Free Death of an Intern by Keith M. Donaldson Page A

newsroom: rabbit hutches. Kat caught up. “Where did Janet work?” I asked.
    Kat almost lurched at my question. “There,” she whispered.
    I moved the few short steps to the small space to get a look. “And you?” I asked.
    Kat pointed to the station next in line. “Please, you shouldn't be…”
    I quickly took in Janet's space that included a photo. “Her mother, father, and…?” I hoped my inflection would invite Kat to fill in the blank, which she did.
    â€œHer sisters. You need to leave,” she said anxiously.
    â€œSorry, I didn't mean to cause…” I turned and headed back to the reception area. As agitated as Kat appeared about my being in the office area, the others around hadn't paid attention to my presence. “We met last Friday night,” I said, as we left the area.
    â€œI remember.”
    â€œI assume you knew Janet was pregnant?”
    Kat didn't answer. We arrived at the entrance door and stopped, “I hope I didn't cause you any problems.”
    Kat's reticence was obvious. “Have a nice day,” she said formally.
    â€œThank you, Kat. You too—the best you can possibly have under the circumstances.” I exited. This was not the same Kat I had seen at the party. I chalked it up to my not being used to the secret world of the White House. This may all be normal conduct.

K at took a deep breath in an attempt to settle herself. Knowing that Frankie Grayson would hear that a visitor had been in the work area, she went immediately to her boss's office. Her door was open and she could hear Grayson speaking to someone. Kat stopped in the open doorway when she saw Secret Service Officer Donna Talbot.
    The Vice President's sister saw Kat, and gestured for Talbot to hold on.
    â€œYes, Kat?”
    â€œSorry to interrupt Ms. Grayson, but…”
    â€œDid you show that reporter out?”
    â€œI did; however, coming out of Con II, she went right as I was closing the door, and she walked into the office area.”
    â€œWhat?” Grayson jumped to her feet.
    â€œI thought she'd go toward reception, the way she came in. I caught up to her, but by then we were into our work area.”
    â€œDid she touch anything?” Talbot asked.
    â€œNo, she only asked where Janet's desk was. We were right next to it. I pointed it out. Then she asked about the family picture on Janet's desk. I told her the office was off limits, a secure area, and that she had to leave.”
    â€œAnd did she?” Grayson asked sharply.
    â€œRight away, without a problem,” Kat said, not adding that the reporter had asked her where she worked.
    Grayson nodded. “Thank you, Kat, that'll be all.”
    Kat nodded, turned, and as she started out, heard Grayson say, “We don't want outsiders in here. You never know what political axe strangers may have to grind. Have security clean out Janet's things and give her personal stuff to Kat.”
    Kat thought that to be reasonable, but wondered if it was the complete reason.

I fully expected my media pals to probe into Janet's background after my story came out, even though they had not probed into who Thalma Williams was, except for one TV interview of Thalma's mother. A conundrum for the media—black and white. Did black get covered differently than white? More times than not, I feared. Janet was white and worked for the Vice President. Did that make Thalma's life any less important?
    Wilder had covered Thalma's killing. Would I have approached the two murders the same if I had covered Thalma as well? I didn't know Thalma, but had met Janet. Could there be a connection between Janet and Thalma? Were they victims of a serial killer, or killed by some slime-balls who didn't want to become fathers?
    I made it back to the newsroom in fifteen minutes and was heading for Lassiter's office, when I saw the wild and ugly auburn-dyed hair of Gertrude Lane coming out of Lassiter's office.