Judy Hammer began to cry.
wfl Brazil was thinking about the deal he had made with Hammer as he flew through his
story. Still in uniform, he sat before his computer, fingers dancing as he typed and
flipped through his notepad. He included incredible detail about this night’s Black Widow killing.
With photographic total recall, he showed what was inside the car, describing bloody
money, and what the police and medical examiner had done, and how violent death felt
and smelled and looked. His piece was graphic and
moving, but it did not include the victim’s identity. Brazil kept his word.
This was very stressful for him. The journalist in him screamed that he had to print the
truth, whether it was known for a fact. Brazil was honorable. He could not betray the
police. He assuaged himself with the reality that Chief Hammer would never screw him,
and he knew that West wouldn’t. Brazil would get his quote tomorrow at 5 p. m. ” and
no one, especially Webb, would catch on until they read it in the Observer the following
morning.
v9 Webb had just come on the air for the eleven o’clock news when Hammer walked into
her husband’s bedroom. Her heart slowed a little when she saw no blood. Nothing, in the
least, stood out. Seth was on his side, head deep in the pillow. Webb’s voice was
unusually solemn, the killing the lead story.
‘. the shocking revelation in this night’s tragedy is that the victim is believed to be
Senator Ken Burton . ”
Hammer turned to stone, riveted to the TV. Seth sat straight up in bed, startled.
“My God,” Seth exclaimed.
“We just had drinks with him last month.”
“Shhhhhhhhh,” Hammer silenced her self-destructive husband.
‘. once again, the peculiar symbol of an hourglass was spray-painted on the body. Burton
was believed to have been shot at close range with a high-velocity hollowpoint
ammunition known as Silvertips . ”
Hammer snatched up the portable phone from the table by Seth’s bed, where there were
three Miller Lite cans and a glass of what looked like bourbon.
“Where’s my .38?” she said to him as she dialed.
“Got no idea.” He could feel the revolver between his legs, which was not an ideal place for it. But it had rearranged itself when he had fallen asleep.
‘. sources say his briefcase, tote bag and suit bag were rifled through inside the rental
Maxima. Butler had picked up the Thrifty rental car at five-fifteen this afternoon. His
money was gone, except for bloody change found under his body. Blood money, as the
Black Widow claims number five . ” Webb’s voice lowered, resonating tragic irony.
^f^-i W Brazil was getting his fix of press room sound and fury, and therefore was not at
his desk to receive Hammer’s call. He watched thousands of newspapers speeding on a
conveyor belt. His front page headline was an inch high and blurred, but he could still
read it from where he stood.
BLOODY MONEY BLACK WIDOW CLAIMS NUMBER FIVE
He couldn’t quite make out his byline, but he knew it was there.
Workers dozed in chairs, waiting for technical problems. Brazil watched one-ton
newsprint reels eerily floating up from underground, carried slowly along tracks past
barrels of liquid alum, and vats of yellow, red, blue and black ink. Metal clanked as
dollies carried newsprint that reminded him of giant rolls of toilet paper. He wandered to
the mail room, staring at palates of bundled papers, listening to the loud click-clicking of
the Muller Martini machine feeding inserts into papers as a belt carried them into the
counting machine. His
enthusiasm had left him, for some reason. He felt listless. He was restless, nocturnal again, and still sort of offline in a way he did not understand.
It was a sweet-sick feeling. His heart was heavy and ached, and when he thought of that
beefcake paramedic winking at West and looking at Hammer with lust in his eyes, Brazil
felt a tightness and a rage. He felt fright. He experienced the same weak, chilly
sensation he associated with barely escaping a car accident or almost losing a tennis
match. Was it possible either woman might like Raines, that meatloaf of a paramedic