Free Picture Me Dead by Heather Graham Page B

most minute clue, slip away.”
    Martin nodded. Jake walked from the scene and across the road, where the uniformed officers were holding the onslaught of reporters at bay.
    â€œA murder, right? A young woman?” Jayne Gray, from one of the local stations, called to him.
    â€œJayne, I’m afraid there’s not too much we can say right now. We’ve got the body of a woman who has apparently been dead several weeks, even a few months. We’ve yet to determine anything else as fact, but as soon as the M.E.’s office has further information, I know they’ll share it. And when that happens, you know that a police spokesperson will be telling you all that they can. There’s nothing else you can learn here right now, folks.”
    â€œBut, Detective Dilessio, there must be more you can give us.” Bryan Jay, an obnoxious, heavy-set man from the local paper, called out. “It’s a murder, right? You’ve found the victim of a murder, in the mud, off the side of the road.”
    He was tempted to give Jay a real wise-ass reply. Hell, no. She decided to drop herself off there, lie down and die.
    â€œMr. Jay, give the medical examiner time to do his work,” Jake said firmly.
    â€œRight,” Jay replied dryly. “Come on, Jake, give us something.”
    â€œI’ve already explained that we have the body of a woman, Mr. Jay.”
    â€œThink we have a single crime here, or do we have a serial killer on the loose? Isn’t this the way the first victim was found in those serial killings years ago? Are there any mutilations?”
    Leave it to Jay to home in on an uncomfortable suspicion of his own, Jake thought.
    â€œUnfortunately, this is a big city. We have a lot of murders every year.”
    â€œStill, this seems awfully similar to me. The kid who supposedly did the killing back then is dead though, right?”
    â€œA man who claimed to have committed the murders committed suicide, yes.”
    â€œBut the case was never officially closed, right?”
    â€œNo, Mr. Jay, it was not.”
    â€œThe police cracked down on the local cults back then. Papa Pierre, alias Peter Bordon, was a suspect, right? But he’s been locked up for years now, right?”
    Jake heard the blood rushing in his ears. He gritted his teeth, desperately fighting the temptation to step forward and bash Bryan Jay in his smug, jowly face.
    â€œCome on, Jake!” another woman called out.
    He knew her, too. Crime beat from a Broward paper. She’d moved fast to get down here, he thought.
    â€œPeter Bordon is in prison in the center of the state. As anyone on the crime beat is surely aware, he was never tried for or convicted of murder,” he said.
    â€œThat’s right. Neither was the crazy guy who killed himself in jail. Harry Tennant. He was just a homeless junkie, huh? He claimed to have been the murderer, but then, lots of sickos like to claim they’re responsible for sensational murders.”
    â€œDue to Mr. Tennant’s death, we weren’t able to investigate his story, Mr. Jay.”
    â€œLooks like he wasn’t a killer, though, huh? You guys didn’t follow up, and it looks like the murderer is out there and at it again,” Jay said.
    â€œMr. Jay, I’m sorry, we’re trying to deal in fact, not supposition. There’s nothing else I can give you right now,” Jake said firmly. He forced himself to speak a level tone. “We live in a great country, and I respect the press beyond all measure. I will not, however, stand here and spout off a bunch of theories when I haven’t got any facts. Journalism deals in facts, right? As soon as we’ve got something to give you, we will. Thanks, and that’s all for right now. We like to let you do your work, and we’re damned appreciative when you let us do ours.”
    He turned and walked away. First thing on his list was a long talk with the jogger who had found the