"How do you recognize him? By his voice?"
"Sort of, but it's not a 'him'." She turned to me. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that! You're not just trying to win that million bucks, are you?"
"Of course not! The tipster is doing a wonderful service for the country. He. . . she, you say. . . deserves privacy. I'd tell her real story, as much as she'd allow, while still maintaining her absolute privacy. I'm only interested in isolating the tipster from these frauds that are showing up."
"Like that California guy. I knew from the start he was a fake-a-roo!" She shook her head. "It's sometimes a he and sometimes a she on the line. The voice is scrambled but you can tell the sex."
"There are two psychics?"
She shrugged. "At least two different people call in the tips but I'm guessing only one person is the psychic. It could be a man or a woman. I think it's a woman."
"What makes you think that?"
"The actual tip sounds like someone is reading it and it's always worded in the same format. I should know; I get almost all of them."
"How does that happen? There must be a lot of people answering a national tip line."
"Well. . . " Speak up, bitch, I said to myself, but she was reluctant. "They gave me a special telephone where the calls come in. Once in a while, I'm off duty and a call comes to someone else but I think the tipster person maybe knows my hours, 'cause it's rare another girl has to answer."
"You think perhaps the FBI is behind it? They swear they have no knowledge of even the existence of this person." She just shrugged again, as if it wasn't her concern. I continued. "Do you treat these calls differently from the usual calls?"
"Oh, yes! They take high priority." The tramp bit her lip. "Look, I think I've said too much, maybe. I don't want to discuss this anymore. Can you just drop me off near the mall? My car is parked there."
"Certainly. You're been a great help, Brenda." We strolled back to my stolen car and drove away, taking back street to avoid intersection cameras.
"This isn't the way!" she said, as she fidgeted her fat ass on the edge of the seat.
"I just wanted to see a bit of your city before I drive to your car. I've never been here before and I doubt I'll return."
"I guess," she muttered.
I was in the country when I reached under the seat and retrieved a long and sinister knife. I was sure dear Brenda would be far more candid with the instrument pressed to her throat.