Crime Time

Betsy looked about to say something, but turned and led the others to the conference room. I went back to my computer to retrieve a phone number, then on to the secure phone line.

I queued my way past three minions before the stern voice growled, "Reagan' in my ear. I knew this conversation deserved more thought on my part but it felt good taking some action, even if it might prove misguided.

"I'm calling as a representative of the person whose identity you're seeking," I said, hoping the nervousness I felt wasn't as clear as it sounded to me.

"And who might that be?"

"You've dubbed her the Psychic Tipster." A brief silence followed.

"Thirty-four."

I wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"You're the thirty-fourth person who's contacted me saying you were the tipster. We've got a pool going in the office. Your confession is a tad different variation; is it your wife or mommy? Good bye." I was listening to a dial tone. I dutifully trekked back through the ranks, lying that I'd been cut off. When I heard the same voice, I made an impassioned plea.

"Don't hang up! This is important!"

"Listen, mister . . ."

"Just hear me out. I'm not looking for anything; I'm just conveying information." Silence. I at least felt empowered to continue. "Check into the murder of a woman named Brenda Washington in Omaha, Nebraska."

"Why? Is this a tip from mommy the clairvoyant?"

I'm not sure why I assigned the tipster to the female sex. I did it on the spur of the moment. I guess I was tired of looking for gender neutral pronouns.

"No. It's a tip from me because Brenda Washington was an employee of the tip call-in center and her primary job was fielding calls from the person I represent. She was brutally murdered by the same man who killed young girls in Delaware, Alabama and several other states. He also murdered a deputy sheriff who stopped him because the law knew his license plate from a tip. He cleverly tracked down Brenda, tortured her and left her body on an Iowa roadside. He knows the tipster exists because the tipster has information no one could learn through normal means. He desperately wants to eliminate what he sees as the only threat to his activities. I wouldn't be surprised if you were in his sights.'

My monolog was blurted out non-stop for fear she'd cut me off before I finished. When I finally stopped, she said nothing. "Check it out." I said. "I'll call you back in an hour." It was my turn to hang up. My hand was shaking.