his heels as if he had not a care in the world.
“You got plenty of nerve,” Trace said.
“ I got nerve?” Reynolds retorted. “How’s Miss Anna’s case coming along, Counselor?”
“What?”
“I hear you and that hoity-toity Englishwoman from Quality Hill swanned into Four Courts yesterday on false pretenses. You pass the bar when I wasn’t looking?” Trace stared at him, and Reynolds grinned. “Son, you’ll find there’s little newsworthy in this town that I don’t know about. I got sources in every police station, at every saloon and barbershop—hell, I got half the laundresses uptown willing to slip me a dirty word about the missus’ sheets, if it’s a slow news day. And I know you spent your morning, you and your pal here, down at the Carondelet Citizen, trying to find out how they scooped every other paper in town. And I’d give a pony to know that myself.” Reynolds opened back his jacket lapel and pulled out a sheaf of folded news pages. “Take a gander at those.”
They were five issues of the Carondelet Citizen, spread out over the past nine months or so. Each one had a headline screaming bloody murder in the third column, where the want ads should have been.
“The Herschels weren’t the first to get advance coverage in the Citizen, ” Reynolds said. “Back in January, a woman drowned her baby in the laundry tub. Husband said she’d been melancholy ever since the birth. November, an old man fell down the stairs and broke his neck in the middle of the night. Family claimed the daughter-in-law pushed him, cause she was tired of takin him to the necessary. Five other deaths in the last year, all inside homes on a Monday night, all reported by the Citizen on Tuesday morning, sometimes before the police got to the scene.”
“How come nobody’s noticed this?” Boz asked.
“Cause there ain’t that many copies with the murder story in it,” Trace guessed, looking at Reynolds to see if he was right. “I just went through that whole stack in there, and none of them have it.”
Reynolds laid a finger alongside his nose. “Give the man a cigar … I been able to find plenty o’ folks who claim they read the story in the Citizen, but precious few who can produce a copy with the text.”
“Then how’d you know?” Boz said.
“When it comes to print, not much happens that I don’t know about.” Reynolds fetched out a second set of papers. “Once I wised up to that Levy kid beating me to all the murder scenes, I started buying off a patrolman on the south beat. He makes sure to save me any newspapers he finds on the premises. And when a, uh … precognitive issue does turn up, I go down to the Citizen office and get me a copy of the official edition.”
Reynolds handed over five new pages, all folded open to the third-page classifieds. “See the connection?”
Trace could already guess, but he glanced through the pages, to be sure. “Every time there was a murder, there was an ad placed by the person who was murdered. Or kin to ’em.”
“Big winner here, folks.”
“You think that’s how they were chosen? The victims went into the Citizen office to place an ad, and the killer picked them out, then and there?”
“Seems to be the pattern, huh?”
“But that Levy kid said there wasn’t time to run a second edition,” Boz pointed out.
“I don’t think they’re bein printed at all,” Trace said, and described how he’d seen the ink change on the page. “Somethin’s alterin the pages after they’re printed.”
“Awright, so how come nobody’s noticed that ? The Levy kid, or the old man—”
Reynolds snorted. “I’m fair sure you could march Sherman’s army through that place most nights, and old man Avery wouldn’t notice. As to Danny Levy’s involvement…” The reporter spread his hands.
“So what’re you sayin, the kid is committing murders to sell more papers?” Trace said.
“Or take his photographs,” Boz suggested, and Reynolds cocked
“You got plenty of nerve,” Trace said.
“ I got nerve?” Reynolds retorted. “How’s Miss Anna’s case coming along, Counselor?”
“What?”
“I hear you and that hoity-toity Englishwoman from Quality Hill swanned into Four Courts yesterday on false pretenses. You pass the bar when I wasn’t looking?” Trace stared at him, and Reynolds grinned. “Son, you’ll find there’s little newsworthy in this town that I don’t know about. I got sources in every police station, at every saloon and barbershop—hell, I got half the laundresses uptown willing to slip me a dirty word about the missus’ sheets, if it’s a slow news day. And I know you spent your morning, you and your pal here, down at the Carondelet Citizen, trying to find out how they scooped every other paper in town. And I’d give a pony to know that myself.” Reynolds opened back his jacket lapel and pulled out a sheaf of folded news pages. “Take a gander at those.”
They were five issues of the Carondelet Citizen, spread out over the past nine months or so. Each one had a headline screaming bloody murder in the third column, where the want ads should have been.
“The Herschels weren’t the first to get advance coverage in the Citizen, ” Reynolds said. “Back in January, a woman drowned her baby in the laundry tub. Husband said she’d been melancholy ever since the birth. November, an old man fell down the stairs and broke his neck in the middle of the night. Family claimed the daughter-in-law pushed him, cause she was tired of takin him to the necessary. Five other deaths in the last year, all inside homes on a Monday night, all reported by the Citizen on Tuesday morning, sometimes before the police got to the scene.”
“How come nobody’s noticed this?” Boz asked.
“Cause there ain’t that many copies with the murder story in it,” Trace guessed, looking at Reynolds to see if he was right. “I just went through that whole stack in there, and none of them have it.”
Reynolds laid a finger alongside his nose. “Give the man a cigar … I been able to find plenty o’ folks who claim they read the story in the Citizen, but precious few who can produce a copy with the text.”
“Then how’d you know?” Boz said.
“When it comes to print, not much happens that I don’t know about.” Reynolds fetched out a second set of papers. “Once I wised up to that Levy kid beating me to all the murder scenes, I started buying off a patrolman on the south beat. He makes sure to save me any newspapers he finds on the premises. And when a, uh … precognitive issue does turn up, I go down to the Citizen office and get me a copy of the official edition.”
Reynolds handed over five new pages, all folded open to the third-page classifieds. “See the connection?”
Trace could already guess, but he glanced through the pages, to be sure. “Every time there was a murder, there was an ad placed by the person who was murdered. Or kin to ’em.”
“Big winner here, folks.”
“You think that’s how they were chosen? The victims went into the Citizen office to place an ad, and the killer picked them out, then and there?”
“Seems to be the pattern, huh?”
“But that Levy kid said there wasn’t time to run a second edition,” Boz pointed out.
“I don’t think they’re bein printed at all,” Trace said, and described how he’d seen the ink change on the page. “Somethin’s alterin the pages after they’re printed.”
“Awright, so how come nobody’s noticed that ? The Levy kid, or the old man—”
Reynolds snorted. “I’m fair sure you could march Sherman’s army through that place most nights, and old man Avery wouldn’t notice. As to Danny Levy’s involvement…” The reporter spread his hands.
“So what’re you sayin, the kid is committing murders to sell more papers?” Trace said.
“Or take his photographs,” Boz suggested, and Reynolds cocked
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