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  She went perfectly still as though reacting in any way would be a tactical error. “We’re looking into all aspects of this crime.”

  Riley leaned closer to speak softly and gave her an insincere smile. “In other words, you’ll find some way to keep the heat off the judge and mark this off as another unfortunate death.” He lifted Biddy’s tripod. “Watch for the story at six.”

  Massey’s eyebrow arched a tiny bit more. She smiled with supreme pleasure. “I’ll be watching the other channels where you will be the lead story.”

  Biddy clicked off his camera and headed out, toting equipment bags. Riley held his don’t-give-a-shit grin as he stepped away, turning his back to Massey. He brightened his smile as he passed a pair of young ladies, hiding his churning-gut reaction from curious onlookers until he exited the building.

  In three steps, he lost his smile.

  With the DA shuffling off the Stanton case as domestic violence, law enforcement wouldn’t spend the additional hours investigating. The story would die along with Sally unless the police could be convinced her death could have been premeditated.

  Based on his brief discussion with the killer, this didn’t resonate as a crime of passion. It hadn’t been much of a discussion this morning, now that he thought back on the call he’d received while in the archive room.

  The male voice had been calm, flat and scary quiet.

  Street noises playing in the background and the tinny sound of the connection had left Riley with the impression of a pay phone.

  Those phones were rarer than finding an honest politician.

  The caller had told Riley to film the body first and report the truth, then contact the police. The call hadn’t lasted a full minute.

  All the while, Riley had been seconds from shutting down completely, his heart thudding loud in his ears at the flashbacks ricocheting through his mind. Shock had swamped him at being contacted by another murdering bastard. He couldn’t recall how long he’d sat there holding the phone until someone banged a door shut at the station, shaking him out of his stupor.

  Riley had ignored the killer’s demand that he head to the crime scene first. Screw that murdering asshole. He’d dialed 9-1-1 immediately then headed out the door, replaying the one-sided conversation in his mind, trying to recall the words.

  The killer had muttered something about, “Her fault.”

  Fault for what? That calm and clinical male voice hadn’t sounded like a distraught lover or an angry boyfriend.

  Riley had shared everything he could remember about the call with J. T. Turner, the investigating Philly PD Detective he was getting to know after covering a steady run of murders for WNUZ. But little things buried in his subconscious kept creeping into his mind. Like the killer saying, “We have a job to do.”

  Had he meant only last night or something more? And what about the “we” reference? Did the killer have a partner?

  The call had let loose a flood of anguish that clouded his mind the whole time, but Riley could swear he’d heard the word, “Soon.”

  A job to do soon?

  Stepping outside into the brisk January morning, he sucked in cold air that burned his lungs. If this wasn’t a DV, then finding this killer might stop another murder.

  Get the story. Stay out of everyone else’s business.

  But the receptionist who’d put the call through last night had said the guy asked specifically for Riley. He had a feeling, a news hound’s sixth sense, that told him he’d hear back from this guy. Not if he got canned. What if the guy called and Riley wasn’t at the station?

  A psychopath’s ego made him dangerous and unpredictable. Riley knew that too well.

  There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of this unless he could convince WNUZ to spin the Henry incident at City Hall.

  He paused, just remembering something crucial. The CEO of Henry’s newspaper hated the CEO of Riley’s network.

  Damn. Some things might be beyond spinning.

  Chapter 5

  DA Investigator Kirsten Massey’s teeth clicked when she snapped her gaping mouth closed.

  The retreating profile of Riley-damn-Walker stood a head above most City Hall staffers, attorneys and uniformed police moving along the corridor outside the pressroom.

  Too bad he had such a nice profile. What a waste for a man like that who oozed testosterone to end up in the news business, the one occupation she detested almost as much as she hated dealing with the new DA.

  That was saying something.

  Two women heading her way slowed as they passed Riley, who trailed several steps behind his cameraman. He flashed a my-place-or-yours smile at the pair without missing a step. Both women gave him a long, appraising once over, then faced back around. One fanned herself and smiled wickedly.

  As the woman fanning herself passed Kirsten, she mused conspiratorially to her friend, “I bet he’d be fun – ”

  Kirsten flung a silent “get a life” eye roll at the females. If they looked beyond the broad shoulders and wavy black hair that curled carelessly around Walker’s neck, they’d find the cold-blooded shark swimming inside that skin. Those women only saw deep blue eyes, not the calculating mind behind his laser gaze.

  Kirsten had grown up around the media and knew exactly what that rascal smile hid. Riley was no different than every other newsman in search of the next big story that would push up ratings.

  Like he really cared about Sally Stanton’s death or Kirsten’s caseload? He only jabbed at her to spin her off balance.

  And she’d let him, blast it all.

  “Massey.”

  At the sharp sound of her name, Kirsten turned to face her chew-on-my-ass boss. Her muscles constricted, preparing for another battle.

  Now that the media had dissipated, DA Cecelia Van Gogh covered the stretch of hallway from her office to the pressroom on long legs beneath the skirt of her tailored navy blue suit. How she walked in that pair of ice pick stilettos all day was beyond Kirsten. She’d never be a slave to fashion over comfort. Before she could say a word, Cecelia started in on her.

