Hard News (Rune 3)

"Yeah, this guy is hypothetically killed. And there's an eyewitness the cops find and he gives a statement. Would the cops just stop there and not interview anybody else?"

"Sure, why not? If it's a solid witness."

"Real solid."

"Sure. Detectives've got more murders than they know what to do with. An eyewitness--which you hardly ever get in a homicide--sure, they'd take the statement and turn 'em over to the prosecutor. Then on to another case."

"I'd think they'd do more."

"An eyewitness, Rune? It doesn't get any better than that."

THE SITES OF TRAGEDY.

It had happened three years ago but as she placed each foot on the worn crest of a cobblestone--slowly, a mourner's hopscotch--Rune felt the macabre, queasy pull of Lance Hopper's killing. It was eight P.M., an overcast, humid evening. She and Courtney stood in the courtyard, at the bottom of the four sides of the building. A square of gray-pink city-lit sky was above them.

Where exactly had Hopper died? she wondered. In the dim triangle of light falling into the courtyard from the leaded-glass lamp by the canopied doorway? Or had it been in the negative space--the shadows?

Had he crawled toward the light?

Rune found that this bothered her, not knowing exactly where the man had lain as he died. She thought there should be some kind of marker, some indication of where that moment had occurred--the instant between life and no life. But there was nothing, no reminder at all.

Hopper would have to be content with whatever his gravestone said. He'd been rich; she was sure it was an eloquent sentiment.

Rune led Courtney into the stuccoed lobby. An entry-way of a medieval castle. She expected at least a suit of armor, a collection of pikes and broadswords and maces. But she saw only a bulletin board with a faded sign, Co-op News, and a stack of take-out menus from a Chinese restaurant.

She pressed a button.

*

"WHAT A CUTE LITTLE GIRL. YOU'RE YOUNG TO BE A mother."

Rune said, "You know how it is."

The woman said, "I had Andrew when I was twenty-six; Beth when I was twenty-nine. That was old for then. For that generation. Let me show you the pictures."

The apartment was irritating. It reminded Rune of a movie she'd seen one time about these laser beams that crisscrossed the control room in a spaceship and if you broke one of them you'd set off this alarm. Here, though, no laser beams, but instead: little china dishes, animal figurines, cups, commemorative plates, a Franklin Mint ceramic thimble collection, vases and a thousand other artifacts, most of them flowery and ugly, all poised on the edges of fake teak shelves and tables, just waiting to fall to the floor and shatter.

Courtney's eyes glinted at these many opportunities for destruction and Rune kept a death grip on the belt of the little girl's jumpsuit.

The woman's name was Miss Breckman. She was handsome. A born salesclerk: reserved, helpful, organized, polite. Rune remembered she was in her late fifties though she looked younger. She was stocky, with a double chin (handsome though it was) and a cylindrical frame. "Have a seat, please."

They maneuvered through the ceramic land mines and sat on doily-covered chairs. Rune tamped down her pride and complimented Miss Breckman on her fine collection of things.

The woman glowed. "I got them mostly from my mother. We had the same thoughts about decoration. Genetic, I suppose."

From there they talked about children, about boyfriends and husbands (Miss Breckman's had left her ten years before; she was, she said, "currently in the market").

Mostly what Miss Breckman wanted to talk about, though, was the news.

"So you're a real reporter?" Her eyes focused on Rune like a scientist discovering a new kind of bug.

"More of a producer, really. Not like a newspaper reporter. It's different in TV news."

"Oh, I know. I watch every news program on the air. I always try to work the day shift so I can be home in time to watch Live at Five. It's a bit gossipy, but aren't we all? I don't care for the six P.M. report--that's mostly business--so I fix my dinner then, and I watch the World News at Seven while I eat." She frowned. "I hope you won't be offended if I tell you your network's nightly news isn't all that good. Jim Eustice, the anchorman, I think he's funny-looking and sometimes doesn't pronounce those Polish and Japanese names right. But Current Events is simply the best. Do you know Piper Sutton? Sure you do, of course. Is she as charming as she seems? Smart ... sweet ..."

If you only knew, lady....

Rune began steering toward the Boggs story, not quite sure how much to say. If Rune was right about Boggs's innocence, of course, she was pretty much calling Ms. Figurine here a liar, and--come to think of it--a perjurer too. She opted for the indirect approach. "I'm doing a follow-up story on the Hopper killing and I'd like to ask you a few questions."