would not be around to see it.
I sat down in my cubicle and checked e-mail first. My account had been reopened by the newsroom techs with a new password the Friday before. Over the weekend I had accumulated almost forty e-mails, most from strangers in reaction to the stories about the trunk murders. I read and deleted each, not willing to take the time to respond. Two were from people who said they were serial killers themselves and had put me on their list of targets. These I kept to show Rachel but I wasn’t too worried about them. One of the writers had spelled it
I also got an angry e-mail from the photographer Sonny Lester, who said I had double-crossed him by not putting him on the story as I had agreed. I fired back an equally angry e-mail asking him which story he was talking about, since none of the stories on the case carried my byline. I said I had been left out to a greater extent than him and invited him to take all complaints to Dorothy Fowler, the city editor.
After that I unpacked the files and my laptop from my backpack and got down to work. The night before, I had made a lot of headway. I had completed my study of the records relating to the murder of Denise Babbit and had composed a profile of the murder along with a comprehensive list of the things about the victim that the killer would have had to know in order to commit the crime in the manner in which it was carried out. I was halfway through my study of Sharon Oglevy’s murder and was still compiling the same sort of information.
I set to work and was undisturbed as the newsroom slowly came to life, editors and reporters trudging in, coffee cups in hand, to start another week of work. At eight o’clock I broke for coffee and a doughnut and then made a round of calls at the cop shop, seeing if there was anything interesting on the overnight sheets, anything that might take me away from the task at hand.
Satisfied that all was quiet for the time being, I went back to the murder files and was just completing my profile of the Oglevy case when my first e-mail of the day chimed on my computer. I looked up. The e-mail was from the axman, Richard Kramer. The missive was short on content but long on intrigue.
From: Richard Kramer ‹ [email protected]›
Subject: Re: today
Date: May 18, 2009 9:11 AM PDT
Jack, swing on by when you get a chance.
RK
I looked over the edge of my cubicle wall and at the line of glass offices. I didn’t see Kramer in his but from my angle I couldn’t see his desk. He was probably in there, waiting to give me the word on who would be taking Angela Cook’s place on the cop beat. Once more I would be squiring a young replacement around Parker Center, introducing this new reporter to the same people I had introduced Angela to just a week before.
I decided to get it over with. I stood up and made my way to the glass wall. Kramer was in there, typing out an e-mail to another hapless recipient. The door was open but I knocked on it before entering. Kramer turned from his screen and beckoned me in.
“Jack, have a seat. How are we doing this morning?”
I took one of the two chairs in front of his desk and sat down.
“I don’t know about you but I’m doing okay, I guess. Considering.”
Kramer nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes, it’s been an amazing ten days since you last sat in that chair.”
I had actually been sitting in the other chair when he had told me I was downsized but it wasn’t worth the correction. I remained silent, waiting for whatever it was he was going to say to me-or to us, if he was going to continue to refer to both of us.
“I’ve got some good news for you here,” he said.
He smiled and moved a thick document from the side of his desk to front and center. He looked down at it as he spoke.
“You see, Jack, we think this trunk murder case is going to have legs. Whether they catch this guy soon or not, it’s a story we’re going to ride with for a while. And so, we’re thinking we’re going to need you, Jack. Plain and simple, we want you to stick around.”
I looked at him blankly.
“You mean I’m not being laid off?”
Kramer continued as if I had not asked a question, as if he had not heard me make a sound at all.
“What we’re offering here is a six-month contract extension that would commence upon signing,” he said.
“You mean, then, I’m still laid off, but not for six months.”
Kramer turned the document around and slid it across the desk to me so I could read it.
“It’s a standard extension we will be using a lot around here, Jack.”
“I don’t have a contract. How can it be extended when I don’t have a contract in the first place?”
“They call it that because you are currently an employee and there is an implied contract. So any change in status that
I didn’t tell him that
“This pays me thirty thousand dollars for six months,” I said.
“Yes, that is the standard extension rate.”
I did the quick, rough math.
“Let’s see, that would be about eighteen thousand less than I make for six months now. So you want me to take less to help you stay out front with this story. And let me guess…”
I picked up the document and started flipping through it.
“… I’m betting I no longer get any medical, dental or pension benefits under this contract. Is that right?”
I couldn’t find it and I guessed that there wasn’t a clause on benefits because they simply did not exist.
“Jack,” Kramer said in a calming tone. “There is some negotiation I can do financially, but you would have to pick up the benefits yourself. It’s the way we’re going with this now. It’s simply the wave of the future.”
I dropped the contract back on his desk and looked up at him.
“Wait till it’s your turn,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“You think it ends with us? The reporters and the copy editors? You think if you’re a good soldier and do their bidding that you’ll be safe in the end?”
“Jack, I don’t think my situation is what we’re discuss-”
“I don’t care if it is or it isn’t. I’m not signing this. I’d rather take my chances on unemployment. And I will. But someday they’re going to come for you and ask you to sign one of these things and then you’ll have to wonder how you’ll pay for your kids’ teeth and their doctors and their school and everything else. And I hope it’s okay with you because it’s simply the wave of the future.”
“Jack, you don’t even have kids. And threatening me because I do is-”
“I’m not threatening you and that’s not the point,
I stared at him for a long moment.
“Never mind.”
I got up and walked out of the office and straight back to my pod. Along the way I looked at my watch and then pulled out my cell phone to see whether I had somehow missed a call. I hadn’t. It was nearing one P.M. in Washington, D.C., and I had heard nothing yet from Rachel.
Back at the cubicle I checked the phone and the e-mail and I had no messages there either.
I had been silent and had avoided intruding on her till now. But I needed to know what was happening. I called her cell and it went right to voice mail without a ring. I told her to call me as soon as she could and clicked off. On the slim chance her phone was dead or she had forgotten to turn it back on after the hearing, I called the Hotel
