God shouldn’t let people like that die those kinds of horrible deaths, Dana thought sadly.
Dana’s mother called. “My friends and I watched you cover the funeral, Dana. For a moment there, when you were talking about the Winthrop family, I thought you were going to cry.”
“So did I, Mother. So did I.”
Dana had difficulty getting to sleep that night. When she finally did fall asleep, her dreams were a wild kaleidoscope of fires and automobile accidents and shootings. In the middle of the night, she awakened suddenly and sat up. Five members of the same family killed in less than a year? What are the odds?
IV
WHAT ARE YOU trying to tell me, Dana?”
“Matt, I’m saying that five violent deaths in one family in less than a year is too much of a coincidence.”
“Dana, if I didn’t know you better, I’d call a psychiatrist and tell him Chicken Little is in my office saying that the sky is falling. The police investigated each of those deaths carefully. They were all accidents. Do you think we’re dealing with some kind of conspiracy? Who’s behind it? Fidel Castro? The CIA? Oliver Stone? For God’s sake, don’t you know that every time someone prominent is killed, there are a hundred different conspiracy theories? A guy came in here last week and said he could prove that Lyndon Johnson killed Abraham Lincoln. Washington is always drowning in conspiracy theories.”
“Matt, we’re getting ready to do Crime Line. You want to start with a grabber? Well, if I’m right, this could be it.”
Matt Baker sat there for a moment, studying her. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Thanks, Matt.”
The Washington Tribune’s morgue was in the building’s basement, filled with thousands of tapes from earlier news shows, all neatly cataloged.
Laura Lee Hill, an attractive brunette in her forties, was seated behind her desk cataloging tapes. She looked up as Dana entered.
“Hi, Dana. I saw your broadcast of the funeral. I thought you did a great job.”
“Thank you.”
“Wasn’t that a terrible tragedy?”
“Terrible,” Dana agreed.
“You just never know,” Laura Lee Hill said somberly. “Well—what can I do you for?”
“I want to look at some tapes of the Winthrop family.”
“Anything in particular?”
“No. I just want to get a feel of what the family was like.”
“I can tell you what they were like. They were saints.”
“That’s what I keep hearing,” Dana said.
Laura Lee Hill rose. “I hope you have plenty of time, honey. We have tons of coverage on them.”
“Good. I’m in no hurry.”
Laura Lee led Dana to a desk with a television monitor on it. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She returned five minutes later with a full armload of tapes. “You can start with these,” she said. “There are more coming.”
Dana looked at the huge pile of tapes and thought, Maybe I am Chicken Little. But if I’m right…
Dana put in a tape, and the picture of a stunningly handsome man flashed on the screen. His features were strong and sculpted. He had a mane of dark hair, candid blue eyes, and a strong chin. By his side was a young boy. A commentator said, “Taylor Winthrop has added another wilderness camp to the ones he has already established for underprivileged children. His son Paul is here with him, ready to join in the fun. This is the tenth in a series of such camps that Taylor Winthrop is building. He plans at least a dozen more.”
Dana pressed a button and the scene changed. An older-looking Taylor Winthrop, with flecks of gray in his hair, was shaking hands with a group of dignitaries. “…has just confirmed his appointment as consultant to NATO. Taylor Winthrop will be leaving for Brussels in the next few weeks to…”
Dana changed the tape. The scene was the front lawn of the White House. Taylor Winthrop was standing next to the president, who was saying, “…and I have appointed him to head up the FRA, the Federal Research Agency. The agency is dedicated to helping developing countries all around the world, and I can think of no one better qualified than Taylor Winthrop to lead that organization…”