"Miss Reynolds is mistaken. We have no intention of charging her at this time. Nor, in my opinion, in the future."
"Then she's free to go."
Jenner rubbed his chin. "Yes. We'll need her to sign a statement, but we can do it tomorrow. Miss Reynolds, I know you've had a shock, and I apologize for having to put you through the questioning. I advise you to go by the hospital, have someone take a look at you."
"I'll take her. Deanna." Gently
Finn eased her back to the chair. "I want you to wait here a minute. I need to talk to Lieutenant Jenner."
She clung to his hand. "Don't leave." "No, just outside the door. Just for a minute. Detective."
Jenner followed Finn into the corridor, nodding to a uniform to back off. "She's had a rough night, Mr. Riley."
"I'm aware of that. I don't want you to add to it."
"Neither do I. But certain wheels have to turn. I've got a nasty murder, and as far as I can tell, she's the only witness. You wouldn't mind telling me where you were tonight?"
Finn's eyes cooled. "No, I wouldn't. I was taping a segment on the South Side. I'd guess I'd have about a dozen witnesses to place me there until about midnight. My driver took me home, dropped me off just after one. I put in a call to 911 at one-twenty."
"Why?"
"Because my house had been trashed. You want to verify that, contact your superior."
"I don't doubt your word, Mr. Riley." Jenner rubbed his chin again, toying with the timetable. "You said one-twenty?"
"Give or take a minute. Whoever broke in left a message for Deanna on the bedroom wall. You can check with your associates for details. I'm getting Deanna out of here."
"I'll do that." Jenner made another note. "Mr. Riley, I'd take her out another way. I wouldn't want her going through the studio."
"Hey, Arnie!" Another plainclothes cop signaled from the studio end of the corridor. "M.e.'s finished here."
"Tell him to hang on a minute. We'll be in touch, Mr. Riley."
Saying nothing, Finn turned back into the dressing room. He took off his own coat, pushing Deanna's limp arms through the sleeves. He didn't want to waste time looking for hers. "Come on, baby, let's get out of here."
"I want to go home." She leaned heavily against him as he led her out.
"No way. I'm taking you to E.r." "Don't leave me there."
"I'm not leaving you."
He took the long way around, circumventing the studio, choosing the angled stairs that led to the parking lot. Because he knew what to expect before he opened the door, he kissed her brow, held her by the shoulders.
"The place is going to be swarming with reporters and Minicams."
She squeezed her eyes tight, shivered. "I know. It's okay."
"Just hold on tight to me."
"I already am."
When he shoved the door open, the flash of klieg lights blinded her. She shielded her eyes and saw nothing but eager bodies rushing toward her, microphones stabbing out like lances and the wide, demanding eye of the camera.
Questions hurtled at her, making her hunch her shoulders in defense as Finn propelled her through the surging sea of reporters.
She knew most of them, she realized. Liked most of those she knew. Once upon a time they had competed for stories. Once upon a time she would have been among them, pressing forward, scurrying for that one telling picture, that one mumbled comment.
Then flying to the news desk to get the item— she was an item now — on the air minutes, even seconds, before the competition. But she was no longer the observer. She was the observed. How could she tell them how she felt? How could she tell them what she knew? Her mind was like glass, throbbing from some deadly, high-pitched whine. She thought if she couldn't have silence, she would explode and shatter.
"Christ, Dee."
A hand reached for her, hesitating as she cringed away. And she saw Joe, the Minicam on his shoulder, his baseball cap askew.
"I'm sorry," he said, and swore again. "I'm really sorry."
"It's all right. I've been there, remember? It's just the job." She climbed gratefully into Finn's car and closed her eyes. Tuned out.
Jenner turned the studio over to the forensic team. Since he'd already had two men question the occupants of the building, he decided to wait until morning before doing a follow-up there. Instead, he left the CBC Building and drove to Finn Riley's home.
He wasn't surprised, or displeased, when Finn pulled into the driveway behind him.
"How's Miss Reynolds?"
"She's got a concussion," Finn said tersely. "They're keeping her overnight for observation. I had a feeling I'd find you here."
Jenner nodded as they started up the walk. "Chilly night," he said conversationally. "Dispatch showed your call came in at one twenty-three. First unit arrived at one twenty-eight."
"It was a quick response." Though it hadn't seemed quick as he'd spent that endless five minutes looking over the destruction of his home. "Are you handling B and E's, too, Lieutenant?"
"I like to diversify. And the truth is" — he paused just outside the door—"I figure I've got an interest in this. Between the business in Greektown and the investigation on those letters Miss Reynolds has been getting, I figure
I've got an interest. Does that bother you?" Finn studied Jenner in the starlight. The man looked tired, yet completely alert. It was a combination Finn understood perfectly. "No."
"Well then." Jenner sliced through the police tape over the damaged door. "Maybe you'll take me on the grand tour."
Riley was a pretty snappy dresser, Jenner mused as they moved inside. The kind who leaned toward leather jackets and faded jeans. Jenner had tried on a leather jacket once. He'd looked like a cop. He always did.
"Did you mention the trouble here to Miss Reynolds?"
"No."
"Can't blame you. She's had a rough night." He glanced around. The place looked as if it had been bombed. "So have you."
"You could say that. Almost every room was trashed." Finn gestured toward the living area off the main hall. "I didn't take a lot of time going through it."
Jenner grunted. Word was the minute Finn had learned of the trouble at CBC, he'd sprinted out, leaving the destruction behind.
"You must be pretty steamed." That was putting it mildly, Jenner mused. What he saw on Finn's face was cold rage. If he'd run across the perp, he'd have sliced him into little pieces. Though it was unprofessional, Jenner would have given a great deal to see it.
"I can replace the things," Finn said as they started upstairs.
"Yeah." Jenner stepped inside the bedroom, nodded toward the wall. "So our friend's taken to writing on walls." Taking out his pad, Jenner copied the writing style onto a blank page. This was the first time the writer had exposed himself this way. "Makes a statement." One quick scan and he'd taken in the devastation of the room. "Forensics are going to have a hell of a time sorting through this mess." He toed a broken perfume bottle with his foot. "Tiffany," he commented. "A hundred fifty an ounce. My wife, she likes that scent. I bought her the cologne for her birthday. And those sheets. Irish linen. My grandmother had a tablecloth. I used to rub my face over it when I was a kid."
Nearly amused, Finn leaned on the doorjamb and studied Jenner. "Is this how you conduct an investigation, Lieutenant? Or do you moonlight for an insurance company?"
"Always was a sucker for quality." He slipped his pad back in his pocket, just above the snug weight of his weapon. "So, Mr. Riley, I'd have to say we have a connection."
"So, Lieutenant, I'd have to agree with you." "Murder happened by midnight." He scratched the back of his neck. "The drive from CBC to here takes fourteen minutes, at the speed limit. He spends, say, ten minutes setting the stage, turning on the equipment. Another ten to get over here. You get home about twenty after one. Yeah, I'd say that's enough time."