"For their protection."
"I can't give those out."
"But these people are at risk."
"This country operates on the principle of separation of media and state." As if this flippant recitation skewered her argument.
"That girl was thrown into a trunk and left to drown. Travis could be planning another attack right now."
Chilton held up a finger, shushing her like a schoolteacher. "It's a slippery slope. Agent Dance, who do you work for? Your ultimate boss?"
"The attorney general."
"Okay, well, say I give you the addresses of posters on the 'Roadside Crosses' thread. Then next month you come back and ask for the address of a whistleblower who was fired by the attorney general for, oh, let's pick harassment. Or maybe you want the address of somebody who posted a comment critical of the governor. Or the president. Or--how 'bout this--someone who says something favorable about al-Qaeda? You say to me: 'You gave me the information last time. Why not again?'"
"There won't be an again."
"You say that but . . ." As if government employees lied with every breath. "Does this boy know you're after him?"
"Yes."
"Then he's run off somewhere, wouldn't you think? He's not going to show himself by attacking somebody else. Not if the police are looking for him." His voice was stern.
Hers was reasonable as she continued slowly, "Still. You know, Mr. Chilton, sometimes life is about compromises."
She let this comment linger.
He cocked an eyebrow, waiting.
"If you gave us the addresses--just of the locals who wrote the most vicious posts about Travis--we'd really appreciate it. Maybe . . . well, maybe we could do something to help you, if you ever needed a hand."
"Like what?"
Thinking again about Boling's suggestions, she said, "We'd be happy to issue a statement about your cooperation. Good publicity."
Chilton considered this. But then frowned. "No. If I were to help you it'd probably be best not to mention it."
She was pleased; he was negotiating. "Okay, I can understand that. But maybe there's something else we could do."
"Really? What?"
Thinking about another suggestion the professor had made, she said, "Maybe, well, if you need any contacts in the California law enforcement agencies. . . . Sources. High-up ones."
He leaned forward, eyes flaring. "So you are trying to bribe me. I thought so. Just had to draw you out a little. Got you, Agent Dance."
She sat back as if she'd been slapped.
Chilton continued, "Appealing to my public spirit is one thing. This . . ." He waved his hand at her. ". . . is distasteful. And corrupt, if you ask me. It's the kind of maneuvering I expose in my blog every day."
Of course, the other thing he might do is consider your request an invasion of journalistic ethics. In which case he'll slam the door in your face.
"Tammy Foster was almost killed. There could be others."
"I'm very sorry for that. But The Report is too important to jeopardize. And if people think they can't post anonymously it'll change the integrity of the entire blog."
"I'd like you to reconsider."
The blogger's strident facade faded. "That man I was meeting with when you got here?"