word newspaper a snide twist.
She wondered if he’d left her cooling her heels simply because he disliked the media. Or to keep her from interviewing the other witnesses for her news story. Or because he thought the other witnesses were more knowledgeable, and had a more personal connection to Gibbs and a motive for killing him, and therefore, should be questioned first. Or all of the above.
She didn’t know and she really didn’t care. She was itching to get out of the factory and into some fresh air that didn’t have the stench of death and dyeing. By the time he got back to her, she didn’t like him very much.
Through the office window, Lacey could see Vic leaning against the back wall, chatting with Officer Armstrong. Their body language told her it was a friendly conversation. Great. Vic gets the good cop. I get the annoying cop.
Caine’s body language told her he was an adversary. She folded her arms in response. Let him wait. He cleared his throat.
“I’m a fashion reporter,” she finally said.
“Fashion reporter? Why are you at Dominion Velvet?”
“To write a story about the factory closing and its effect on the workers. It’s one of the backstories of fashion.”
He invited her to sit down. She perched on the edge of the desk. He looked at her with hard eyes. “Is that a typical story for fashion writers?”
“I hope not. That’s why I’m writing it. I try to write about more than just fashion. How it influences our lives, and how current events influence fashion. For instance, the blue and gray colors of the Virginia State Trooper uniform were chosen deliberately to reflect both sides in the Civil War. You probably knew that.”
“Yes, ma’am, I knew that. A policy decision, not one involving fashion.”
“Exactly. That’s one way fashion, or even a uniform, evolves. Style is something else entirely.”
Lacey wondered how this factory closing would impact other businesses, like the firms from which it had once bought yarns and dyes and other products that kept the machinery moving. And what of the industries that bought fabric from Dominion? Would they resort to lower-quality velvet from foreign manufacturers? Would they close their doors? Would Special Agent Caine care?
“Did you know Rodney Gibbs?” Caine asked.
“No. I spoke to him on the phone the other day to set up the tour and an interview,” Lacey said. “He was my only contact.”
“But you didn’t meet him?”
“Not until they pulled him out of the dye. He was missing this morning, so Tom Nicholson agreed to give me the tour. Do you have a strong suspect?”
“No comment. Have you ever been to the town of Black Martin, Virginia, before today?”
“Nope.” Lacey knew there was no reason for long answers.
“Yet you decided it was interesting enough for a story?” He jotted down a note in his notebook.
“Yes, and to be frank, it’s more interesting now. Will the state police work in conjunction with the local police department or handle the investigation alone?”
“My job is to ask the questions, Ms. Smithsonian. Yours is to answer them.”
That’s hardly fair . “My job is also to ask questions,” Lacey said. Reporter here.
Caine grunted and pressed his lips together in a straight line. “Then I suggest you contact the state police Office of Public Affairs.”
In Lacey’s experience, that might be the kiss of death as far as getting information goes. She smiled. “Yeah, sure.”
“That Vic Donovan out there, is he your boyfriend?”
“Yes.” The term boyfriend seems so goofy when you hit thirty, Lacey thought. But she decided saying Vic was her “main squeeze” would be a little flippant.
“Wouldn’t that impact your reporter’s objectivity on this story, seeing as how Mr. Donovan is going to handle security for the company?”
“I was writing a feature article on fashion and the impact of the factory closing, not a news story. Vic’s work starts after they close. So I would say