  “What have we got on the Germantown murder?”

  “Not much more than we released to the media until I get the final report from Philly PD.” Kirsten shifted the stack of documents in her arms. “I plan to speak with Sally Stanton’s neighbors today.”

  “When am I getting the full report?”

  Kirsten squelched the hit of irritation at Cecelia’s I-want-it-ten-minutes-ago abrasive tone. “Soon as I can. Takes time to sift through all the information, but you know that.”

  “We’re on a deadline here, Massey.” Cecelia’s lips rippled like a petulant librarian discussing an overdue book instead of a dead woman. “The Mayor wants these domestic killings out of the news before his address on the state of the city in six days.”

  Did the mayor really think this case would just fade away with the other urban killings because he had a speech to give? Or was this all Cecelia?

  Kirsten stuck to the issue. “A deadline? To solve a murder? You’ve got to be kidding. What’s this all about?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking? We’re on a deadline to get this out of the news.” Cecelia paused for affect, head tilted to emphasize her point. She wore her honey-blond hair twisted in an attractive upsweep style intended to show off her chiseled beauty. “He’s hosting an early reception for reps of several major corporations at the international business symposium next week. Two national brands are looking at Philly as a possible city for relocating their headquarters.”

  “That’s all good news for Philly, but I don’t see how that should affect the way our PD solves cases.”

  Cecelia tightened shoulders already soldier straight. “I do not want this Stanton case blown out of proportion in the media because the body was dropped at Berringer’s house.”

  “I haven’t even seen the police report – ”

  “My assistant got the bullet points by phone for the press release. Preliminary ME
evaluation is the body had been killed somewhere else then dropped on Berringer’s yard. Probably someone the judge had put away killed his girlfriend of the week then decided to dump her on Berringer’s lawn to screw with the judge. Similar killings have happened before. Berringer’s squeaky clean, one of the most respected judges in the country. He’s the true victim in all this. The sooner you get humping and put this murder behind us the sooner he and his wife will get their life back.”

  Put the murder behind us? Kirsten managed not to snarl at the obvious meaning beneath Cecelia’s words – deep six Sally Stanton’s death as just another unavoidable mishap amongst Philly’s less fortunate.

  Not until Kirsten was convinced this was domestic violence.

  Cecelia gave her a look that was the equivalent of snapping her fingers. “I gave you help by dealing with the press conference. Make this your priority and get it done.”

  “There are limitations to what I can do on this case to begin with.”

  “Then step outside those limitations if you need to. You have my authorization.”

  Great. That just meant Cecelia would have more reason to complain if she didn’t get what she wanted. “That shouldn’t be necessary, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

  That must not have placated Cecelia who unloaded her impatience. “If you’ve got anything else on the Stanton case I want to hear it.”

  “This is the second killing of someone from Philomena House in Northern Liberties.” Unsolved killings rode Kirsten’s conscious with a whip, lashing at her to find a way to stop the criminals. “These deaths might be connected.”

  Cecelia lifted a hand to silence Kirsten then looked around them. No one stood closer than twenty feet away, where two attorneys spoke quietly with an Assistant DA. When Cecelia’s attention swerved back to Kirsten she kept her voice just as soft.

  “Don’t start making noises about connected killings. This Stanton was a welfare mother with an out-of-wedlock kid. Why do you think St. Catherine’s put Philomena House in Northern Liberties?” Cecelia’s unstable attention flitted past Kirsten then to the side as a group of men passed. “You so much as hint at a connection and Philly PD will be up to their armpits in people claiming other killings are connected. You want that for our PD? That area is full of drug addicts and urban outdoorsmen for crying out loud.”

  “They’re homeless, Cecelia, not urban outdoorsmen.” Kirsten despised the DA’s flippant reference to Philly’s less fortunate.

  Cecelia waved her hand to dismiss the reprimand. “We closed the last homicide case from Philomena as drug related and Stanton’s murder probably is, too, if it’s not a DV.”

  Labeling Stanton’s murder as either drug related or domestic violence based on her socio-economic level was morally wrong and negligent.

  Plus, the prior related killing from Philomena House was not a closed file. Not yet.

  “As I said, I haven’t had a chance to even review this morning’s police report,” Kirsten countered. “I want to go through all the evidence first, consult with the investigating detective and find out if there are any other similarities – ”

  “What similarities?”

  “Both had single shots to the forehead of similar caliber, both were Philomena residents and both bodies were moved after the vics were killed. Once I finish my investigation, I’ll be ready to make a recommendation about how to move forward on this case. We have a responsibility to make sure there isn’t a connection.”

  Condescension came in many forms with Cecelia, like the way she shook her head and paused an extra second. “You really want me to believe a welfare mother from an area known for B&Es and drug deals was popped by a serial killer? That’s a stretch. Do you realize what raising that unrealistic possibility would do to the image of this city? That’s sensationalizing a death.”

  Focusing on the city’s image was the tourism bureau’s job, not Kirsten’s or the DA’s.

