The Scarecrow by Michael Connelly Page A

you saw TV reporters on a story, that usually meant that they were following yesterday’s
     news or were headed to a press conference. The TV news in this town hadn’t had a legitimate scoop since Channel 5 came up
     with the Rodney King beating tape back in 1991.
    After hanging up with Angela I called a lieutenant in Major Crimes to see what was shaking. If he didn’t know, then I would
     try Robbery-Homicide Division and then Narcs. I was confident I would soon know why the media was storming Parker Center,
     and the
L.A. Times
was the last to know about it.
    I talked my way through the city secretary who answers phones in Major Crimes and got to Lieutenant Hardy without much of
     a wait. Hardy was less than a year in the job and I was still doing the dance with him, slowly procuring him as a trusted
     source. After I identified myself, I asked what the Hardy Boys were up to. I had taken to calling the detectives in his command
     the Hardy Boys because I knew giving the lieutenant ownership of the squad played to his ego. The truth was, he was simply
     a manager of people, and the investigators in his command worked pretty autonomously. But it was part of the dance and so
     far it had worked.
    “We’re laying low today, Jack,” Hardy said. “Nothing to report.”
    “You sure? I heard from somebody else in the building that the place is crawling with TV people.”
    “Yeah, that’s for that other thing. We’ve got nothing to do with that.”
    At least we weren’t behind the curve on a Major Crimes story. That was good.
    “What other thing?” I asked.
    “You need to talk to either Grossman or the chief’s office. They’re having the press conference.”
    I started to get concerned. The chief of police didn’t usually hold press conferences to discuss things already in the newspaper.
     He usually broke things out himself—so he could control information and get credit if credit was due him.
    The other reference Hardy had made was to Captain Art Grossman, who was in charge of major narcotics investigations. Somehow
     we had missed an invitation to a press conference.
    I quickly thanked Hardy for the help and told him I would check with him later. I called Angela back and she answered right
     away.
    “Go back in and head up to the sixth floor. There is some sort of narcotics press conference with the chief and Art Grossman,
     who is the head narc.”
    “Okay, what time?”
    “I don’t know yet. Just get up there in case it’s happening right now. You didn’t hear about this?”
    “No!” she said defensively.
    “How long have you been over there?”
    “All morning. I’ve been trying to meet people.”
    “Okay, get up there and I’ll call you back.”
    After hanging up I started multitasking. While putting in a call to Grossman’s office I went online and checked the CNS wire.
     The City News Service operated a digital newswire that was updated by the minute with breaking news from the city of angels.
     It was heavy with crime and police news and was primarily a tip service that provided press conference schedules and limited
     details of crime reports and investigations. As a police reporter I checked it continuously through the day like a stock market
     analyst keeps his eye on the Dow crawl at the bottom of the screen on the Bloomberg channel.
    I could have stayed further connected to CNS by signing up for e-mail and cell phone text alerts, but that wasn’t the way
     I operated. I wasn’t a mojo. I was an
oldjo
and didn’t want the constant bells and whistles of connectivity.
    However, I had neglected to tell Angela about these options. And with her spending the morning at Parker Center and my spending
     it chasing the Babbit case, nobody had gotten any bells or whistles, and nobody had made the old-fashioned manual checks.
    I started scrolling backward on the CNS screen, looking for anything about a police press conference or any other breaking
     crime news. My call to Grossman was answered by