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made public or else the killer finds out exactly what we know.”
    “It’s my practice as a journalist to record conversations. It avoids disputes later over the accuracy of what’s reported on the air.”
    “You’re not reporting this interview on the air. I can’t allow it.”

    “Ms. Vargas, we’re all devastated over here. We believe the best way to honor Suzanne’s memory is with innovative coverage of her murder. Please don’t interfere with our grieving process. I have a very fresh idea, and I’m sure you’ll be as excited about it as I am.”
    “I really don’t have time to—”
    “We embed a reporter with you, like they did in Iraq. We get inside details of the Central Park Butcher investigation, you get—”
    “Mr. Parker—”
    “Hear me out. You get complete, one hundred percent access to our files. In return, we get to place a High Crimes correspondent on the street with you. I have the perfect man for the job. Duncan Gilmartin, one of our Aussie transplants. He’s young, dynamic, handsome, aggressive. He’ll shadow your every move—”
    “I can’t do that,” she said firmly.
    “Why not?”
    “Publicizing all our leads is a sure way to screw up our investigation. Any information we can make public now, we gave out at the press conference. The rest has to be treated as confidential.”
    “If you won’t help me, I don’t see why I should help you,” Seth said.
    Melanie stood up. “If you’re unwilling to give me information voluntarily, I’ll have to subpoena you to appear before the grand jury. I’ll serve the subpoena within the hour, returnable today at nine A.M. at the federal courthouse. Your lawyers can accompany you. Tell them it’ll take the entire day. The grand jury is slow. They ask a lot of questions.”
    They locked eyes briefly, and Seth Parker blinked. He’d been bluffing, and she’d called him on it. He sighed, reached into the top drawer of his desk, and clicked off a tape recorder.
    “Sit down. Please,” he said. “The Butcher story is big. I can’t afford to lose a day to some”—he waved his hand dismissively—“grand jury thing.”

    Melanie held out her hand. “I need that tape. Otherwise, something tells me I’ll be hearing it on the six o’clock news.”
    Seth popped the cassette out and handed it to Melanie sheepishly.
    “I need to know why Suzanne Shepard went to the Ramble last night,” she said, resuming her seat. “I’d like to review her calendar, her voice mails and e-mails, that sort of thing.”
    “I can arrange for all that. Just give me a minute to make some calls.”
    “Great, thank you.”
    “But I can do more for you than that. Aren’t you interested in getting a list of Suzanne’s enemies? Her specialty was digging up the dark secrets of the rich and powerful. Half this town wanted her dead. I’m convinced that she died because of a story.”
    As much as Melanie would’ve loved to believe Suzanne Shepard’s murder was a revenge killing—since that would make it easier to solve than a random slaying—she wasn’t persuaded by Seth Parker’s little speech. His ulterior motive was plain to see. If Suzanne had been killed in retaliation for a story, then Target News would get a lot of free publicity and a nice ratings boost.
    “I need more than a general statement that Suzanne made people angry,” Melanie said. “I need something specific. Like a direct threat. And recent enough to suggest it could be connected to her killing.”
    Seth leaned back in his chair, tossing his beanbag. “How’s this for recent? Just last week, Suzanne got a box of dog shit in the mail, and it had a picture of her inside, cut up into little tiny pieces.”
    “That could be important,” Melanie agreed.
    “Our security director can show you the box,” Seth said. “He’ll be in later this afternoon. He thinks the doggy doo relates to a story Suzanne just ran on the Clyde Williams sex scandal.”
    Melanie had been taking notes, but