THIRTY-FOUR

THE BANNER STORIES on the front pages of both the St. Paul Pioneer Press and the Minneapolis StarTribune Sunday newspapers told the tale of the crazed gunman who had kidnapped Carol Catherine Monroe, killed her best friend and wounded her campaign manager before he was killed himself after a brief but tense standoff with State Capitol Security Force officers Friday evening. Both newspapers were quick to point out that the popular member of the Minnesota House of Representatives was unharmed and would continue her campaign; that she hoped to prove by example that people need not be afraid. “We need not allow ourselves to become victims,” the heroic gubernatorial candidate was quoted as saying. “We need not walk in fear, one of another.”

Jeezus, now she was stealing from Edward R. Murrow.

I read the stories three times and they didn’t mention my name once. Obviously the attorney general hadn’t given my statement to the press, which meant he was sitting on it—assuming, of course, it hadn’t already been shredded.

In a separate, six-paragraph article in the St. Paul paper, it was announced that the Ramsey County Medical Examiner had concluded that Joseph Sherman, the subject of a week-long manhunt by local law enforcement agencies, died of “self-inflicted gunshot wounds.” The article said the ex-convict had been sought for the brutal murders of John Brown and Amy Lamb. It was not explained why he had wanted to kill either of them.

No mention was made of Dennis Thoreau and his videotape.

I wasn’t surprised.

Cynthia Grey read the story over my shoulder. “This is a travesty,” she claimed. “We should file suit on behalf of Sherman’s family, make sure the truth comes out.”

“Does Sherman have a family?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s probably best to just forget about it,” I said.

“Is that what you’re going to do, forget about it?”

“Eventually,” I answered. I made a production out of folding the paper and dropping it in the recycle bin. “Ready to go?”

“I guess,” Cynthia answered with a sigh. Then she smiled. “Do you realize this is the first football game I’ve ever seen in person?”

“You’ll enjoy it,” I said, tucking a videotape-sized package wrapped in brown paper and addressed to Hersey Sheehan, c/o The Cities Reporter, under my arm.

“I need to stop at a mailbox first,” I said. “It’ll only take a minute.”