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CHAPTER 11

HENRY TYLER WAS editor-in-chief and publisher of the great San Francisco Chronicle, and he and Cindy had a special relationship. Years ago, she’d been instrumental in locating his kidnapped five-year-old daughter and getting her home. He’d thought of Cindy as a family member ever since.

As Cindy crossed the teeming newsroom and struck out for Tyler’s corner office, she reminded herself not to box Tyler in. If he gave her the go-ahead, she would write the story. If not, she would try him again, later.

Cindy knocked on the chief’s door.

Tyler called out, “Come innnnn.” Then the boss said, “Hey, Cindy. I have three minutes.”

“I only need one.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

Cindy laid down what she was now thinking of as “a psycho-killer’s self-promotional ad” on Tyler’s desk. She picked up a pencil and drew an arrow to the headline on the letter sent to a New York tabloid, then put the page in front of Tyler.

“Did you see this?” Cindy said.

Tyler pushed his glasses up so they were closer to his eyes as he read. “What the hell?”

“I need a green light,” she said.

“Jacobi? Warren Jacobi was murdered? Is this true?”

Cindy lowered her head. “I’m 99 percent sure, but—”

“Get 100 percent, Cindy. Call your husband.”

“I already did. He can’t talk to me about this. I also confirmed it with my source on the police blotter. Sort of. He would only confirm that a call came in about a possible crime in that area. He wouldn’t tell me the victim’s name.”

Tyler said, “Call Lieutenant Brady. If he won’t help, I’ll call Chief Clapper. Call your friend Dr. Washburn. If you can get a reliable source on record, you’ve got your green light. I want to see your copy an hour before you submit it to edit.”

Cindy said, “Thanks, Henry.” As she left Tyler’s office, she was already composing her lede.