I was texting an apology to Claire for standing her up for yesterday’s lunch, when my desk phone rang.
I snatched up the receiver.
“Boxer.”
“Sergeant, it’s May Hess.”
May Hess is a dispatch supervisor who calls herself the Queen of the Batphone. She also works the tip line because she’s good at helping people, cutting through the panic and distress.
She said, “I’ve got something for you, Sergeant. A tourist witnessed the shooting at the jazz center.”
“What? Tell me.”
“I can do better than that. I’ve cued up the tape. Listen here.”
I heard a recorded voice over my phone.
“Police? Police?”
Hess’s voice answered on the tape. “This is the police. Do you have an emergency?”
“No. It’s about the shooting yesterday. At the jazz center.”
“Okay. And what’s your name?”
“Sharon Fogel.”
“Spell it for me?”
After the caller spelled it out, Hess said, “What do you know about the shooting, Ms. Fogel?”
“I saw it, but I didn’t know it. I was taking pictures. I’m from Sheboygan. Wisconsin. I’m on vacation. I was going to go to the jazz center, and I took some pictures of the building, and then those men were shot and I ran. I only realized what I had on my phone this morning.”
“Tell me about the pictures,” said Hess.
“It’s two pictures, actually. One shows his car. The other shows him.”
I heard the caller panting, and I was panting a bit myself. Had Sharon Fogel really snapped a photo of the killer?
Hess said, “Ms. Fogel, give me your address. I’ll have a police officer come by and get your statement and take a look at the photos while she’s there.”
I heard a man’s voice speaking in Sharon Fogel’s room.
Fogel’s voice was muffled. I thought she was saying, “Just a minute.” Then she was back on the line.
“My husband wants me to stay out of this.”
“Ms. Fogel, you won’t be involved in any way—”
“I can’t.”
“You may have something of real value to the ongoing investigation. What about this? Send the pictures to me. I’ll forward them to the homicide team.”
“Give me your email address,” said Fogel.
The voice of the man speaking in Fogel’s room was growing louder. “You’ve always got to be the star of the show, Sharon.”
“Have you got them?” Fogel asked Hess.
“Let me open your email.…”
I heard the clatter of the phone hitting the floor. Then the click of the phone disconnecting. The taped call was over, but Hess was there.
“Lindsay. Did you hear all of that?”
I said, “Maybe. Did you get the pictures?”
“Forwarding them to you now. She’s staying at the Hilton. I have her cell number.”
I told Hess, “Great job.”
And then I waited for Hess’s email to hit my inbox.