Bloodlines by Jan Burke Page A
Authors: Jan Burke
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Mystery Fiction, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, California, Fiction - Mystery, Police Procedural, Women Journalists, Women detectives - California, Irene (Fictitious character), Reporters and reporting - California, Kelly
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watching the news on television. The news was being read aloud to them by men at desks. Newsmen before cameras instead of behind them--Huntley, Brinkley, Cronkite. Circulation for the Express was down and he saw no reason to expect it to pick up again.
The News and the Express would be combined into one morning paper: the Las Piernas News Express.
Winston Wrigley II was better liked than his father by the staffs of both papers. Although the family was wealthy, his father had insisted that he learn the business the hard way--moving from paperboy to copyboy to reporter to editor. He gained further respect from the staff by openly discussing the end of the evening edition, keeping as many people employed as possible, and doing all in his power to find jobs for the others. O'Connor remembered evening after evening of farewell parties at the Press Club, the bar across the street from the paper. Helen Swan said it was a wonder that such a sizable herd of drunks could make it back and forth across Broadway without at least a few stragglers being flattened.
O'Connor had been sure that he would lose his job. Winston Wrigley II kept him on. When one of the older reporters groused about this, Wrigley said, "O'Connor's been on our payroll since 1936."
"As a paperboy!" the reporter said, then blushed as he realized his mistake.
"You never know how high a paperboy might rise in the business," Wrigley said calmly. Like his father, he seldom raised his voice.
O'Connor sat up with a start, and realized that despite his resolve, he had dozed off in Jack's hospital room. He glanced at his watch--it was past eleven.
Jack stirred awake again, and this time O'Connor called the nurse, as promised. When she had left, Jack murmured something, and O'Connor came closer to hear him.
"Now that Miss Ass-Full-of-Sunlight has done her duty, tell me the truth."
"Your speech is slurred, but I'm so used to listening to you when you're under full sail, I can understand you."
"Funny. Not that I would mind a drink."
"None for a while, I'm afraid. The worst blows were to your head."
"Thank God. What if they had injured something I use every day?"
"If you can crack jokes with a cracked skull, I suppose you're going to be all right. Eventually, anyway. If I showed you a mirror, you'd scream like a little girl."
"Given how I feel, I may just start screaming on principle."
"Sorry, Jack," O'Connor said, his voice no longer teasing. "It's inhuman, but they can't give you anything for the pain for a little while yet. Something to do with the head injuries."
Jack was silent for a moment, then asked, "What about the eye?"
O'Connor hoped the truth wouldn't lead to some sort of setback, because he had no practice at trying to lie to Jack. "Don't know yet. Old Man Wrigley came by earlier, when you were still out cold. He told me he's going to bring in a specialist for you."
"Kind of him."
"Don't give up hope, Jack. They really don't know."
"Might as well tell me the rest."
"Not sure I should..."
"Damn it, Conn! Have I ever, in the last twenty years--"
"All right, all right. Settle down. For God's sake, don't kill yourself just getting pissed off at me. You've three broken ribs, four broken fingers, and plenty of cuts and bruises. The cuts and scrapes wouldn't be so much of a worry if you hadn't decided to go for a swim in a swamp."
"A swamp?" He looked puzzled.
"Okay, not exactly. You were found in one of the marshes by an egg farmer, and you were half-drowned and so cold he wasn't sure you were alive. If you don't become feverish from that, it will be a miracle."
"I remember a farm...eucalyptus trees ...feeling where my damned keys cut me when somebody kicked me."
"Do you remember who did this to you?"
But Jack was caught up in other thoughts. "Listen--this sounds strange, but I swear it's true--someone was burying a car on that farm. In the middle of the night, or sometime after midnight, anyway. Doesn't that sound strange to you?"
"Yes,"
The News and the Express would be combined into one morning paper: the Las Piernas News Express.
Winston Wrigley II was better liked than his father by the staffs of both papers. Although the family was wealthy, his father had insisted that he learn the business the hard way--moving from paperboy to copyboy to reporter to editor. He gained further respect from the staff by openly discussing the end of the evening edition, keeping as many people employed as possible, and doing all in his power to find jobs for the others. O'Connor remembered evening after evening of farewell parties at the Press Club, the bar across the street from the paper. Helen Swan said it was a wonder that such a sizable herd of drunks could make it back and forth across Broadway without at least a few stragglers being flattened.
O'Connor had been sure that he would lose his job. Winston Wrigley II kept him on. When one of the older reporters groused about this, Wrigley said, "O'Connor's been on our payroll since 1936."
"As a paperboy!" the reporter said, then blushed as he realized his mistake.
"You never know how high a paperboy might rise in the business," Wrigley said calmly. Like his father, he seldom raised his voice.
O'Connor sat up with a start, and realized that despite his resolve, he had dozed off in Jack's hospital room. He glanced at his watch--it was past eleven.
Jack stirred awake again, and this time O'Connor called the nurse, as promised. When she had left, Jack murmured something, and O'Connor came closer to hear him.
"Now that Miss Ass-Full-of-Sunlight has done her duty, tell me the truth."
"Your speech is slurred, but I'm so used to listening to you when you're under full sail, I can understand you."
"Funny. Not that I would mind a drink."
"None for a while, I'm afraid. The worst blows were to your head."
"Thank God. What if they had injured something I use every day?"
"If you can crack jokes with a cracked skull, I suppose you're going to be all right. Eventually, anyway. If I showed you a mirror, you'd scream like a little girl."
"Given how I feel, I may just start screaming on principle."
"Sorry, Jack," O'Connor said, his voice no longer teasing. "It's inhuman, but they can't give you anything for the pain for a little while yet. Something to do with the head injuries."
Jack was silent for a moment, then asked, "What about the eye?"
O'Connor hoped the truth wouldn't lead to some sort of setback, because he had no practice at trying to lie to Jack. "Don't know yet. Old Man Wrigley came by earlier, when you were still out cold. He told me he's going to bring in a specialist for you."
"Kind of him."
"Don't give up hope, Jack. They really don't know."
"Might as well tell me the rest."
"Not sure I should..."
"Damn it, Conn! Have I ever, in the last twenty years--"
"All right, all right. Settle down. For God's sake, don't kill yourself just getting pissed off at me. You've three broken ribs, four broken fingers, and plenty of cuts and bruises. The cuts and scrapes wouldn't be so much of a worry if you hadn't decided to go for a swim in a swamp."
"A swamp?" He looked puzzled.
"Okay, not exactly. You were found in one of the marshes by an egg farmer, and you were half-drowned and so cold he wasn't sure you were alive. If you don't become feverish from that, it will be a miracle."
"I remember a farm...eucalyptus trees ...feeling where my damned keys cut me when somebody kicked me."
"Do you remember who did this to you?"
But Jack was caught up in other thoughts. "Listen--this sounds strange, but I swear it's true--someone was burying a car on that farm. In the middle of the night, or sometime after midnight, anyway. Doesn't that sound strange to you?"
"Yes,"
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