Free Murder at The Washington Tribune by Margaret Truman Page A

I—”
    â€œYeah, yeah, I know, but it would help take the spotlight off us, poke a hole in the notion that we might be covering up for one of our own.”
    â€œI’ll see what I can do.”
    Wilcox spent the next few hours on the phone working his sources in D.C.’s broadcasting community. He struck oil with a friend at one of the TV stations, who told him the slain woman in the park had worked for a competitor. He called that station and received a reluctant confirmation that the victim had, indeed, worked there. He lied to the person on the phone: “We’re going with her name,” he said. “MPD has notified her next of kin.”
    â€œReally?” the person on the other end said. “The McNamara family must be devastated.”
    â€œI’m sure they are,” Wilcox said, noting the name on a pad and injecting empathy into his voice. “How old was she? Twenty-six?”
    â€œI don’t know,” the TV station employee said. “Colleen never said, at least to me.”
    â€œYeah. Well, I’m sure you’re all terribly upset losing a colleague in such a brutal way. Thanks for your time.”
    He inserted the victim’s name and the TV station into the story, and ran a computer search on Colleen McNamara. There wasn’t much, but there was just enough to help flesh out the piece. She’d come to Washington to take the job at the TV station. That was three years ago. Her name was mentioned in connection with a couple of investigative reports she’d produced for the station. Her address and telephone number were included in the computer-generated bio.
    A man answered his call to her residence.
    â€œJoe Wilcox from the
Tribune.
Is there someone I can speak with about Ms. McNamara?”
    â€œYou’re a reporter?”
    â€œYes.
The Washington Tribune.
My condolences to the family. I know this is a tough time for you, but I’m working on a story that might help find out who killed her. You’re—?”
    â€œColleen was my fiancée.”
    â€œOh. I’m sorry for your loss, sir. Your name is—?”
    â€œThat doesn’t matter.”
    â€œI just want to be accurate, that’s all, and complete. I recognize this is an awkward time for you and the family, but I would really appreciate a chance to get together with you if only for a few minutes. Ms. McNamara, your fiancée, should be portrayed as the wonderful person she was, and should have her professional achievements pointed out.”
    â€œMr. Wilcox, I—” His voice became thick.
    Wilcox changed his tone. “Look, there might be a serial killer out there who’ll take another victim. I’m sure you want to see that that doesn’t happen.”
    â€œOf course.” Wilcox heard a buzzer in the background. “I have to go. Some other family members have arrived. Give me your number. I’ll call you at a better time.”
    â€œSure.” He provided his direct line and cell numbers.
    He decided to go to the address listed for Colleen McNamara in the hope of catching family members coming and going from the house. As he passed through the newsroom, he stopped to watch Roberta give a report on the Franklin Park killing. She wrapped it into a larger piece regarding the spate of murders that had taken place the night before, and presented no information about the victim other than that she was an apparent homicide, and that the case was in the preliminary stages of investigation: “Stay tuned for more information as we receive it. I’m Roberta Wilcox.”
    He thought of calling her but didn’t. Truth was, he wasn’t anxious to have her ask what he knew about the murder in the park. Better to not speak than to lie outright. Once he had his article completed and it was ready to run—hopefully on page one of the Metro section—he’d tell her what he had. Of course, he silently admitted to himself