I owed a follow up call to both Ethel Reagan at the Boston newspaper and Agnes Delanco, at After. I dialed Miss Reagan first. She had nothing material to report.
"Not much news on the tipster. In fact, I can't find any tips lately. Anything you can tell me about that?"
"Off the record?" She agreed. "There is serious illness in her family. She may be out of the loop for a short time." I told Ethel Reagan why I wanted to keep the news quiet; it might make a perpetrator feel safe to do his macabre mischief.
"How about if I write a piece about her other life? I'll write it in general terms, speculating on how difficult it is to maintain both lives, operating one incognito. Maybe I'll garner a little sympathy for Miss Tipster and keep the hounds at bay."
I applauded her idea. Then I asked if she perceived any threats.
"No," she answered. "I get a lot of phone calls from people snooping for more information but I tell them I print everything I know. One woman want's to write a book about it, but frankly, so might I one day. Why should I feed the competition? Another guy was writing for a magazine. I told him the same thing."
"Nobody following you or creeping around?"
"Nope, and I keep my doors and windows locked. Roger wouldn't let anyone near me." When I didn't comment, she added, "Roger is my German Shepherd."
I cautioned her to remain alert.
She asked, a smile in her voice, "How's the weather in Idaho?"
"Just a sec; I'll look out the window," I answered as I hung up and dialed my next call, the office of After.
Agnes Delanco answered immediately. "Thank god you called! I've wanted desperately to talk to you! Let me put my man on the line. We'll do a three-way. He's Frank Vasapolli. Don't let him get to you; he knows his stuff."
In a few moments I heard a gruff male voice ask, "Is this the swami?"
"Yes; be nice Frank," boss Agnes said, breaking into the conversation.
"What do I call you?"
"Swami is fine," I said. "Technically, it's Swami Associate but I won't quibble."
"Okay, Swami. Here's the deal. Stay with me and don't interrupt. First off; the bike. This Volt-Wheel has been around a half dozen years. It started as a geezer bike for retirees in Florida and Arizona. They made bunches of them."
"That's not good. . ."
"Shut up; I told you not to interrupt . . . anyway, the damn thing went too fast for the old folks . . . over two miles an hour, I guess. So they re-introduced it as chick-wheels so the honeys along the beach could scoop out the surfers and maybe get laid. It was a hit so they souped it up to peddle it to the jocks that were too lazy to use their legs while they trolled for honeys. This model came out back this winter. Maybe a couple of hundred sold so far, all in California. If our boy made his getaway at more than five or ten miles an hour, you can bet your ass he was on one of these babies." He paused but I wasn't sure I was allowed to comment.