The Further Investigations of Joanne Kilbourn by Gail Bowen Page B

“Count on it,” I said, and I was pleased to see that she backed away.
    Hilda opened the door just as Taylor and I hit the front porch. She took in the situation as soon as she saw the Nationtv van.
    “Damn them,” she said, her eyes flashing with anger. “I’ve been fending off media people on the telephone and here they were in the driveway.” She looked at me. “Did they talk to …”
    I nodded.
    “No ethical sense,” she said. “Ruled by expediency and the imperative to exploit.”
    When I picked up the telephone, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely dial Jill Osiowy’s number. As the phone in her office rang, I could hear the call-waiting beep on my line. I looked out my front window. The red, white, and blue truck of another TV network was pulling up in front of my house.
    Jill had to bear the brunt of my anger. “Whose decision would it be to send a news team out here to ask a six-year-old child if her mother was a murderer?”
    For a moment, Jill was silent. Then she said, “It’s news, Jo. I’m sorry. I know that’s not the answer you want, but that’s the answer there is. You’re news.”
    “And that makes my kids fair game,” I said.
    “In some people’s minds, yes,” she said.
    On the notepad beside the telephone, Hilda had carefully written the telephone numbers of all the media people who had phoned. Most had called more than once, but Troy Smith-Windsor had gone for the gold and called five times. Suddenly I was so exhausted I couldn’t move.
    “How long will this go on, Jill?” I asked.
    “Till they find someone else.”
    “I’m not going to wait that long,” I said.
    There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Jill said. “What can I do to help?”
    “See what you can find out about Kevin Tarpley’s murder. There has to be a connection, and I’m in the clear there.”
    “I’ll check our police sources, and I’ll ask Terry Norlander from the Prince Albert affiliate to go talk to that guy in the cell across from Kevin’s. The one who helped Kevin with his letters.”
    “Ah, yes, the letters,” I said. “You know that minister – Paschal Temple – Kevin might have told him something. Jill, see if you can track him down, will you? If it sounds like he’ll talk to me, I can drive up there this weekend. Hilda said she’ll stay a few days, so the kids will be okay.”
    “You got it,” Jill said. Then she laughed, “Hey, Nancy Drew, it’s good to hear that you’re back in business.”
    I winced, relieved that Howard Dowhanuik was snarled somewhere in Toronto rush-hour traffic, safely out of earshot.
    Dinner was, given the circumstances, a cheerful affair. After I’d talked to Jill, I ran through the options for dinner and ordered in pizza, extra large, loaded. The kids ate like people with nothing more serious on their minds than double cheese and pepperoni. I relaxed and listened as Taylor ran through the guest list for her birthday party and Angus talked about a girl named Brie who had just moved to Regina from Los Angeles. “Talk about culture shock, eh, Mum?”
    “Yeah,” I said, as I opened bottles of Great Western beer for Hilda and me. “Brie’s going to find it hard to keep up with the scene here in Regina.”
    Jill called at 6:30. “I just got off the phone with Terry Norlander. The police up there have zip on the shooting. Their ballistic people say the bullets came from a handgun. Kevin was with that inmate from the cell across from him. According to Terry, this guy is something else. Apparently,he’s embraced our prison system so wholeheartedly that he prefers to be known as 49041 Rudzik. Anyway, Kevin and 49041 were shooting baskets in the exercise yard. When Kevin went down, 49041 thought he’d tripped. Then he saw the blood. Apparently the car and the driver just disappeared. Terry is going to try to see 49041 again tomorrow, but I wouldn’t hold your breath about any revelations there. Speaking of revelations, we’ve