Eve scanned the crowd, zeroed in on Nadine. “You want a story, Ms. Furst. I want a killer. I figure my wants are more important than yours, so that’s all I have to say.”
She turned on her heel, shot Simpson one fulminating look, then strode away. She could hear him fighting off questions as she headed for her car.
“Dallas.” Nadine, in low-heeled shoes built for style and movement, raced after her.
“I said I’m finished. Talk to Simpson.”
“Hey, if I want to wade through bullshit, I can call the DVC. That was a pretty impassioned statement. Didn’t sound like Simpson’s speech writer.”
“I like to talk for myself.” Eve reached her car and started to open the door when Nadine touched her shoulder.
“You like to play it straight. So do I. Look, Dallas, we’ve got different methods, but similar goals.” Satisfied that she had Eve’s attention, she smiled. When her lips curved, her face turned into a tidy triangle, dominated by those upslanted green eyes. “I’m not going to pull out the old public’s right to know.”
“You’d be wasting your time.”
“What I am going to say is we’ve got two women dead in a week. My information, and my gut tells me they were both murdered. I don’t figure you’re going to confirm that.”
“You figure right.”
“What I want’s a deal. You let
me know if I’m on the right track, and I hold off going out with anything that undermines your investigation. When you’ve got something solid and you’re ready to move on it, you call me. I get an exclusive on the arrest—live.”
Almost amused, Dallas leaned against her car. “What are you going to give me for that, Nadine? A handshake and a smile?”
“For that I’m going to give you everything my source has passed to me. Everything.”
Now she was interested. “Including the source?”
“I couldn’t do that if I had to. Point is, I don’t. What I do have, Dallas, is a disc, delivered to me at the studio. On the disc are copies of police reports, including autopsies on both victims, and a couple of nasty little videos of two dead women.”
“Fuck that. If you had half of what you’re telling me, you’d have been on air in a heartbeat.”
“I thought about it,” Nadine admitted. “But this is bigger than ratings. Hell of a lot bigger. I want a story, Dallas, one that’s going to cop me the Pulitzer, the International News Award, and a few other major prizes.”
Her eyes changed, darkened. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “But I saw what someone did to those woman. Maybe the story comes first with me, but it’s not all. I pushed Simpson today, and I pushed you. I liked the way you pushed back. You can deal with me, or I can go out on my own. Your choice.”
Eve waited. A fleet of taxis cruised by, and a maxibus with its humming electric motor. “We deal.” Before Furst’s eyes could light in triumph, Eve turned on her. “You cross me on this, Nadine, you cross me by so much as an inch, and I’ll bury you.”
“Fair enough.”
“The Blue Squirrel, twenty minutes.”
The afternoon crowd at the club was too bored to do much more than huddle over their drinks. Eve found a corner table, ordered a Pepsi Classic and the veggie pasta. Nadine slid in across from her. She chose the chicken plate with no-oil fries. An indication, Eve thought glumly, of the wide difference between a cop’s salary and a reporter’s.
“What have you got?” Eve demanded.
“A picture’s worth several hundred thousand words.” Nadine took a personal palm computer out of her bag—her red leather bag, Eve noted with envy. She had a weakness for leather and bold colors that she could rarely indulge.
Nadine popped in the disc, handed Eve the PPC. There was little use in swearing, Eve decided as she watched her own reports flick on-screen. Brooding, she let the disc run over Code Five data, through official medical reports, the ME’s findings. She stopped it when the videos began. There was no need to check out death over a meal.
“Is it accurate?” Nadine asked when Eve passed back the computer.
“It’s accurate.”
“So the guy’s some sort of gun freak, a security expert who patronizes companions.”
“The evidence indicates that profile.”