'I'm fine,' I said, this time my voice barely masking the irritation, then hating myself for talking to her like that. 'I don't know when I'll be home, but I'll talk to you then. I found a lot in New Mexico. I think I have a line on who the killer is. Or thinks he is.'
'Well, I have to work late, but if you need anything please let me know. Hen, I'm so sorry about this. I know how close you were to that family.'
It took a moment to gather myself.
'Henry, you there?'
'Yeah…listen, I'll call you when I know more. I might need one of those cyanide pills they give to soldiers in case they're captured.'
'Don't say that.'
'I'm kidding.'
'Call me when you know more. Talk to Jack, I'm sure he can help. I'll see you at home. I love you.'
I paused for a moment, letting those words sink in.
'I love you, too.'
As soon as I hung up I called Jack's private line. There was no answer. I cursed and left a brief message.
'Jack, it's Henry. Listen, I have something you need to hear. I know why the killer is using that gun. Call me as soon as you get this. I'll need your help before I go into the buzz saw.'
As my cab veered toward the Grand Central Parkway, the sun began to dip below the clouds, turning New York a beautiful dark blue. I could feel sweat dripping down my neck.
Putting Loverne's murder aside, I had new information that would be vital to the reporting on this story. I just hoped it would be heard through all the noise.
The fare was thirty-five bucks. I tossed two twenties at the driver and raced into the Gazette office. There were two other days I'd felt this kind of queasy apprehension about going to work. My first day in the office, where I met Wallace and
Paulina and nearly offered to polish Jack O'Donnell's shoes.
My first day back on the job after running for my life from
Joe Mauser and the assassin Shelton Barnes. And now today.
I entered the silent lobby, heard my shoes clacking on the marble floor. The security guard nodded hello and went back to reading his newspaper. From his polite demeanor, I guessed he hadn't read Paulina's article.
I swiped my pass and went to the Metro floor. The doors opened, and standing right there was Evelyn Waterstone.
Short, cold, mean-I couldn't tell if her reaction to my presence was based on general surliness or was simply her normal countenance.
'Parker,' she said.
'Hey, Evelyn,' I replied.
'Nice reporting on the ballistics story with Jack.'
'Thanks,' I stammered, trying to remember the last time
Evelyn had offered a pleasantry.
'Hope you're still around tomorrow,' she added, before walking away.
As I threaded my way toward my desk, I noticed that every reporter, stringer and editor had stopped what they were doing to watch me. I couldn't look them in the eye.
Once again, I was the story.
I barely had time to sit down when Wallace was standing over my desk. His eyes were tinged with red and the indents on his nose meant he'd stayed at the office overnight without removing his glasses. His hair was askew, tie loosened, like a school kid roughed up by the classroom bully. He pressed his lips together and said, 'Come with me.'
I felt eyes boring into my back as we walked to the elevator.
I didn't have to ask where we were going. Wallace pressed the button, then shoved his hands back into his pockets. Then he looked at me.
'That was good work you did for Jack,' he said.
'I think there's much more to these murders than the bal listic report,' I said. 'I've been in New Mexico, I-'
'Later,' Wallace said. The doors opened. 'Let's go.'
My stomach surged upward with the motion of the elevator. I wondered if the feeling in my gut was what prisoners felt like before their execution. We got off on the eighteenth floor. I'd heard about the eighteenth floor, but had never been there. Unless you were nominated for a Pulitzer or were about to have the rug pulled out from your career, you never came up here. And I sure as hell wasn't up for a Pulitzer.
The digital counter stopped at 18. The doors opened.
Everything looked newer up here; the wood paneling dark and freshly polished, the newspapers in the waiting area folded, and even the receptionist looked like she spent a little more time at the gym than those on the Metro floor. She guarded a narrow hallway with one set of double doors at the end. The office of Harvey Hillerman, chairman and CEO of the New York Gazette.
Wallace nodded at the receptionist.
'You can go right in,' she said.
'Thanks, Gloria.' Gloria went back to typing.
The doors swung open as we approached. Harvey Hiller-man was standing in front of us, holding the door open, an unlit cigar in his mouth. The end was sopping wet and looked like a gangrenous limb that could detach at any moment.
His sleeves were a little too long for his wrists. His jacket seemed to billow out. On the wall was a framed portrait of
Hillerman standing next to Bill Clinton, Hillerman's pants just a bit too baggy, as if the clothes he wore belonged to a larger man.
Harvey Hillerman's office was startlingly clear of any sort of clutter. Lining his walls were several dozen framed page ones from various Gazette editions. I scanned the headlines while Harvey and Wallace exchanged awkward pleasantries.
April 4, 1996. Theodore Kaczynski, aka the Unabomber, is arrested at his remote cabin in Montana after his brother,
David, notifies authorities.
February 5, 1997. O.J. Simpson is found liable in civil court for the wrongful deaths of Nicole Brown Simpson and
Ronald Goldman and ordered to pay $33,500,000 in damages.
August 18, 1998. During Grand Jury testimony, President
Bill Clinton admits to an 'inappropriate' relationship with former White House intern Monica Lewinsky.
July 17, 1999. John F. Kennedy, Jr. and his wife are killed after the plane Kennedy was flying crashes into the
Atlantic Ocean.
December 14, 2000. Democratic Presidential nominee Al
Gore concedes the presidential election to George W. Bush, over a month after election day.
September 12, 2001. The day after terrorists killed nearly three thousand Americans.
March 3, 2002. The launch of Operation Anaconda, the first large-scale battle during the United States' war in Afghanistan since the Battle of Tora Bora in December, 2001.
March 13, 2003. Elizabeth Smart is found alive nine months after being kidnapped by two Morman fundamentalists.
December 14, 2003. United States military forces capture
Saddam Hussein.
December 27, 2004. An earthquake measuring between
9.1-9.3 on the Richter scale occurs in the Indian Ocean, triggering massive tsunamis over South and Southeast Asia killing over 180,000 people.
