“Don’t -do me any favors, Jeff,” Clairmont said, but Quantrell could tell his temper had been blunted. The Old Man had never forgiven his nephew for not being a hard-nosed newspaperman. Above all else, the Old Man had wanted to be proud of him and that was the angle to play.
So much for the younger Clairmont, Quantrell thought easily.
“What I’ll need is the station’s complete backing,” Quantrell said, realizing wryly that it sounded a shade too pompous for even Clairmont to swallow. He stood up. “Zimmerman is waiting for me outside with his cameraman. With good luck, maybe I’ll even get an interview with Leroux.”
Clairmont sighed. “Jeff, relax for. a moment. We’ve still got a minor problem. The police have called and want to know your sources for the inside information.
character on the arson squad-Petucci, you know him “A nebbish.
You’ve got lawyers on retainer; let them handle him.”
“Okay.” He started to dial his phone and Quantrell got up to go when Clairmont suddenly looked up. “By the way, who the hell were your sources?”
“Your uncle never told you?”
He was too busy talking about you ; he never had time to mention anybody else.”
“Will Shevelson, former construction foreman. Had a fight with Leroux and got canned.”
Clairmont stared at him for a moment, then leaned back and laughed.
“Jesus Christ, I might’ve known! Shevelson!”
Quantrell felt something kick in his stomach. “I don’t get it, what’s so funny?”
Clairmont shook his head, still half laughing. “I should’ve guessed it. Six months ago that nut made the rounds of every newspaper and radio and TV station in town trying to peddle his story. I thought he was paranoid and threw him out. You’re lucky the building went up; if it hadn’t, ten to one you’d be a loser. I wouldn’t believe the bastard if he told me the sun was going to rise in the morning.”
“The building’s burning,” Quantrell said simply. “Everything he ever told me checked out.”
“Jeff.” Clairmont was serious now, all business. “Be careful how you play it. Particularly when it comes to Leroux himself. Plenty of perfectly legitimate businessmen have had fires. Shevelson-hates Leroux enough to twist the facts and maybe tell outright lies. If we can make a criminal negligence case against Leroux, that’s one thing. But it can’t be based on just what Shevelson says.
It’s sticky now and we’ll have to have a company lawyer right here in the office on the other end of your phone line checking out every word of your copy. There’s no other way to play it.”
Quantrell shrugged. “You’ve got your responsibilities; I’ve got mine.- As far as playing the story, I intend to use the Glass House only as an example. There are a lot of Glass Houses in the country; the problem is nationwide.
Other stations will pick up our coverage.”
Clairmont looked thoughtful. “I’m well aware of that.
Well, what do you want? What can we do for you?”
“I’ll need the Number Two mobile truck and probably the traffic helicopter before it’s over.”
“They’re all yours, though I don’t think you’ll be able to get the helicopter close enough to do you any good.
The downdrafts around the building will be pretty strong.”
Quantrell was at the door when Clairmont said quietly, “Got any ideas for an encore, Jeff?”
Clairmont’s ace, Quantrell suddenly thought. In another twelve hours or less, the story would be over. It would be yesterday’s news, and old news and dead fish stank after the fourth day. He could single out Leroux and make him into a villain, but Clairmont had as much as said he wouldn’t be allowed to do that. It would be a great story, but in winning for the short term, he had lost for the long one.
“I’ll think of something,” he said as he left.
Outside, Bridgeport was waiting his Turn with the great man. He was uncertain how to react to Quantrell and tried a casual smile first.
“Congratulations, Jeff; it was a great show.”
“It’s always a great show,” Quantrell said coldly. “But it takes talent to realize it.”
He returned to his office to pick up his tape recorder and then catch Zimmerman who was waiting outside in his car, probably swearing up a storm by now. Sandy was there at the typewriter, her coat on.
He glanced at her. “Where the hell are you going, Sandy?” & She looked at him, half frightened. “You’ll be busy covering the Glass House. I called up my date and told him I’d meet him a little later on.”
He sat in a swivel chair near hers and took her hands in his.
“Sandy, Sandy, I can’t have you leave now. I’ll be on the phone to you half the night with reports and figures and probably requests for equipment. You’re my go-between here; you can’t leave me now.”
“I’ve talked to Angie.” She bit her-lip to keep herself from shaking. “She said she’d cover for me, that chances were you wouldn’t have much time to call in at all.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never worked with Angle, I wouldn’t trust her to put a stamp on an envelope. It’s you I need, Sandy; you’re my personal anchorman back here.” He shrugged a shoulder at the newsroom just outside. “You think I would trust the, dummies out there to do what I wanted?” He let his voice become softer. “Look, Sandy, tonight I picked up all the marbles-I won the game. And you were as much responsible for my success as I was. I told Victor that, I even mentioned-you to the Old Man.” He let his shoulders droop helplessly.
“If you want to go I can’t stop you. But I depend on you, Sandy, I need you. -But if you want to duck out for the evening have a good time.”
“If you really need me,” she said uncertainly.
He squeezed her hand. “He means very much to you, doesn’t he, Sandy?” She looked startled and he forced a smile. “You can’t hide it, I’ve known you too long. But if he likes you that much, Sandy, then surely he’d understand about tonight. And when it’s all over with, I’ll take you both out for a night on the town that you’ll never forget. Okay?”
She finally nodded. “Sure,” she said quietly. “I’d like that.”
Her voice held no enthusiasm and he realized it really was hearts-and-flowers time. Well, there were still some bridges to be crossed before then. But losing Sandy right now played no part in his scheme of things.
He squeezed her hand once more, then hurried into his office and found his tape recorder and stuffed a handful of cassettes into his pocket. He checked the recorder to see that it was on full charge, then grabbed his overcoat off the rack and struggled into it.
Zimmerman was probably calling him every name in the book.
He brushed quickly through the newsroom, past several girls clattering away at their typewriters and a processing man heading back to the developing room with a reel of sixteen-millimeter film. It was going to be one busy night, he thought. Just before going out the door, he glanced back quickly at Sandy, who was listlessly dialing her phone.
Dumb broad, he thought.
CHAPTER 28
“That mouthy little bastard is the most self-serving son of a bitch I’ve ever met! And I knew it from the start; goddamnit, I knew it all the time!” Will Shevelson rose from the couch, strode over to the set, and punched the off switch. The image of Jeffrey Quantrell suddenly went mute and dwindled to a point of light. “You want a beer, Marty?”
Marty Hodgehead stretched in his chair, smothered a yawn and said, “Yeah, I could use one.”
Shevelson took two cans from the den’s refrigerator, tossed one to Hodgehead, and pulled at the ring of his own. “He’s a real bastard, Quantrell.” Shevelson went back to the couch and sat down, moody in the sudden silence. He was a burly, thick-muscled man in his late forties. Dressed in loose corduroys and an olive work shirt open at the neck, he looked a little like Rodin’s “The Thinker.” He glanced around the book-lined shelves of his study, his eyes stopping at the small collection of photographs just above his desk. All were of buildings he had worked on in the last twenty years. Several of them were National Curtainwall’s, the last an eight-by-ten color print of the Glass House. All good buildings, he thought, even the Glass House-at least from the outside.
