculation sprinkled with some interesting facts did not a story make. Still, he had his limits.

“Look, Stone,” Selko said, no longer able to contain his frustration. “I came down here voluntarily. I’ve answered all of your questions, several times, but that’s now officially over. Unless there’s more of a give-and-take between us, I’m calling my paper and you’ll be the story.”

Jesse had a decision to make. He could just let the reporter walk without saying another word. Selko might be annoyed at that. Might even get his editor to give him a few inches in the next edition detailing the faxed photo, note, and his treatment at the hands of the Paradise PD. Jesse could live with the slings and arrows that came his way. That didn’t worry him. People had written much worse about Jesse than anything Selko might print. No, it was the rest of the story that was the problem. The media was a copycat business. Once Selko intimated that the police had been less than forthcoming about the circumstances surrounding Curnutt’s murder, the town would be crawling with media people looking to one-up Selko.

“No promises,” Jesse said. “Ask your questions and we’ll see if there’s a deal to be made here.”

Selko made some noises about how the press, on behalf of the public, had a right to know and that the state had no right to withhold information that was in the public interest. Jesse had heard it all before. It was what media types always said just before making a deal.

Jesse walked to the other end of his office and opened the door.

“Listen, Selko, you can walk out of here with no story and your principles intact anytime you want or we can make a deal.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I will give you some details about the Curnutt homicide that you can make a story out of and then when we get close, you get the exclusive.”

“And in return?”

Jesse cleared his throat. “Not a word of speculation about the meaning of the signature at the bottom of the note.”

Selko didn’t jump at the offer. “Come on, Stone. We both know what it means.”

“Speculation.”

“Bull! Face it, Stone, the note telling me where the index card was establishes his bona fides that he either killed Curnutt himself or learned about it from the man who did. We now both know what this story is really about, but I can pretend otherwise. Even with the little I’ve got now, I can make a hell of a story out of this. Look, it’s always better to have police cooperation, and I get why you withheld info about the index card, but now that you’ve got that note... Either way, I have a story and you have a major media shit storm on your hands.”

“Don’t you get it, Selko, that’s what the killer wants? You interested in abetting murderers?”

“I get it, but unless you haven’t noticed, Chief, the business I’m in is dying by the inch. If I don’t use this, my editor will kill me. I lose this job, I’ve got no safety net.”

“Good point. One day, Selko. Give me one more day before you go to press with the bigger story. I’ll give you enough for tomorrow’s story, details about Curnutt’s murder that no one else has. For now, leave out any mention of the index card and the signature at the bottom of the note.”

Selko took out a voice recorder, a pad, and a pen. “What didn’t you share with the press about Curnutt’s murder?”

“The killer used a homemade sound suppressor. Fragments of it were found in the victim’s wounds. The weapon was a .22-caliber handgun. You can see a video online of the exact type of suppressor and handgun used.”

“Was the guy who killed Curnutt a pro or an amateur, you know, some guy who watched that video you mentioned?”

“We don’t know that.”

“Guess.”

Jesse shook his head. “Speculation is what you do, not what I do.”

“That’s a start, but you’ll have to do better than that, Stone.”

Jesse considered disclosing the information about the stolen dragonfly ring, but realized he’d probably lose a shot at finding Hump Bolton if he did. Instead he turned to the photos in the murder book and put it in front of Selko.

“The killer shot Curnutt at very close range: one to the head and one to the heart.”

“Contact wounds?”

“There were powder burns, but they weren’t contact wounds.”