So far she had treated me with kid gloves. Which left me uneasy. She always seemed to be much tougher on the other young journalists, the interns, the people who hadn't paid their dues. The fact that she liked me was fairly disconcerting. Like someone who smiled to your face while they held a Ginsu behind their back.
'Leave out the stuff about slug caliber and shooter vantage points,' Wallace said. 'Too much conjecture. Let the Dispatch be forced to make retractions. We need to play this clean.'
'I'll get it done,' I said, trying to convince not only Wallace but myself.
'Don't worry, I spoke to Evelyn before you got here.
She's aware of the time-sensitive nature, and is waiting for your e-mail. I'm asking you to play in the same scuzzy ballpark the Dispatch does, only you bat clean. You have an hour. Find an angle the Dispatch will miss. The entire country is going to be talking about Athena's murder, and we need to give them something nobody else will. I don't want any baseless conjecture. I don't want any name-calling. I don't want to stoop to their level. I want you to report this story the way a Gazette reporter would.'
I nodded. Had no intention of doing it any other way. Since
I returned to the Gazette full time, I'd worked my ass off in an effort to prove I could hack it at that level. My first goround had been sidetracked by a slight case of murder. I'd spent the better part of a year trying to live down my own story, and now it was time to return to what I did best. To what
I was born to do. Find the stories nobody else could.
I looked back at the crime scene. Saw where the body had fallen. A ballistics expert used a pencil to trace an invisible line from the top of a brownstone several blocks away to the spot where the bullet had struck Athena. This club had security cameras outside, meaning Athena's death had undoubtedly been captured live and in color.
All those cameras. All those witnesses. No doubt a dozen people or more had taken cell phone photos and videos of her murder. Who knew how many ghouls would post them publicly? Whoever had killed Athena couldn't have picked a more public place. It was as if the killer wanted people to see it, to record it, to spread his mayhem. It didn't make my job any easier, that's for sure. There would be a cacophony of noise tomorrow, and I needed to find a pitch that could rise above it.
I looked at the brownstone being eyed by the tech. Checked my watch. Under an hour to find a story. Didn't have to be the whole ball of yarn, just a strong thread. Sometimes a thread was all you needed.
4
I pushed my way through the throng of eager reporters. Felt more than one elbow jab my ribs. I wasn't naive enough to think they were accidental. Much of the NYC press corps still burned because of the publicity I'd received from my murder rap. Grizzled vets who resented the book and film deals I'd turned down. It was a Catch-22. They would have hated me just as much if I'd taken the money. The spotlight of fame exposed every jealous and spiteful emotion from those who wished they had it, and from those who wanted nothing to do with it.
I saw Curtis Sheffield on the cop side of the tape, holding back photographers and issuing 'no comments' like they were going out of style. Curt Sheffield was a young black officer, two years out of the academy and the kind of cop who'd be one of New York's finest for years to come. Fit, tall, with a smile that got female witnesses offering more than their side of the story. I'd interviewed Curt a few months ago for a story on the NYPD's developing new body armor, how the upgrade was long overdue, and how based on gunshot wound studies the new vests, when implemented across the country, would likely save up to thirty lives a year.
Curt was glad the department finally kicked in the dough to save lives, but offered sincere remorse for the lives that had already been lost. He'd been honest and eloquent, and it was clear the public good was his passion. The department had recognized this-and recognized that his face would look good on a poster-and within weeks Curt was the centerpiece of a new NYPD recruitment campaign.
Despite our naturally combative professions, I considered
Curt a friend. He was a great source because he knew any information he passed along would be treated with respect. A few weeks after the recruitment drive started, Curt admitted that most cops weren't big fans of do I know you looks. They don't like getting recognized in movie theaters or getting asked for autographs. So we had something in common.
Curt saw me as I battled the wave of gawkers barricaded behind police tape. He walked over fast, a stern look in his eye.
'Hey, back off,' he said, approaching a grizzled paparazzo trying to sneak his camera beneath the tape. He eyed me, popped his head to the left. Come over here.
I followed him off to the side. Another cop held back the masses so we could talk in private.
'You believe this shit?' Curt said. 'Don't know what's worse, cleaning up this mess or having Athena Paradis's stupid song stuck in my head while her blood is drying on the sidewalk.'
'I'd say they're both pretty bad.'
'Yeah. Pretty bad,' he said, distracted. He was chewing gum. His jaw was working overtime, anything to keep his mind occupied.
'So you assigned to this mess?' I asked.
'You aren't assigned to shitstorms, they just happen to rain when you're walking by.' Curt smacked his gum.
'Big story,' he continued. 'Not just any girl got killed here tonight.'
'Don't I know it.' I leaned in. 'Listen, man, if I had to guess, Athena was killed by a high-powered rifle. Highcaliber slug.' I pointed at the outcropping of rooftops surrounding the Kitten Club. 'Your killer shot from the roof of one of these buildings. Guess it's up to your forensics and spatter people to figure out the angle and trajectory.'
'Like Deadwood out here. Everybody saw everything, but nobody saw nothing. Know what I mean?'
'Yeah. Figure some sick asshole with a video cell phone will upload this to YouTube any minute now.' I looked around, saw half a dozen half-drunk and half-asleep club goers fiddling on cell phones and BlackBerries. 'Maybe sooner than later.'
Curt kept chewing, nodded. 'You see that building over there?' He flicked his head north.
'Which one?'
'Don't know,' he said, eyes locked on to mine. 'Maybe redbrick or something.'
I looked again. There was a redbrick building two blocks north and one block west of us. I could make it out through the early morning haze.
'Seen a lot of my boys in blue checking it out. Trying not to cause a stir.'
'That right?'
Curt nodded. 'Hate to see those cockroaches at the
Dispatch get the brass ring. You know they had a reporter over here from their gossip section, offered to write me up as one of NYC's hottest bachelors if I planted a bug in our briefing room? Fucking parasites.'
'Hell, you'd be lucky to break the top hundred.'
'Yeah, tell that to my girlfriend. I'd be on patrol with a GPS monitor up my ass the second she thinks my eyes start wandering.' Curt looked around, coughed into his hand.
'Can't say I was a fan of Athena's, you know, work, but
Christ, the girl was only twenty-two.'
'No kidding,' I said. We stayed silent for a moment, then
I remembered my deadline. 'Hey, drinks on me this week. If
I don't hit my deadline which is in, oh about six minutes, I'll be out of work and you'll have to pick up the tab.'
'Then get the hell out of here.' He clapped me on the shoulder. 'Take it easy, Parker.'
After saying goodbye I hung back for a minute. I didn't want to let anyone else know I had a possible scoop. Then I waded back into the soup of reporters, stuffed my hands in my pockets and headed north.
Two patrolmen jogged by me. I slowed down. There were several cops huddling outside of the redbrick building Curt had pointed out. As I got closer I heard radio activity. I stopped at the corner and peeked around.
A cop stood by the awning, a walkie-talkie in his hand. A plainclothes cop, probably from Forensic
