Rules of Prey

table. “Chief Daniel is doing an excellent job and I intend to reappoint him to another term, whatever the outcome of this investigation.”
    Daniel glanced at the mayor and nodded.
    “We have a problem here,” said the station manager for TV3. “This is the most intensely interesting story in the area right now. I’ve never seen anything like it. If we deliberately deemphasize the coverage and our colleagues over at Channel Eight and Channel Six and Channel Twelve don’t, we could get hurt in terms of ratings. We don’t have newspaper circulation counts to go by, the ratings are our lifeblood. And since we’re the top-rated station—”
    “Only at ten; not at six,” interjected the Channel Eight manager.
    “And since we’re the overall top-rated station,” the TV3 manager continued, “we have the most to lose. Frankly, I doubt our ability to work out any kind of agreement that everybody would hold to. There’s too much in the balance.”
    “How about if me and a bunch of other cops went through the force man by man and told them how a particular station was hurting us with their coverage? How about if we asked each and every cop, from the watch commanders on down, not to talk to that station? In other words, shut down one station’s contacts with the police force. Froze you out. Would that have an impact on ratings?” asked Lucas.
    “Now, that’s a dangerous proposition,” said the representative from the St. Paul papers.
    “If we get some media-generated panic, that ’s a dangerous proposition,” Lucas said. “If some kid who’s living in the dorm comes home from the university at night unexpectedly, and his old man blows him away because he thinks it’s the maddog, whose fault is that going to be? Whose fault for building up the fear?”
    “That’s not fair,” said the TV3 manager.
    “Sure it is. You just don’t want it to be,” Lucas said.
    “Calm down, lieutenant,” the mayor said after a moment of silence. He looked down the table. “Look, all we’re asking you to do is not to hammer so hard. I timed Channel Eight last night, and you gave more than seven minutes to this case in four separate segments. In terms of television news, I think that’s overkill. There almost weren’t any other stories. I’m just suggesting that everybody look at every pieceof coverage and ask, ‘Is this necessary? Will this really build ratings? And what if Chief Daniel and the mayor and the City Council and the state legislators get really angry and start talking about the irresponsible press and mentioning names? Will that help ratings?’ ”
    “Bottom line, then, you’re saying don’t make us mad,” said the news director from Channel Twelve.
    “Bottom line, I’m saying, ‘Be responsible.’ If you’re not, you could pay for it.”
    “That sounds like a threat,” said the news director.
    The mayor shrugged. “You take a dramatic view of things.”
     
    As they went through the lobby on the way to the street, Daniel looked at the mayor.
    “I appreciate that thing about the reappointment,” he said.
    “Don’t go out and celebrate yet,” the mayor said through his teeth. “I could change my mind if you don’t catch this asshole.”

CHAPTER
20
    The two days between the taking and the discovery of the body had been days of delicious anticipation. The maddog relaxed; he smiled. His secretary thought him almost charming. Almost. Except for the lips.
    The maddog ran the tapes over and over, watching McGowan report from the Wheatcroft scene.
    “This is Annie McGowan reporting from the scene of the latest in the series of killings by the man called maddog,” she said, her lips making sensual O’s. “Minneapolis Police Chief Quentin Daniel himself is inside this house just three blocks from the University of Minnesota campus. It was here that a crippled law student, Cheryl Wheatcroft, celebrated as one of the best minds of her law-school class, was tortured, stabbed to death, and sexually mutilated by a man police say is little better than a wild beast . . .”
    He liked it. He even liked the “wild beast.” The “pig farmer” was gone, forgotten. He reveled in the papers, read the stories over and over, lay on his bed and reran the memory of Wheatcroft dying. He masturbated, the face of Annie McGowan growing prominent in his visions.
    The media reaction built through the weekend, culminating in three pages of coverage in the Minneapolis Sunday paper, a smaller but