Free Murder at The Washington Tribune by Margaret Truman

Morehouse of having an upbeat personality. But this morning his growls seemed even more frequent and pronounced.
    â€œGood morning,” said a young reporter who popped into his office moments after he’d arrived, his takeout coffee still uncapped.
    Morehouse nodded and muttered, “How are you?”
    â€œCouldn’t be better,” she said happily.
    â€œI doubt that,” he muttered. “What do you want?”
    â€œI’m pissed about the edit you did on my story yesterday. I—”
    â€œYeah, I know, I messed with your precious prose. Talk to me later about it, after I’ve had coffee. Close the door behind you.” He watched with an admiring eye as she left, hips and buttocks moving nicely beneath the thin fabric of her skirt.
    He’d spent the evening with an assortment of editors from the city’s other news outlets at a dinner hosted by D.C.’s mayor, the purpose of which still escaped him. Did the mayor really think that by serving the press small drinks and a lousy big dinner, he’d buy their good graces when it came to covering his missteps? Maybe for some of the mayor’s media lapdogs, but not for him, Paul Morehouse. Not only had the evening been a waste of time, the dinner had left him with a sour stomach; a fresh roll of Tums sat next to his Styrofoam coffee cup.
    He looked through the glass separating him from the main newsroom and saw Joe Wilcox heading for his office.
    â€œYeah?” Morehouse said as Wilcox entered.
    â€œI thought you’d want to see this,” Wilcox said, laying the article on the desk.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œRead it.”
    Morehouse removed the cover from his coffee and took a sip before picking up Wilcox’s pages. He leaned back, half-glasses on the tip of his nose, a scowl on his face. “Interesting,” he said, dropping the article on the desk. “A serial killer? Based on two murders?”
    â€œTwo similar murders, Paul.”
    â€œThis one worked for a TV station?”
    â€œRight. I’m nailing down which one.”
    â€œSame cause of death.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œWho’s your source at MPD who says it’s possibly a serial murder?”
    â€œA good one.”
    â€œYour—your Spanish buddy?”
    â€œNo. Someone higher up.”
    â€œCan’t get MPD to go on the record?”
    â€œNot yet. They will. They’ll have to when this runs.”
    â€œHe talked to you on background?”
    â€œYes.”
    There was a difference, Wilcox knew, between having a public official speak “off the record” and “on background.” In its strictest interpretation, “off the record” meant that whatever was said could not be reported, even without attribution. But speaking “on background” meant the official’s words could be reported without naming the source. Those distinctions had become blurred over the years. “Off the record” covered both situations in most journalists’ minds, and Wilcox wasn’t in the mood to honor such distinctions.
    â€œGet the victim’s name and where she worked. The L.A. bureau is interviewing Kaporis’s ex out in California. Use what they come up with in the piece.”
    â€œShall do.”
    As Wilcox turned to leave, Morehouse said, “What about the hooker angle?”
    â€œWhat about it?”
    â€œI want that run down.”
    Wilcox nodded, but it didn’t represent what he was thinking. He said, “This serial killer angle is front-page stuff, Paul.”
    â€œWe’ll see. Nice work, Joe. By the way, how come you covered Franklin Park last night?”
    â€œI was passing by.”
    As Wilcox was about to leave, Morehouse said, “Joe, when you get something from MPD, see if you can get them to speculate that if a serial killer is loose, chances are Jean was murdered by somebody from outside the
Trib.
”
    â€œThat’ll be tough.