"Please keep me posted. Our . . . gifted person is really obsessed with this guy. We all are, as if we let him slip away."
"You brought our man closer to being identified than anyone else so you should kiss off any guilty feelings. But I'm out of the loop now, even more so now that the spooks are on my back. I won't be hearing much news I can pass on to you."
It seemed the only news was bad news lately but then we cracked a pedophile ring in a Detroit suburb prompting seven arrests and ascended back up to cloud nine.
Omaha, Nebraska. "I'm pleased you were willing to meet with me," I said as we alighted from my stolen car. "I'm writing this book and you're an important part of what I have to say." I strolled a discrete distance from her side as we entered the gardens.
"I'm flattered but I doubt I can be much help. I really don't know any more than the man on the street. How did you know who I was?"
"I'm very resourceful. When you're an investigative journalist, you get to know all the right people . . . like Mr. Singer."
"You spoke with my boss?"
"Yes," I lied. "He gave me complete clearance. May I call you Brenda?"
"I guess. Mr. Singer told you I was the one they interviewed for that talk show?"
"Yes. He thinks the world of you, by the way. But you didn't say much on the radio program."
"Mr. Singer told me not to. There's absolute confidentiality in what we do. That's why I'm surprised he let me talk to you. Maybe I should call him myself, just to make sure."
"No need. Besides, he's out of town for the weekend," I lied. I didn't press her as we entered Lauritzen Gardens, and strolled the paths of public Botanical Park. The little slut wouldn't let me come to her apartment so I was forced to smell the horrid blooms, reminding me once more of mother's wake. We settled on a bench with a view of the mighty Mississippi.
"Well, I guess it's alright but I really don't know much." She looked up at me, like a child she wasn't. "I'm not doing this for the five hundred dollars or getting in your book."
Like fun. I pulled out a pad and pencil, for affect. "I understand. You just want to contribute and I'm sure you can. Do you recognize when the call comes from the so-called Psychic Tipster?" I asked.
"Yes." She pulled nervously at the hem of her too-short skirt. She fumbled to cross her fat sausage legs.