Free Body Of Truth by Deirdre Savoy Page A

the building into the oppressive midday sun.
    The other four officers had already left, grumbling about wasting their time. Jonathan couldn’t blame them, since he felt the same way, like he was chasing his own tail. Hopefully their trip down to the city wouldn’t be equally unrewarding.
    Pierce’s editor had already gone to lunch when they called, but her agent, James Burke, welcomed them into his office in lower Manhattan.
    Once they were all seated in his office, he said, “This is such a shame about Amanda. I was away for the weekend and just heard about her death this morning. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
    â€œHow long have you known Ms. Pierce?”
    â€œOh, a good fifteen years, I think. We met back when she was working for the Times . Amanda started out as a quote unquote serious journalist, but every editor she had complained she couldn’t stick to a hard news format if her life depended on it. She wrote every story as if it were a feature for the New Yorker. I suggested she work on a book, a format where her talent for embellishment would be an asset.”
    Burke shifted in his chair. “Her first book was about Eleanor Roosevelt, not a celebrity at all. She kind of fell into that and it was a lucky thing she did.”
    â€œWhat is she working on now?”
    â€œHonestly, I don’t know. She’d finished her latest contract with Pulliam Press and wanted some time off. I couldn’t blame her. She’d been turning in a book every twelve to thirteen months for the past few years. Most writers doing the same kind of work take maybe two or three times as long.”
    Burke leaned back in his chair. “I thought maybe she might have been working on a novel she didn’t want anyone to know about yet, but that’s just speculation. Her assistant might know.”
    He very well might, but to date they hadn’t been able to track the man down. “You knew her socially as well as being her agent?”
    He nodded. “We were friends. We were each other’s pity date in case we had no one else to attend functions with. She knew I had a penchant for Spanish food, so every now and then her cook would whip up something for me.” He glanced at Mari. “You must know what I mean.”
    â€œI’m an American girl,” Mari said, sounding like Rita Moreno in West Side Story . “I don’t eat.”
    Burke chuckled. “Is there anything else I can tell you?”
    â€œIt’s my understanding not everyone was happy with either Ms. Pierce’s subjects or what she had to say about them.”
    â€œThat’s putting it mildly. These days our celebrities are our gods. As much as people love to hear gossip, they hate to examine anyone’s character. In her writing Amanda said these people you admire are nothing but big spoiled overpaid babies that have no self-control. And you know what? She thrived on it. The more people hated her, the more books she sold, and the more money she made. She used to joke that she’d go for the title of most reviled woman in America if she thought she could wrestle the honor from Roseanne Barr. This was a few years back, of course.”
    â€œWas there anyone in particular who might have threatened her?”
    Burke snapped his fingers. “You know every now and again, she’d send me a particularly vicious letter, you know, just to show how far some people would go to express their displeasure. We used to joke about them, but honestly, I think some of them scared her.” Burke opened the bottom drawer to his desk. “I think I have it here.”
    After a moment, Burke pulled out a black file folder and extended it toward him. “If there’s a loony responsible for her death, you’ll probably find him in there—or at least his e-mail address.”
    Jonathan stood and took the folder. He’d gotten whatever information he could from this man. “Thanks