I had called 911 from my cell phone and then remained at the entrance of the alley to wait for the police. George had stayed next to me all this time, but when John got out of his car and saw me standing there, my dear husband deserted me again.
"Peg, don't tell me you're the lady who reported this homicide."
"I'm afraid so."
John shook his head sadly, like I was the unluckiest woman he'd met in a long time, and introduced me to his partner. Dave shook my hand and favored me with one of his nice smiles. Then, I took them down the alley to see Helen, and no one smiled again for the rest of the afternoon.
After viewing the victim, John insisted on questioning me personally. He walked me down to the park, while Dave and the lab people went over the crime scene. I guess John thought he was doing me a favor by getting me away from the horror of it all.
"Let's sit over here, Peg," he said taking my arm and steering me towards an empty bench. He pulled out his pad and pencil and looked at me like he was really sorry to put me through another ordeal.
Of course, his warm, compassionate attitude flew away quicker than the birds on the park bench when I admitted my involvement with the dead woman.
The whole story came out just like I was afraid it would earlier when I decided not to call him, and the more I said, the angrier he got.
"You've got no business sticking your nose in a police matter," John told me emphatically. "Who do you think you are, Brenda Star?"
Brenda Star was an investigative reporter, the heroine of a long-running, nationally distributed comic strip. The Chronicle had carried the strip for years, and I was an avid reader. Brenda was always solving cases that baffled the police. However, I didn't think this was the time to remind Hogan of that.
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