Free Crime Beat by Scott Nicholson Page B

the sheds.
    Apparently the killer secreted away in the shadows and took her as she passed, looping a section of old clothesline around her neck. Her body was discovered by a town employee who was mapping the sewer system.
    Moretz, who’d been nearby at the courthouse, had all that in his article, of course. And, as if to remove any doubt that the strangulation was an echo of the second murder, the trusty pair of clippers had been found tucked into McDonald’s pocket.
    Sheriff Says Killings Linked, read my banner head. I sent Fitz out to get a shot of the site where the body was found, but Moretz had engaged in his usual modus operandi and was on the scene minutes after the call came in.
    Because our broadband scanner monitors all streams of public traffic instead of just the emergency band, he picked up the town worker’s original call to the dispatch office.
    To score some points with Hardison, I ran a mug of his concerned, jowly face. There was the usual jurisdictional tug-of-war, since the body had been found inside the town limits, ensuring Hardison would be battling both the town cops and the SBI during his investigation, inevitably drawing out any resolution.
    I could have shifted over to the town police chief as the tentpole, but I buried him eight paragraphs down, along with the obligatory bluster and outrage expressed by Mayor Wilbanks. As a leader, Wilbanks seemed completely lost without a pair of ceremonial scissors in his hand, plus he was still distracted because of his pervert son.
    “You should have been there,” Moretz said, face flush with adrenalin as he raced in, though his eyes were as cold and dark as ever.
    “I suppose I will be, once I read your article. Was Kavanaugh on the scene?”
    “Yeah, you should have heard her grilling the sheriff. Asked him whether it was a serial killer or the work of a copycat killer.”
    “Good question. Not yes-or-no, but either-or.”
    “Hardison gave his old standby of ‘Conclusions have not yet been drawn.’“
    “Let’s run with both of them, keep the public guessing. Nothing will get them talking like the notion that there might be two killers at work.”
    “I can spin it to three killers if you like. There’s nothing on the Hanratty murder, either.”
    I waved him off. “Drop it in the last paragraph just to remind people, but that case doesn’t fit the whole serial-killer profile we’ve built up. Can you have it finished by deadline?”
    Moretz nodded. “Funny how all these bodies keep turning up just before we go to press.”
    I touched the ceramic “Genius at Work” knickknack on my desk. “Don’t question the gods of ink and paper. Just count your blessings and the digits on your paycheck.”
    Moretz rolled out clean copy while Baker typed up a quick timeline on the murders. Seeing the bulleted list made me fully realize how quickly all our lives had been altered since Moretz arrived. Of course, it had changed most dramatically for those now immortalized as victims.
    Moretz turned in a skeletal article that had all the statistical details but little color. I kicked it back to him and requested that he beef up the end, planting speculation and suggesting a police force that was hopelessly confused.
    Moretz wasn’t happy about that. He stormed into my office after receiving my IM’ed request. However, since I was the editor and boss, it actually wasn’t a request at all.
    “Chief,” Moretz said, his intonation dripping with sarcasm. “We already played that hand. You almost got me arrested, remember. You’re the one who gave me the lecture about not editorializing in the news copy.”
    “This is different,” I said. “This is just a case of giving readers what they want. Hell, half the town thinks Hardison’s a dumb-ass redneck who would never be hired for the job if he wasn’t elected.”
    “He’s not going to be happy if you stab him in the back again. Kavanaugh’s already getting more inside stuff than I am.” Moretz hovered