“I guess.” Bentz noticed a news van for WKAM setting up shop on the street. “Looks like the press has caught wind of this.”

“A good thing.”

“I suppose.” Bentz wasn’t all that interested in talking to anyone from the media. Deep down, he hated dealing with the “fourth estate,” though it was part of his job. He considered all reporters to be a necessary evil. The relationship between cops and press should be symbiotic, right? Each helping the other? Both groups looking out for the good of the public? But in Bentz’s opinion, too many members of the press were interested in sensational journalism, creating news rather than reporting it, causing a greater public awareness, but also stirring up fear and sometimes panic. Hence, he was careful in dealing with the press and usually tended to avoid everyone who carried a press card.

The TV crew wasn’t alone. Also standing near Montoya’s Mustang was Jase Bridges from the Observer, the reporter angling for a job in the department. It had happened before, when someone from the outside had landed the position, a reporter no less. But Bentz wasn’t certain that Jason Bridges was the man for the job.

“Hey,” Bridges said. “How about a quick interview?”

Bentz shot him a glare. “You know the deal, Bridges. Nothing for me to say.”

“Working girl, the victim?” he asked, undeterred. Obviously the homicide had already hit the wires. From the corner of his eye, Bentz noticed the approach of Brenda Convoy, a reporter from WKAM. A cameraman trailed a step behind her, shoulder cam in place.

“Look, Bridges, you’re not the PIO yet,” Bentz told Bridges, ignoring the TV reporter. “So talk to someone from that office. We’ve got notifications to make and a case to solve. Until I’ve got a good reason to share the investigation with the public, you’re out of luck. At least with me.” And so is she, he silently added, watching Brenda Convoy hurry along, high heels clicking unsteadily over the uneven sidewalk. In one smooth motion Bentz slid into the passenger seat of Montoya’s Mustang and closed the door. A second later, without a word, his partner hit the gas, maneuvering the sporty car so that it melded seamlessly into traffic.

Pain throbbing in her ankle, Zoe pushed herself to keep moving through the woods.