Murder at The Washington Tribune Read Online Free PDF Page B

overt resentment in some:
“What the hell are you saying, Joe, that
I
might have killed her?”
Many of them had also been interviewed by a team of MPD detectives headed by Edith Vargas-Swayze, who’d asked tougher questions than Wilcox. He’d placed a red dot next to their names, and a green dot for those individuals claiming to have seen her in the newsroom that night. But even they had little to offer:
“No, I didn’t see anything unusual.” “No, I didn’t see her talking with anyone in particular.” “No, I don’t know anybody who was getting it on with her.”
    Wilcox knew that the list of men and women working that night couldn’t be conclusive. It was built upon those names scheduled for the night shift, which didn’t, of course, include anyone from the day side who’d decided to work late, or to come back after hours to follow up on a story. There wasn’t any record of employees coming and going in and out of the building. All you did was wave your badge at the private security officer on duty in the front lobby and you were in. Had Kaporis’s killer been an editorial staffer who’d come in late that night but denied having been there? Unless someone testified to having seen him (or her) there, they were home free, their word the last word. Which was the case with him, Joe Wilcox. After dinner at home with Georgia, he’d returned to the newsroom a little after nine to put the finishing touches on an article about a new MPD initiative to combat gang warfare in the District’s southeast quadrant. He’d told the police of his movements and activities on that night, and his own name headed the list on his desk, a tiny red dot next to it.
    His questioning of colleagues hadn’t produced anything even resembling a lead, any more than MPD’s efforts had—unless, of course, their probing had been fruitful.
    He studied the list carefully, made checkmarks next to those he wanted to see again, and started calling. Jean’s parents, who lived in Delaware, had returned home with their daughter’s remains after authorities had released her body. He didn’t relish a drive to Delaware and decided to not follow up with them that day. Instead, he called Roberta at the TV station.
    â€œHey, Dad, I just got in. What’s up?”
    â€œNot much. Let me ask you something.”
    â€œHold on.”
    He heard her shout to someone to arrange for a camera crew at two that afternoon. She came back on the line. “Sorry, Dad. Shoot. You said you had something to ask me.”
    â€œRight. Did you say in one of your reports that Jean Kaporis’s mother said something that pointed to a suspect or motive?”
    There was a telling silence on her end.
    â€œThat’s right,” she finally said.
    â€œLook, I know I’m intruding into your turf, but I’d really appreciate knowing what she told you.”
    â€œDad, I—”
    â€œI know, I know, I’m out of bounds here. But—”
    â€œShe told me that her daughter had said she was seeing someone at the
Trib.
”
    â€œShe said that? I mean, Jean told her mother that?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDid you report it? I’m sorry, but I don’t catch every one of your newscasts.” He laughed. “Some father, huh?”
    â€œAbout dating somebody at the
Trib
? No, I didn’t. She didn’t have any names so there wasn’t anything to report. The MPD spokesman had already said they were focusing on her coworkers.”
    Wilcox heard her say to someone, “Hey, get your hands off the cookies.”
    â€œRoberta?”
    â€œSorry. I baked a batch of peanut butter cookies, Mom’s recipe, to take to the cop whose mother died from that botched operation last week. You heard about it.”
    â€œYeah, sure. You’re baking cookies for him?”
    â€œMy secret weapon. Amazing how much information a few cookies