“What did you mean, three, maybe more assaults?” Angie said, trying to keep her voice low, level. She and Winston were tucked into a cubicle in a tiny English pub downstairs and around the corner from theCity Sunoffices. Benches with dark wood and high backs cushioned acoustics, keeping them private from other patrons clacking their knives and forks over full English breakfasts.
Winston eyeballed her over the rim of her coffee mug, assessing. Irritation sparked through Angie, like tiny bees bouncing against the inside of her skull, trying to get out. “You don’t actually have anything, do you?”
“I have Allison Fernyhough and Sally Ritter,” she said in barely a whisper. “Those were your two cases—ones you never closed. And there is at least one other confirmed incident that I can’t name for you.”
Every muscle inside Angie twitched. “Can’t, or won’t?” she said quietly.
“It’s my scoop,” she said.
“Where did you get this information?”
“I found and spoke to Allison Fernyhough last night. She told me what happened to her, the red crucifix, everything, how the cops—you—did nothing to catch the bad guy. Then she told me how Sally Ritter had been raped the year before, and how you’d informed Allison that it was the same rapist. Same MO. She told me she’d heard on the streets that there could have been others.”
“How’d you find Fernyhough—whotold you about her?”
“I’m a good reporter, whether you want to believe it or not.” Defensiveness crackled in her posture, her features.
Angie eyed Winston. Her bad teeth. Her constant twitchiness. The way her hands trembled ever so slightly. Her mind went to Faith Hocking’s teeth. The effects of prolonged drug use.
Focus, Pallorino. Use what’s in front of you ...
She softened her voice. “Who is the other ‘confirmed’ victim, Merry?”
“I can’t tell you that. Look, I’m not even going to print Allison and Sally’s names. I made Allison that promise before she’d talk to me. I honor my promises, my sources.”
Angie gave a soft snort. “Merry Winston has honor?”
Anger darted through the young reporter’s eyes. “I know for a fact what happened to Allison and Sally, and my sources are one hundred percent good on the other victim.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Fuck you,” she said quietly, then took another sip from her mug, eyes darting around the place.
“Who is your leak at MVPD?”
She gave a little laugh, said nothing.
Angie got up to leave, then suddenly reseated herself, setting Winston off-kilter. She leaned over the table, right up close to Merry Winston’s funny little wrecked-pixie face that Holgersen said he thought was cute. “Whoever is feeding you police information, Winston, has a serious agenda. You gotta ask yourself what that agenda might be and who it’s designed to bring down. Because if this agenda is designed to hit right up at the top of the MVPD and you get caught in the middle when heads start to roll, that informant could become cornered and very, very dangerous to you. Because you know who he—or she—is, and that person could start to worry that you could compromise or leverage him. Or her.” A pause. “You’re being used. And when you’ve been all used up, you might just wind up dead, kid. A loose end tied right up in a neat little bow and dumped into the Gorge. Like Faith Hocking.”
She blinked.
“Enjoy your coffee.” Angie plunked some cash on the dark wood table, got to her feet, and started to walk out.
“What do you care?” Winston called after her.
Angie stilled—this was what she’d been building up to. She turned, came slowly back to the table, and looked down at the reporter. “Whatdid you say?”
“I ... you’re a fucking cop. You arrest people who are no better than you are—people who are down, addicted, just trying to survive. I seen cops on the street doing shit to underage kids, buying drugs. Same fucking cops that put others away for the same fucking shit. Yet you can’t even catch a monster like this and lock him up, too busy busting kids and hookers who’re just trying to get a fix while the fucking johns go back to their wives and their cop jobs.”
Heart banging, Angie leaned over Winston, her hands braced apart, palms flat on the table. The kid was shaking, eyes glistening, hot spots riding high onto her cheekbones and redness developing around her nose.
Softly, Angie said, “I once spoke to a nine-year-old girl who told me that she slept with a knife under her pillow because her stepdad sometimes came in and raped her. Another time I was at a gas station when a truck pulled up, windows rolled down and the rap music turned up so loud, with lyrics all full of ‘motherfucker this’ and ‘motherfucker that.’ Two big men in muscle shirts jumped out of the truck, and what followed them into the convenience store made me want to cry.” She paused, holding Winston’s eyes, which were starting to water. “It was the cutest little girl with blond curls and a dirty dress. She was carrying her little doll, and she was trying to keep up with those big guys in their muscle shirts and tats.” Angie paused again. “She couldn’t have been any more than three years old, and all I could think about, and still think about, was what her home life must be like. What did she hear, day in and day out? What did she see? Who did she become in the end? And then, six months ago I held a dying toddler in my arms, her blood all over me. Killed by her own father, who had been raping her. Her name was Tiffany. I lost my partner that day.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat.
“See? Idocare, Winston. I care enough to have become an officer, to have put my name in for sex crimes. I care enough to have stayed in the sex unit for six years, because I want to put away bad guys who hurt women and kids. Maybe I fail. Maybe I don’t make any fucking difference at all. But I care enough to keep trying, and if you stop me from getting this bastard, if you stop me from doing my job by giving away proprietary law enforcement information that is going to make him change his MO,youare as guilty as him when he hurts his next victim, and Iwillcare enough to putyouaway for it.” She stood up and straightened her shoulders. “So don’t stop me from doing my job, understand?”
“That a threat,Officer?”
“No, Merry Winston,” she said softly. “It’s a promise.” She placed her card on the table and pushed it toward the reporter. “Call me when you’re ready to talk.” She turned and made for the exit.
