LaMastra nudged him and leaned over to say, “Next time we’re up for a pay raise, I want this guy as the point man for the union.”
“Amen to that,” agreed Ferro.
The statement was a long one, and that was also part of Terry’s plan. He wanted to so thoroughly overwhelm the press with all the minutiae of detail that the very thought that there was some shifty reason for the previous cover-up would be dismissed as obviously foolish. Of course, there still was a minor cover-up underway in that some of the details from the autopsy of Tony Macchio were being withheld, as were some of the decisions made by the group of cops clustered behind him that, in hindsight, might not present the whole bunch of them (Terry included) in the best light. Leaving only two relatively inexperienced men alone at the Guthrie farm when it was clear that Boyd (and for a while, Ruger) was still on the loose, casually deputizing a shopkeeper and sending him off to the Haunted Hayride when a patrol car would have been more official and safer for the kids at the attraction, not being able to find Ruger after he’d been shot by Crow and possibly by Officer Jerry Head—things like that which could make all of the men involved look a little asinine, possibly criminally so in this litigious society. So, rather than present the whole truth, Terry presented a more acceptable edited version of it in such exhausting detail that the reporters began to fidget, which was good. Terry knew that a fidgety reporter is less likely to want to ask a thousand additional questions.
He concluded with a moving statement about the officer who had been gunned down in Philadelphia, and the two officers killed the previous day, urging that the reporters ask their readers and viewers to pray for the families and loved ones left grieving by this senseless tragedy. It was great theater and the reporters ate up every morsel he fed them.
When he finished, he gave the crowd another long silence, forcing the eye contact again. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, questions?” A lot of hands went up, but not as many as would have stabbed the air had the prepared statement been shorter or less packed with ad nauseum detail. The first hand that rose belonged to Willard Fowler Newton. “Mr. Newton, isn’t it?” murmured Terry, recognizing him from other press events and flashing him a warm and sober smile. “I believe it was you who first broke the story. An excellent piece of journalism, you’re to be commended.”
Newton was tipped off balance by the praise. He cleared his throat. “Yes, Mr. Mayor, er…thank you. Sir, can you tell me the cause of Karl Ruger’s death?”
“Of course. As I mentioned in the statement,” he said, scoring his point gently, “the suspect sustained injuries during a confrontation with the police. This took place at the Guthrie farm. Later, still weakened by wounds received, he was shot and killed by Mr. Crow, who is—I might remind you again—a part-time officer who won several citations for bravery over the years. I think everyone will agree that he should receive another one for stopping this cold-blooded and very dangerous killer.”
“I see. And you say Mr. Ruger was shot several times?”
“The autopsy has not yet been performed, but the Bucks County deputy chief coroner, Dr. Saul Weinstock, said that a preliminary examination revealed what appears to be several bullet wounds.”
“Several? Wow,” said Newton in mildly mocking amazement. “So…with several bullet wounds he survived a whole day and then was able to sneak into the hospital and attack Mr. Crow?”
Terry fixed a concerned frown on his face. “Obviously the wounds were not all that serious, though collectively they proved to be serious enough to have given Mr. Crow an edge in their second encounter.” Newton opened his mouth to speak but Terry stepped in with: “This morning I spoke briefly with Mayor Grayson of Philadelphia and also the Philadelphia police commissioner, expressing my gratitude for the exemplary work of Officer Jerome Head in the rescue at the Guthrie farm. I expect that he, too, will receive a commendation.”
“What about Rhoda Thomas?” asked a reporter from Trenton.
“Health-wise, she’s doing well. She is a fit young lady and a fine police officer, and I believe a commendation is in order for her as well.” Again Newton opened his mouth to speak and Terry took control of the moment by saying, “The police forces don’t always get a lot of good press, especially in these troubled and conflicted times, but I think we can all agree that the spirit of cooperation and the level of professionalism demonstrated over the last few days by officers from Philadelphia, Crestville, Black Marsh, and, of course, Pine Deep, present a fairer picture of the strength, intelligence, and courage of the modern law enforcement officer. I am proud to have played a part—a very small part, mind you—in the operation, and to have seen a terrible threat to society like Karl Ruger brought down.”
LaMastra leaned close to Ferro again, whispering, “That’s laying it on a bit thick.”
Ferro shook his head. “Look at them—they’re eating this up. Right now he could sell them subscriptions to their own papers. This guy’s incredible.”
The questions kept coming in from the throng of reporters, but now none of them had barbs on them. Terry was the story now and the reporters were hanging on his every word. Several times Newton tried to put some teeth back into the press conference but he was no match for Terry Wolfe, and in the end every time Newton asked a question the other reporters started giving him dirty looks.
“What’s next, Mr. Mayor?” asked a Scranton reporter. “Are there any leads on the whereabouts of Kenneth Boyd?”
Terry dialed up a graver expression. “Kenneth Boyd is now being sought as the primary suspect in the murders of Officers Cowan and Castle. Police departments in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York are working together to spread a net so finely meshed that I can guarantee you Boyd will not slip through.”
Newton snuck another one in. “What if he’s still here in Pine Deep?”
Terry’s eyes drilled holes through the little man. “Then God help him, Mr. Newton, because here in Pine Deep we have no compassion at all for cop-killers.”
Terry knew that he had just scored a classic sound-bite moment and he kept his grim game face on while the cameras rolled. A statement like that was a showstopper and from his body language alone he made it clear that this was the ball game. He held that face, forcing eye contact with Newton until the reporter dropped his own gaze, and then Terry turned to the general crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming here today. Without the resources and guidance of the press things could get out of hand and you are all to be commended on the tasteful and considerate way with which you’ve handled this crisis. You have my thanks. Now, as I’m sure you’ll understand, the law enforcement officers and I have some serious work to do and every minute counts. We want to wrap this thing up, so let us get to work.”
He paused to shake hands with a few of the reporters, clapping some on the shoulders, and every once in a while taking a senior reporter’s proffered hand in both of his and leaning close to share a private word, the content of which was meaningless, but the obviousness of the confidence making its mark on the younger journalists watching. The reporters thanked him and gave him their support in the way reporters sometimes do when a great statesman is bearing the burden of some national crisis. Watching, Ferro was so dazzled by the mayor’s finesse that he had to restrain himself from applauding.