“I hear he struck again.”
“Where did you hear that?”
The reporter shrugged. “Is it true?”
“I don’t know. Most everything to do with the Cat is speculation.”
“But there was a break-in Tuesday night in Cranston, and the MO was the same.”
“There are break-ins every night of the week.”
“Not on that large a scale. I understand that your office has been questioning Matty Stavanovich for years. Is that true?”
Savannah didn’t see any point denying it, since the number of times the man had been brought in was a matter of record. “It’s true.”
“Have you taken any special measures to apprehend him?”
Savannah sent her a wry half-smile. “Now, if I told you that, I’d be tipping my hand to the Cat, wouldn’t I?”
“Then you are?”
“I won’t say one way or the other. I will say that this office is working in conjunction with police all over the state to solve house-breaks of the type that happened last Tuesday.”
“But are you zeroing in on Stavanovich?”
“We’re zeroing in on whoever the evidence points to.”
“Who does the evidence point to?”
Lips pursed, Savannah sent her a chiding look. She passed Janie, closing her hand around a pile of pink slips as though they were a baton in a relay race, and went on to her office door. There she stopped. “What’s your name?”
“Beth Tocci.”
“Well, Beth Tocci, there’s something you have to understand. In our system of justice, a man is innocent until proven guilty. It would be unethical of me to earmark the Cat, or any other thief, for that Cranston break-in, before an arrest is made—unethical, and unwise. You’d go back to your paper and print what I said, and that would throw a wrench into the investigation, not to mention make it impossible to gather an unbiased jury if the case ever came to trial. This is one of those instances where your job is to report the news, not alter it.”
“Is it true that Matty Stavanovich is a legitimate businessman?”
“That’s a matter of public record.”
“Is it true that the IRS audits him every year and can’t find anything wrong?”
“You’d have to check with the IRS on that.”
“What about the allegation that Matty Stavanovich is the alias for a man named Joseph Stevens, who served time in a California prison and was released and given a new identity after he testified to crimes he heard about while he was there?”
“You’d have to check with the FBI on that.”
“I have. They say they’ve never heard of either man.”
Savannah shrugged, then held up an apologetic hand and said softly, “I have to run. Sorry.” She went into her office, smoothly but firmly closed the door, then felt her pulse trip and her heart lift.
Jared was there. He was standing by the window wearing a navy sweater, taupe slacks, and loafers. Though his hair still fell rakishly over his brow, he was newly shaved and showered. A tweed topcoat was looped over his arm, held there by the hand resting in his pocket. He looked different than he had in jeans, more formal but not a bit less gorgeous.
It was a minute before she caught her breath, a minute after that before she inhaled and spoke. “Janie must be wondering who you really are.”
“I told her.”
“Your whole name?”