  And being ordered to hump harder than the sixteen-hour days Kirsten already put in just to help the mayor save face with corporate America had her grinding what enamel was left on her back teeth. This reminded her too much of the one directive above all others she’d grown up with – protect the family name at any cost. Image. Image. Image.

  She’d left that life behind. She’d thought.

  From her point of view, she had an uncomplicated job description – find the evidence necessary to convict criminals.

  End of statement.

  Kirsten met Cecelia’s uncompromising stare with an equally determined one of her own. “I can appreciate the timeline you and the Mayor are facing for his speech, but I’m not going to perform a faulty investigation to hit a PR-inspired deadline.”

  “Every investigation for this office had better be top notch, but be careful what you discount.” Cecelia drew her thick lashes together, cranking the threat in her glare to gladiator level. “There’s nothing trivial about this deadline. Bringing tourism into Philadelphia shows industry this is a thriving city, a place people want to visit and a place their employees will like to live. The mayor can’t get new industry to come in if people think this is a war zone.”

  “I’m more interested in making sure we have a safe city for our citizens to live in now.”

  Cecelia’s animation quieted abruptly with a chilling change. “Don’t ever make the mistake of insinuating that the safety of our citizens is not my first priority.”

  There was the face and voice of Cecelia’s dangerous political ambition. Kirsten was duly warned, but she wouldn’t bow to pressure. “I didn’t insinuate anything. If we’re both after the same thing – protecting Philly’s citizens – then I don’t understand rushing due process.”

  The unflattering look Cecelia gave her questioned Kirsten’s IQ before her gaze swept the hallway that grew more crowded with people. “Step into the pressroom.”

  Once Kirsten entered the room, Cecelia followed her and closed the door. She swung around and crossed her arms. “We aren’t rushing due process, just being efficient. All of these businesses and people pay taxes that finance salaries, as in money for your position that will be the first cut when the coffers run dry. Solve this murder ASAP and put a lid on the media so we can focus on the higher-priority news of an expanding tourism program.”

  “Not until I get my questions answered,” Kirsten persisted.

  “Such as?”

  “Why was the body of a destitute woman dropped on Judge Berringer’s yard? We need to interview his neighbors – ”

  “No, no, no.” Cecelia shook her head like a dog splaying water. “I told the judge we’d keep him and his wife out of the limelight. Reporters are camped out there as it is. Don’t give the media anything.”

  “The media is already digging around. If we shove this under the rug they’ll cry foul and how will that look in the news?” Kirsten understood both sides of the media, better than most in the DA’s office.

  “I’ll worry about the press. You worry about closing this case, Massey. You’ve got to learn how things work around here. You’ve been here a year. That’s long enough to have a clue on how we roll in Philly. They may do things differently in Chicago, but here we protect our innocent VIPs – and that includes judges – from being harassed by news vultures.”

  That was how Cecelia rolled, not the city.

  Kirsten tapped a finger against the files she still carried. “If the Stanton murder fits a domestic violence profile, we’ll limit city resources on investigating, but – ”

  “There is no but,” Cecelia sliced in. “Judge Berringer has had no case involving Sally Stanton. I checked that out myself this morning. Stanton was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Process the paperwork, declare it DV and move on.”

  “I’ll file my report once I’ve finished – ”

  Cecelia released a hiss of frustration. “This wouldn’t even make the news if not for being a slow news day. Don’t be so anal.”

  Kirsten slapped her head. “Yeah, I�
��d hate to be that invested in finding a killer.”

  Cecelia gave her a don’t-be-so-dramatic eye roll. “What about St. Catherine’s? They’re behind Philomena House. You want to stir up trouble for that little church after all the bishop has been through?”

  She would poke at Kirsten’s empathy for someone publicly humiliated, blast it. “No, of course not – ”

  “Then don’t,” Cecelia snapped. “Even the media has enough sense to leave them alone after victimizing St. Catherine’s twice in the past year. The embezzlement case practically closed their doors. Why do you think they brought in the Enforcer?”

  Who? “You talking about the new monsignor?”

  “Yes. The city loves this guy. How many times do I have to remind you not to screw with good press? Seems like you’d know that with your family background.”

  Anything else Kirsten said at this point would not serve her purpose, but she wouldn’t budge another inch on this investigation. Cecelia could shove her ridiculous opinion where her head was obviously planted.

  Kirsten’s cell phone rang, saving her from having to respond. She answered, “Massey.”

  “Detective Turner, Philly PD. I’m at the morgue. Coroner found something odd on that body from Germantown – ”

  She did not want to discuss this in front of Cecelia. “Excuse me, detective. Would you please hold on?” Kirsten cut him off and made a point of glancing at her watch. She had a morning full of interviews and meetings, but she wanted to find out what the detective knew about this case. Talking in front of Cecelia would only cause more problems. She pulled the phone back to her ear. “I’m in a meeting right now. Can I meet you there at 11:00?”

  “Meet? Here?”

  “Yes, I’ll meet you there.” She wanted Cecelia to think the call was about asking for a meeting and she could get more done on this case outside the office.

  “Fine.”