Perfect Grave

Chapter Twenty-Three

N othing was working.

Jason was on his phone in the newsroom holding for a cop source. The tenth one he’d tried today. And here it was early in the evening, the clock ticking closer to the first-edition deadline and nothing.

Absolutely zip for a fresh angle to advance the story of Sister Anne’s murder. Tapping his pen, he noticed that his hands were sweaty.

Wait. He had an idea. A long shot but worth a try. He could-

“You there, Wade?”

“Yeah,” he squeezed the phone, “you hearing anything? Anything new?”

“Just what I see in today’s Times and the P-I. ”

“Thanks.”

He tossed his pen and cursed.

He did not need to be reminded that his competition had killed him with reports about investigators building a suspect pool of violent ex-cons who’d had run-ins with the nun. Both papers played their stories big today on their front pages. And all day they mocked Jason like a victorious middle finger.

What goes around, comes around.

Yeah, well he’d beaten them earlier with his story about the knife from the shelter being used as the murder weapon.

Jason’s boss didn’t care. Yesterday’s news was today’s fish wrap and Reep had been in his face to break another exclusive.

“The Mirror has to own this story, Wade. Anything less is unacceptable.”

Jason had tried everything. Right from the get-go. This morning his old man had gone to his own sources to try to coax the names of any new potential suspects from them. So far, every effort had dead-ended. And Jason’s calls to Grace Garner had not been returned.

For a moment, Jason let his thoughts go to his dad’s revelation about his past.

What really happened to him?

“Wade!”

Reep stood at his office doorway beckoning him with a crooked finger, then rolled up his sleeves, as if preparing for a fight.

“You’re still not on the sked. What have you got for me?”

“An idea.”

“And how do I get that into the paper?”

“Listen, it’s going to take time-”

“No, you listen. You’ve got jack. And sitting in here on your ass just doesn’t cut it. I want something for tomorrow’s paper. Something that will put us back out front. You’ve only got a couple of hours.”

“I’ve got to try to find a guy who-”

“You’re taking Cassie with you.”

“Eldon, it’d be better if I go alone, it could be dangerous.”

“Stop the horseshit. You’re forgetting that I assigned Cassie to this story with you. Do as you’re told.”

Cassie was wearing a V-neck sweater, jacket, and form-fitting jeans that complemented her figure as they headed across the Mirror parking lot to his Falcon.

She never smiled as she sipped from her Styro cup of cafeteria coffee.

Before Jason started the car, she opened her notebook. The sound of her flipping pages filled the awkward silence. Jason stared at her for a moment.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he said. “I had no part of your screwup with Brian Pillar.”

She looked away from him and out the window.

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“Then your credibility with me is dead.”

“Why don’t you let me handle my credibility?”

Jason looked at her.

“I’m searching for a man who may have talked to the nun’s killer. This is my story, you’re just along for the ride.”

“You’d better start the car.”

Jason shook his head then slid “Radar Love” into his player and laid six feet of rubber pulling out of the lot. Like most reporters, he functioned with a nearpsychic connection to his deadline. He never wasted time. The clock was ticking on him.

It always was.

The sun had set as they came upon the edge of the Pioneer Square District. Jason parked the Falcon in an alley near a loading zone. As sirens wailed, he got out and started for the Compassionate Heart of Mercy Shelter.

Cassie didn’t move.

“Coming?”

She hesitated. “It’s creepy downtown at night.”

“Figures,” Jason said.

He headed for the shelter to the sound of Cassie changing her mind: car door opening and closing, shoes clicking as she hurried after him. He refused to slow down. The shelter’s serving of the evening meal had already ended and Jason clung to the hope that he could catch some of the men before they vanished into the night.

Taking stock of the lingering stragglers, he approached a group of men huddled in a dim corner, passing a paper bag among themselves.

“Excuse me. I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m looking for a man who comes here.”

Cold hard eyes met his, then went to Cassie.

“Who’re you?” a voice asked.

“Jason Wade, a reporter with the Mirror. ”

“And what does she do?”

Mumbling, the swish of liquid and soft, dark laughter went round the circle.

“Whatever it is,” one said, “I bet she does it real nice.”

The men laughed.

“She’s a reporter, too,” which was harder for Jason to swallow than the stuff they were drinking. “I don’t know the name of the guy I’m looking for, but he’s kinda heavyset, maybe in his late forties. Has long hair and a beard, maybe wears a field jacket with desert camouflage and military pants.”

“Sounds like Coop. You’re talking about Coop,” one man said.

“Dark, intense eyes?”

“Angry eyes. That’s Coop. Didn’t come down tonight. He’s taking things real hard. Sister Anne is the only one who could get through to him, and her funeral’s going to be right here in the shelter tomorrow. So he’s having a hard time.”

“You know where he lives, where I can find him?”

“He stays near the International District. But you’d best keep away from him.”

Jason took a note. “A mission, hostel? You got an address?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“I know but it’s important that we talk to him tonight. Please, do you have an address?”

“Here.” Scarred, ruddy hands reached for Jason’s pad and pen. “I’ll draw you a map, but I would not be messing with him.”

The man’s sketching was clear and neat. Jason studied it, realizing that although the location was near, getting to Coop’s place would not be easy.

“Be careful, he doesn’t take kindly to people. Period.”

“What’s his full name?”

“Psycho,” one of them chuckled.

“Shut up! You don’t know him,” a voice from the circle said. “John Cooper. But he likes to be called Coop.”

“What’s his story? I mean why call him that other name?”

A long silence passed.

The glass neck of the bottle flashed and liquid sloshed.

“You find him and you’ll find out.”