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CHAPTER 8

CINDY’S PHONE BUZZED with an incoming call. She grabbed it, hoping it was Richie calling her back. But no. It was a reporter from the Examiner who had also read the letter in the Flash and was asking her for a comment.

“I have nothing, Sarah. Just what you have.”

“How about a quote about how you miss him or something?”

“Take care, Sarah. I’ve gotta go.”

There was a tap on Cindy’s wall. She saw Phil Balshi standing outside her office. He signaled that he wanted to come in, and didn’t wait for an okay.

Once inside, he said, “Something big just broke. Warren Jacobi was found dead this morning.”

“It’s a rumor,” Cindy said.

“Oh. I see. No corroboration from SFPD?”

“Right, Phil, it’s gossip until or if Clapper verifies this. Sit on it, okay?”

As Balshi returned to his desk, Cindy sent a text to Jacobi. She hoped he’d answer, then after they laughed, they’d track down the bastard who’d made up this garbage. When Jacobi didn’t reply immediately, Cindy stared out the window into the city room for ten minutes, then texted him again. There was still no reply, so she tried her good friend Lindsay, Richie’s SFPD partner. No answer from her, either. She tried her husband again, typing URGENT in all caps. And when she still got no reply, she phoned Frank Barto at the SFPD.

Barto’s job was to keep the police blotter, an ongoing, constantly updated record of all incidents phoned in by police officers, citizens filing complaints, and witnesses reporting crimes.

He picked up on the second ring and said, “Make this quick, Cindy. I’m taking incoming.”

Cindy said, “Frank, d’you have a murder in Golden Gate Park?”

Barto told Cindy, “Uhhh. Can’t say. A call came into dispatch a few hours ago about a potential victim in the park,” he said. “I notified Sergeant Nardone. This is between us, Cindy. Do not quote me.”

Cindy pressed Barto for more details, but he dug in his heels and claimed not to have the victim’s name. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t share it with you.”

“Frank. Just tell me this. Was he or she with the SFPD?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Cindy’s stomach dropped as Barto continued. “Remember, Cindy. Leave me out of this. I like my job.”

“Thanks, Frank. Don’t worry. You’ve told me nothing.”

“Use your wiles,” Barto said. “I’m hanging up.”

Barto had given her an unquotable hint, but it was verification enough for her. Jacobi was dead.

Cindy spun her chair around so that she was no longer facing her window onto the newsroom. Then she bent over and cried into her hands.