Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
A young man showed them to the office of Tim Hutchins, the features editor for the Boston Herald. Hutchins was a tired-looking man in his fifties, a pencil stuck behind one ear in almost a parody of every clichéd newspaper editor Dan had ever come across.
“You the guy who called wanting to know more about Jonathon?”
“Yes, Mr. Hutchins. I’m Detective Mitchell, and this is Dan Porter.”
Hutchins pointed to a couple of chairs. “Take a seat. What do you want to know? I already answered a load of questions from the police.”
Gary got out his notebook. “What kind of man was Jonathon?”
Hutchins leaned back. “He was good at his job, I can tell you that. I’ve been—I was his editor for about seven years.” His brow furrowed. “Still can’t believe it. Talk about bad timing.”
“He wrote a piece recently about the missing Rembrandt that showed up.”
Hutchins brightened. “Wait a sec. Mitchell? Weren’t you the detective who found that painting?”
“Along with Mr. Porter here, yes.”
He nodded. “That was a great piece of writing. But then again, Jonathon never put in shoddy work. He wanted to make a name for himself, that boy.”
“What was he working on at the moment?” Dan inquired.
“He was writing a piece on eugenics. Not that he gave me any more than that, you understand. He didn’t share until he was ready, but I knew he’d put the hours in, do his research. He did say he was going to blow the lid on some company or other.”
Dan frowned. “Company?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said when he told me. I think it was an IVF clinic offering more than just IVF.” His face fell. “I should’ve paid more attention.”
“Would his notes be on a laptop?” Gary crossed his fingers.
“Yeah, but I don’t know where it is. It’s not here, I can tell you that much.
It went wherever he did.” Hutchins gave a sad smile.
“He was one of a kind, was Jonathon. Everyone else in here? They back everything up instantly to the cloud—computers, phones, notes—but him? Wouldn’t do it.
He was utterly convinced anything in the cloud could be hacked.
He said paper could be trusted.” Hutchins snorted. “I told him paper could also burn.”
“Did he leave notes here?” Dan’s question preempted Gary’s.
“If he did, they’ll be in a folder in his desk.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. If he was so afraid of being hacked, why would he leave unsecured notes at his desk?”
“But they weren’t unsecured.” Hutchins opened a drawer in his desk and removed something.
“Yes, they’re in his desk, but they’re in a locked document box, and I have the key.
” He rose from his chair, then frowned. “Now wait a minute. Why do you need to see his notes? What does whatever he was working on have to do with a couple of thieving bastards shooting him because he walked in on them? Unless….” He froze.
“You don’t think this was a random shooting, do you?
You think it’s something to do with his investigations. ”
“It’s a possibility,” Gary admitted. “One that we can’t discount.”
Hutchins’s face was ashen. “Then let me go take a look. You stay here.” And with that, he hurried out of the tiny corner office.
“Eugenics? Is it likely such an article would have led to his death?” Dan postulated.
“And what if he had discovered information that would, and I quote, ‘blow the lid’ on some company or other?”
Before Dan could respond, Hutchins returned with a manila folder. “I guess it’s okay if you read this. Not that it matters now. No one else will write it.” He handed it to Gary.
Gary took it and glanced at the notes. “He was working on this for a while.” He shuffled the sheaf of papers. “From what I can see, he started making notes for the piece earlier this year.”
Hutchins nodded. “He was very thorough. Like I said, he did his research.”
Gary scanned the top sheet. “He was writing about designer babies.”
Dan stared at him. “But no one would kill him over that, surely?”
“I’m inclined to agree.” He glanced at Hutchins. “Can we have a copy of these?”
“You think it’ll help?”
Gary shrugged. “Like I said, possibly. We also do our research, Mr. Hutchins.” He closed the folder.
Hutchins deliberated for a moment before nodding. “Sure. Gimme a sec.”
Gary handed back the folder, and Hutchins left them alone once more.
“Why do we need to take a copy?” Dan asked.
“From what I read, he was planning on exposing some shady practices at an IVF clinic. A very expensive, high-profile clinic.”
“But surely they wouldn’t have him bumped off for writing an exposé. People who work for high-profile clinics don’t do that sort of thing.”
Gary cocked his head to one side. “Are you kidding me? People have been killed for a dollar. And if Jonathon was right, these guys are making millions.”
And if Jonathon’s article threatened to expose shady practices, resulting in the loss of those millions….
Hutchins returned. He gave Gary a stapled sheaf of papers.
“Look, it might be nothing, but given what you suspect… I had a call from someone who knows—knew—Jonathon. Said they were at school together, and she’d been helping him with his research.
She sounded a bit hysterical, to be honest. She seemed to think he’d been killed because of what he’d uncovered, and now she’s panicking, thinking she’ll be next.
” Hutchins gazed at them with troubled eyes.
“I thought she was cracked, but after talking to you, maybe she’s closer to the mark than I thought. ”
And maybe we’re finally getting somewhere.
“Do you have her name and a number or address where we can contact her?”
Hutchins nodded. “She left a number. Her name’s Sherrie…
something.” His eyes brightened. “Sherrie Thomas. That was the name. I’ll write it down for you.
” He grabbed a pen and a compliments slip, and scribbled hastily on it.
He handed it over. “You will let me know if you find out anything, won’t you?
Jonathon was an okay guy. He didn’t deserve to die like that. ”
Gary promised they’d be in touch.
They hurried out of the building, and before they reached the car, Gary had removed both his phone and the slip of paper. He tapped in the number and waited.
“Hello?” A female voice answered.
“Is that Sherrie Thomas?”
“Look, whatever it is you’re selling—”
“Ms. Thomas, I’m Detective Gary Mitchell from Boston PD. You called Mr. Hutchins with information regarding Jonathon Wilmer.”
He caught her gasp.
“Thank God. I was going to call the police next. You have to do something. That fool editor didn’t believe a word I said, but there’s some kind of cover-up going on, I tell you.
Jonathon wasn’t shot by any housebreaker—he was murdered because of what he’d discovered.
And I’m the one who told him about it. What if I’m next? ” Her voice cracked.
“Can you get to the police precinct, Ms. Thomas? We can talk there.”
“Are you kidding? I can’t be seen walking in there.”
We can go to her, Dan mouthed.
Gary nodded. “Then we’ll come to you. What’s the address?”
“Look, I can’t talk right now. Tomorrow at four. I’ll be at home then.” She rattled off the address, and he scribbled it down.
“We’ll see you tomorrow.” He hung up.
“Where does she live?”
“Dorchester.” Gary paused. “It could be an overactive imagination, you know.”
Dan’s stare didn’t waver. “Or she could be right and she’s in danger too.”