Hocus

He frowned, apparently puzzled that I didn’t consider that issue all settled.

“You’ve got to work with me, too, Cassidy.”

He made a noncommittal sort of sound.

“You’re going to want the public to be watching for these guys, right?” I asked.

He hesitated, then said, “Yes, I suppose the department will want to have some sort of press conference soon. We do try to coordinate things with the media. Ask your buddy Mark Baker — I’ve dealt with him before. The CIT doesn’t have a history of causing problems for the press. But the department isn’t going to give out every detail all at once. That just isn’t smart, Irene.”

“Do you really believe I’d do anything to further endanger Frank?” I asked tightly.

“Not intentionally, no. You have to understand — under ideal circumstances, even if you weren’t a reporter, you wouldn’t be this involved. To have a family member this involved is bad enough; to have a reporter is… well, never mind. I’m not going to list all of the aspects of this situation that make me unhappy.”

“Unhappy. Yes, well, I don’t think I’ll give you my list, either.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Belatedly I realized his usual calm had briefly slipped away from him — by the time I recognized it, he was firmly back in control of himself. And more withdrawn.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “What exactly do you want?”

“To bargain.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up, but he said, “Let’s hear what you have to say.”

“The Express gets everything first.”

He shook his head. “The department can’t get away with that,” he said. “And it’s not safe.”

“Not safe?”

“For Frank. Put yourself in your competitor’s shoes. The LPPD is denying you access to information that they are spoon-feeding to the Express. What do you do?”

“I try to find the information on my own. And, to be honest, I’m going to be angry with the LPPD.”

“Exactly.”

“I see where this is going. You don’t play fair with me, I don’t feel obliged to obey your rules.”

“Right again.”

“Okay, but the problem is, I have to have something to sweeten the offer I’m going to make to the Express.”

“You’re going to make an offer to your own newspaper?”

“Yes. An exclusive, in exchange for staying off my back.”

“An exclusive. Hmm. On what aspects of this situation?”

“I think you can guess.”

“Your personal point of view as the wife of a hostage.”

I swallowed hard, feeling as though I had just read my own price tag and found myself “marked down.”

“It’s a story someone else might benefit from,” he said. A mind reader.

“Yeah, sure. The marketing department at the Express, for one.”

“Well….”

“That won’t be enough for them, and I know it. So I’ll want to write about the CIT, too.”

“I’m not sure I’d care to have every barricaded suspect sittin’ there with a good idea of what’s coming next, thanks to a story in the Express.”

“Doesn’t have to work that way. We can make it specific to this case. I imagine each case is different to some degree, anyway.”

“When would this exclusive run?”

“Not until after I write it. Which will be when everything is… over,” I said, not liking some of the implications of that word.

“You’ll live with our media restrictions until then?” he asked.

I hesitated.

“This isn’t bargaining,” he said, “unless we each give a little.”

“It isn’t bargaining if I only end up with exactly what I would have had before we bargained. Or less.”

“Beyond the exclusive, what could you offer the Express?”

I mulled this over. “Riverside.”

“That’s the Riverside PD’s call, not ours.”

“Listen, with Mark Baker’s sources in your department, the Express probably has more details about what went on there than I do.”