“Sister Anne was an angel to us and our kids,” the mother said, prompting nods from the others. “She was always getting doctors to look at them.”
“And she was trying to help us finish school, or find a job,” one mother said.
“Why would anyone want to hurt her?” one mother said. “Why?”
“I’d like to take your comments down, for my story. Please. It will let readers know what Seattle has lost. And it could help somebody to remember something that could lead to her killer.”
The women agreed to let Jason quote them, except one who’d just come from Spokane, where she’d left her abusive husband. After talking for several minutes and passing his card around, Jason asked if they could direct him to any regulars at the shelter who were close to Sister Anne. The women considered a few people, but warned him that shelter people generally weren’t much for talking.
“I got that.” He glanced at the hard cases watching him.
After thanking the women, Jason left them to help himself to a coffee in a ceramic mug donated by a local bank. Then he went to a far-off corner and reviewed his notes, flipping through pages, flagging the best quotes to go into his story. It wasn’t great, but he had something. More important, he had just over two hours to deadline. Gulping the last of his coffee, he was set to return to the newsroom to start writing.
Someone stopped at his table.
“They say you’re not a cop, is that true?” asked a man with black ball bearings for eyes.
“I’m a reporter with the Mirror. ”
Jason displayed his photo ID and put a business card on the table for the stranger. The man was heavyset, in his forties, maybe. Hard to tell under his long hair and beard, flecked with crumbs. A war vet? He was wearing a dirty, tattered field jacket with desert camouflage pattern and military pants.
“I never talk to cops and they were here all day asking things about Sister Anne.”
“You knew her?” Jason asked.
“She’s the reason I’m still alive, know what I’m saying?”
No, Jason didn’t know, but the man’s intensity made him curious. The guy obviously had some problems.
“Can we talk about her?” Jason asked.
“No, I’m too upset, but there’s something I want you to pass to police.”
“What’s your name?”
“Forget that, listen up and write this down.”
Jason opened his notebook but wondered if the old soldier was going to be a nut job and a waste of time. Might as well humor him.
“A couple of weeks ago, this guy, a stranger, started showing up. He kept to himself and talked to no one but Sister Anne.”
“What’d they talk about?”
“She never said. They always went off alone to a corner. It was weird. I watched them, see, because the thing was, she always came away sorta sad, like whatever they were talking about was her problem, not his. It was like they were arguing.”
“Did it get physical? Did he threaten her?”
“Couldn’t say. It didn’t look that way.”
“You ever ask her about it?”
“I mind my own business. We all do in here.”
“Has the guy been around today?”
“Haven’t seen him for a few days. But somebody’s got to look into this guy.”
“You know much about him, like his name, or what he looked like?”
“Not really, the one thing I do remember is that I saw him take a knife from here.”
“A knife? Really?”
“A wooden-handled steak knife.”
Jason made careful notes. As he struggled to absorb the implication of the new information, his cell phone rang. His caller ID displayed the number for Eldon Reep.
“Sorry, I gotta take this.” He answered, “Wade, Mirror. ”
“You better haul your butt in here now, Jason,” Cassie Appleton said.
What the hell was this? Cassie calling from Reep’s line, giving him orders.
“Where’s Eldon? I should be talking to him.”
“Why did you ditch me? We’re supposed to be working together.”
“You don’t need me to hold your hand.”
“Eldon’s in a meeting and since you’re not answering my calls, he told me to call you on his line and give you this message, which is to tell you you’ve got a deadline and you’d better damn well get in here now with a story.”
“I don’t take orders from other reporters.”
“You better listen to what I’m telling you, Jason, he’s really ticked at you.”
Jason ended the call and turned to resume his conversation with the old soldier.
But the man was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
D riving his Falcon from the shelter to the Mirror, Jason looked at his watch. Two hours before deadline, enough time to put a story together.
His cell phone rang. The number showed: “Restricted.”
Most Seattle police phone numbers came up that way.
“Jason, it’s Garner.”
“Grace! Hang on!” He scanned his mirrors before pulling over. “What’ve you got that I can use?”
“The name’s confirmed, Anne Louise Braxton. The press office is putting that out with a photo of her from the order, in about an hour.”
“Any next of kin?”
“Apparently not. The order was her family, her life.”
“Cause of death?”
“She was stabbed. That will be in the release and we won’t go into details.”
“Did you find the weapon? I’ve got sources saying you found a knife near the town house and I’ve got a lead that the knife may have come from the shelter, so I’m going with it.”
“How did you get all that?”
“I’m a crime reporter, or did you forget already?”
“Jason, if you publish that now, it could damage our case. We’ll be chasing down every whack job who’ll confess.”
“I don’t work for the Seattle PD. I’m going with what I have, unless you tell me right now that it’s dead wrong?”
“I’m not confirming or denying it.”
“So you do have a knife?”
“I’m not confirming that.”
“You’re not denying it. Grace, quit the BS. I think you’ve got the knife. I won’t say what kind of knife it is, I’ll qualify all my stuff as, ‘police are investigating the theory that…’ you know the tune, okay?”
“I have to go.”
“I think you owe me, Grace.”
“What? I don’t owe you squat. Grow up.”
“Then tell me my stuff is wrong.”
Silence hissed for several beats.
“Grace?”
