Part 30 (1/2)
Pop! ”Theresa, while I admit to feeling a steady and magnetic attraction for you, I would never stoop to a felony to get your attention. Your friend let me in.”
Her heart began to pound again.
He poured the clear and bubbly liquid into her gla.s.s. ”Nice boy. Young for you, I would think, and without much fas.h.i.+on sense. He's upstairs working on your computer. Apparently you need virus protection.”
She stood. ”I need protection, all right. Jablonski!”
Her voice should have split the floor above her to let him fall through it, but the house remained silent for a shocked second or two before a slight creak sounded from the office room above.
”Jablonski!”
Steps pounded across the upstairs hallway and down the stairs. The reporter trotted into the kitchen and tried for a sheepish grin.
”Why did you break into my house?”
”I'm sorry to borrow your computer, but I had to get tonight's murder in a half hour ago for tomorrow's edition-”
”What are you doing in my house? On my computer?” She turned to Chris. ”I can't believe you let him browse through my computer.”
”He was here when I arrived.” The negotiator defended himself while filling his own gla.s.s. ”And I'm hardly in a position to refuse other men access to you.”
”You know why? Because we hardly know each other, that's why!”
”A situation”-he sipped-”I came here to remedy.”
She whirled on the young man again. ”Jablonski!”
”I didn't break in.”
”I'm sure I didn't leave my home unlocked.”
”Um, no. Not exactly.” She glowered with what felt like nuclear strength until he added, ”I guessed the code for your garage door opener. It's your birthday, which is not the best code for you to use, you know, for that reason alone.”
”How did you know my birthday?” She turned to Chris as if this might have been some sort of conspiracy, but he threw up his hands to proclaim his innocence.
”I'm a reporter. I have my ways.” Jablonski attempted the rakish grin, but the look on her face must have convinced him that it wouldn't work this time. ”I went to the scene but your cops wouldn't let me in. Your cousin threatened to arrest me if I tried. He has a real att.i.tude, by the way.”
”You have not yet seen an att.i.tude.” Then she added, ”You were at the train yard? I didn't see you.”
”I knew he'd come there to re-create the Tattooed Man. I'd have been there much earlier but a tractor-trailer overturned and the turnpike became a parking lot west of Streetsboro...anyway, I saw you, with the gloves and the camera and the evidence. You're a formidable woman in your element, you know that?”
He looked at her with soft brown eyes full of admiration that normally would have melted her on the spot, but today the idea that she had been flanked by two men who felt free to invade her s.p.a.ce at will simply because they were handsome irritated her to no end. ”Both of you need to leave now.”
”But-” Chris protested.
”But,” Jablonski said, ”I went to New Castle!”
She should not have been swayed. Finding unexpected people in her home had startled her, particularly unexpected men with whom she did not have a blood tie. But...”And?”
”I think I know who the killer is.”
”The Torso murderer, or the current one?”
”Both.”
Her eyes narrowed. Jablonski obviously found the mores of polite society quite negotiable. But on the other hand, he might have something interesting to say.
”All right,” she said at last. ”Look in the cabinet over the stove and find a gla.s.s that isn't chipped.”
”So,” Jablonski said, once he sat at the table and plucked the champagne from Chris's ice bucket, ”I drove to New Castle, Pennsylvania. It took me-could your boss maybe toss me some reimburs.e.m.e.nts to cover, like, my gas? Maybe?”
”No.” Theresa sipped the bubbly liquid, which was not her favorite. Champagne in general had too many calories and not enough alcohol to suit her.
”The print media deserves the support of its community,” he repeated like a mantra.
”I agree, but it's a police department investigation.”
”I'll ask your cousin then.”
She snorted. The boy did not understand government budgets.
Chris said nothing, with an expression that came dangerously close to pouting. Theresa began to feel glad Jablonski had come, if only to throw a wrench in Chris's suave plans.
”So, New Castle is kind of interesting. It started because some guy went out there to double-check surveys of land that the government donated to Revolutionary War veterans. He found that, oops, they screwed up and left out fifty acres. So this surveyor figures, No one's going to come looking for these fifty acres, I might as well help myself, and laid out his own little city.”
”When was that?” Theresa asked.
”Seventeen ninety-eight.”
”Very interesting. What did you find out about the 1920s and '30s?”
”It's also the hot dog capital of the world.”
”Uh-huh.”
”Really?” Chris asked. ”Why?”
Trust a man to perk up at the mention of food.
Harry caught the discussion of dogs and laid his head on the young man's thigh, glancing upward with imploring eyes until he got petted.
”Something about Greek immigrants making chili dogs. I never really thought of chili dogs as Greek food, myself.”
Theresa stopped sipping. ”Did you find out anything relevant to the building at 4950 Pullman?”
”I think so. This swamp where all the dead bodies turned up is almost directly south of the city of New Castle, toward Pittsburgh, by a junction where all the railroads come together at a large station. And this swamp, well...it's a swamp, not much there. So then I went to the historical society and found the city directories for 1925 through 1935, and looked for the names of the 4950 Pullman tenants.”
”I thought your victim died in 1936,” Chris said to Theresa.
”He did, but the murders in New Castle began in 1923 and continued off and on until 1941.”