"It all has to do with Angela," Deanna began, and told her.
"Blackmail." Too intrigued now for even mild annoyance, Fran let out a low whistle. "I knew she was a bitch, but I never thought she'd sunk that low. I guess the list of suspects just expanded by several dozen." Her eyes widened. "You don't think Kate—"
"No, I don't." Not that she hadn't considered it, thoroughly, Deanna thought, logically, and she hoped objectively. "Even if I thought she killed Angela, which I don't, she doesn't have any reason to have killed Marshall. She didn't even know him."
"I guess not. I wish the cops would figure it out and lock this lunatic up. It worries me sick that you're still getting those notes." Now that all was forgiven, she moved over, automatically massaging Deanna's stiff shoulders. "At least I can rest easier knowing Finn won't be going out of town until this is over."
"How do you know that?"
"Because—" Fran caught herself, looked quickly at her watch. "Gosh, what am I doing sitting around here talking? I've got a hundred things—"
"Fran." Deanna stood and stepped in front of her. "How do you know that Finn's not going out of town until this is over? The last I heard he was scheduled to go to Rome right after Christmas."
"I, ah, I must have gotten mixed up." "Like hell."
"Damn it, Dee, don't get that warrior look on your face."
"How do you know?"
"Because he told me, okay?" She tossed up her hands in disgust. "And I was supposed to keep my big mouth shut about the fact that he's canceled the Rome shoot and anything else that takes him out of Chicago."
"I see." Deanna lowered her eyes, brushed a speck of lint from her teal silk skirt.
"No, you don't see because you've got your blinders on. Do you really expect the man to fly gleefully across the Atlantic while this is going on? For Christ's sake, he loves you."
"I'm aware of that." But her spine was rigid. "I have things to do myself," she said, and stormed out.
"Good going, Myers." Muttering oaths, Fran snatched up the dressing room phone and called up to Finn's office. If she'd inadvertently started a war, the least she could do was tell him to be fully armed.
In his office above the newsroom, Finn replaced the receiver and sent a scowl at Barlow James. "You're about to get some reinforcements. Deanna's on her way up."
"Fine." Pleased, Barlow settled back in his chair, stretched his burly arms. "We'll get all this settled once and for all."
"It is settled, Barlow. I'm not traveling more than an hour away from home until the police make an arrest."
"Finn, I understand your concerns for Deanna. I have them as well. But you're short-sheeting the show. You're overreacting."
"Really?" Finn's voice was cool, deceptively so. "And I thought I was taking two murders and the harassment of the woman I love so well."
Sarcasm didn't deflate Barlow. "My point is that she can obtain round-the-clock protection. Professionals. God knows a woman in her financial position can afford the very best. Not to slight your manhood, Finn, but you're a reporter, not a bodyguard. And," he continued before Finn could respond, "as skilled a reporter as you are, you are not a detective. Let the police do their job and you do yours. You have a responsibility to the show, to the people who work with you. To the network, to the sponsors. You have a contract, Finn. You're legally bound to travel whenever and wherever news is breaking. You agreed to those terms. Hell, you demanded them."
"Sue me," Finn invited, eyes gleaming in anticipation of a bout. He glanced up as the door slammed open.
She stood there in her snazzy silk suit, eyes flashing, chin angled. Each stride a challenge, she marched to his desk, slapped her palms on the surface.
"I won't have it."
He didn't bother to pretend he didn't understand. "You don't have any say in this, Deanna. It's my choice."
"You weren't even going to tell me. You were just going to make some lame excuse about why the trip was canceled. You'd have lied to me."
He'd have killed for her, he thought, and shrugged. "Now that's not necessary." He leaned back in the chair, steepled his fingers. Though he was wearing a sweater and jeans, he looked every inch the star. "How did the show go this morning?"
"Stop it. Just stop it." She whirled, jabbing a finger at Barlow. "You can order him to go, can't you?"
"I thought I could." He lifted his hands, let them fall. "I came from New York hoping to make him see reason. I should have known better." With a sigh, he rose. "I'll be in the newsroom for the next hour or so. If you fare any better than I did, let me know."
Finn waited until the door clicked shut. The sound was as definitive as that of the bell in a boxing ring. "You won't, Deanna, so you might as well accept it."
"I want you to go," she said, spacing each word carefully. "I don't want our lives to be interfered with. It's important to me."
"You're important to me."
"Then do this for me."
He picked up a pencil, ran it through his fingers once, twice, then snapped it neatly in two. "No."
"Your career could be on the line." He tilted his head as if considering it. And damn him, his dimples winked at her. "I don't think so."
He was, she thought, as sturdy, as unshakable and as unmovable as granite. "They could cancel your show."
"Throw out the baby with the bathwater?" Though he wasn't feeling particularly calm, he levered back, propped his feet on the desk. "I've known network execs to do dumber things, so let's say they decide to cancel a highly rated, profitable and award-winning show because I'm not going on the road for a while." He stared up at her, his eyes darkly amused. "I guess you'd have to support me while I'm unemployed. I might get to like it and retire completely. Take up gardening or golf. No, I know. I'll be your business manager. You'd be the star — you know, like a country-
western singer."
"This isn't a joke, Finn."
"It isn't a tragedy, either." His phone rang. Finn picked up the receiver, said, "Later," and hung up again. "I'm sticking, Deanna. I can't keep up with the investigation if I'm off in Europe."
"Why do you need to keep up with it?" Her eyes narrowed. "Is that what you've been doing? Why there was a rerun last Tuesday night? All those calls from Jenner. You're not working on In Depth, you're working with him."
"He doesn't have a problem with it. Why should you?"
She spun away. "I hate this. I hate that our private and professional lives are becoming mixed and unbalanced. I hate being scared this way. Jumping every time there's a noise in the hall, or bracing whenever the elevator door opens."
"That's my point. That's exactly how I feel. Come here." He held out a hand, gripping hers when she walked around the desk. With his eyes on hers, he drew her into his lap. "I'm scared, Deanna, right down to the bone."
Her lips parted in surprise. "You never said so."
"Maybe I should have. Male pride's a twitchy business. The fact is, I need to be here, I need to be involved, to know what's happening. It's the only way I've got to fight back the fear."
"Just promise me you won't take any chances, any risks."
"He's not going after me, Deanna."
"I want to be sure of that." She closed her eyes. But she wasn't sure.
After Deanna left, Finn went down to the video vault. An idea had been niggling at him since Marshall's murder, the notion that he'd forgotten something. Or overlooked it.
All Barlow's talk about responsibili- ties, loyalties, had triggered a memory. Finn skimmed through the black forest of video cases until he found February 1992.
He slipped the cassette into the machine, fast-forwarding through news reports, local, world, weather, sports. He wasn't sure of the precise date, or how much coverage there had been. But he was certain Lew Mcationeil's previous Chicago connection would have warranted at least one full report on his murder.