Yesterday's News

bus down and back and have a meal out for the price of the meal alone.” She looked around the restaurant. “A lot of these people are close to the line. I like to frequent a place that gives them a break.” She took another sip and asked her question through the glass. “So who do I remind you of?”
    I thought about passing it off, but instead said, “My wife.”
    She glanced down at my hands. “A guy like you should wear a ring.”
    “My wife died.”
    She set down the glass. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.”
    “I am, too. For leading you into it like that. It wasn’t intentional.”
    Rendall looked at me a little more closely. “No. No, I don’t think it was. Intentional, I mean. I can see why Jane must have trusted you.”
    “Did she trust you?”
    “About her source, you mean?”
    “Yes.”
    “Not exactly. She told me about having one, sort of seeking my advice about what to do. But she didn’t tell me his name until after... after he was dead.”
    “Jane implied to me that she’d revealed Coyne to more than one person. If you weren’t one of them, who might have been?”
    She grew thoughtful. “Hard to say. You just met Jane that once?”
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t know how she struck you, but I interviewed her when she applied here. On first impression she seemed serious, diligent, willing to dredge up the mundane stuff that keeps a paper from printing mistakes.”
    “What about on second impression?”
    “Well, after you got to know her, or better, tried to get to know her, you realized that she created her own little world in which she was the center. Kind of a messiah complex.”
    “That she’d be the one to save the situation?”
    “Right. And anybody who tried to rein her became part of the conspiracy.”
    “Do you think there was some conspiracy regarding Coyne’s death?”
    Rendall laughed. “Have you met Neil Hagan yet?”
    “No. Given Arbuckle’s time limit on me, I thought I’d start at the paper.”
    “Well, when the present chief retires, one of two captains will replace him. Hagan is new school, smart, professional, the kind of man who as chief will move this city into the twenty-first century.”
    “And Hogueira?”
    She nodded. “Done some homework, I see.”
    “Some.”
    “Extending the metaphor, Hogueira leads us from 1890 to 1892.”
    “Hagan’s conscientious?”
    “And then some. I don’t know how Jane could have thought he’d be involved in sweeping Coyne’s death under the rug.”
    “Maybe because of Schonsy, Junior being both Coyne’s target and the son of Hagan’s old partner?”
    “Your homework consists of talking with Mai Peete, right?”
    “Mainly.”
    “Peete’s a drunk, Mr. Cuddy. And about as screwed up in his perceptions of reality as Jane was.”
    “How’re you at perceiving reality?”
    “I may not be the best there is, but I’m probably the best you’ve got. Shoot.”
    “A couple of people have mentioned some real estate developer named Dykestra.”
    “Little Richard.”
    “Who?”
    “That’s what I call him. Richie Dykestra comes in at maybe five-five. Petty, I know, but he inspires that kind of thinking about him.”
    “If Coyne’s death happened as reported, but Jane’s death wasn’t an accident or suicide, could Dykestra have been involved?”
    “Boy.” She paused, chewing. “He’s into some shady stuff. And I’m not sure which way Bruce Fetch goes on that one.”
    “Who’s Fetch?”
    “Jane didn’t... no, of course she wouldn’t. Bruce and Jane were dating.”
    “Serious?”
    “He was. And three months ago, I would have said she was, too. But lately, I think the fire was mainly at his end.”
    “Fetch works for Dykestra?”
    “You could say that.”
    “Seems a little out of character, Jane dating a guy who works for the target she’s investigating.”
    “You haven’t quite got it. The local redevelopment authority floated Dykestra through this condo project he’s doing.”
    “Dykestra has a debt problem?”
    “Are you kidding? His file at the bank is probably thicker than Argentina ’s.”
    “And the Nasharbor Redevelopment Authority bailed him out?”
    “That’s right. And guess who’s executive director of the honorable NRA?”
    “Fetch.”
    “Gold star.”
    “You pick that up from Arbuckle?”
    “What?”
    “That expression, gold star.”
    Rendall smiled. “He picked it up from me. Know why he suggested you talk to me?”
    “Because he wanted me off his back.”
    “Partly. But