The “get organized” meeting would follow supper. In the meantime, we broke up into groups. Art, Hal, and I went into the back office with Detective Bill Saperstein. We three Iowa people were all about six to eight inches taller than Saperstein, who was about five five. As we shut the office door, he looked at us and asked what they fed us in Iowa. We introduced ourselves to him, and he got the ball rolling right away. “You gentlemen are in for a rough time.” We agreed. He lit a cigarette. I liked him more and more, as he was one of the few people left who seemed to smoke as much as I did. “Your state attorney is right about the media. They’ll drive you nuts, because this is sensational stuff. Digging into a case like this, with a little luck, can make somebody’s journalistic career. So they’re gonna pry and dig, and talk to all sorts of people. And they’re gonna piss you off.” “Some do already,” said Hal. Saperstein shook his head. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, baby.”
