The Guilty Part 3

The headline read, HEIRESS WHACKED: Police Search For s.e.x Symbol Shooter. It was actually one of their more subtle headlines.

"I give them ten points for alliteration," I said. "'Search For s.e.x Symbol Shooter.' Almost poetic."

"Take off several thousand for subtlety," another voiced chimed in. I turned around.

Jack O'Donnell walked into the room, half a dozen newspapers under his arm. He looked well rested, energized.

"Least someone around here caught forty winks," I said.

"I think I caught forty winks total my first five years on 42.the job, don't complain to me about sleep." He took the papers from under his arm, and I recognized the running heads of what looked like the morning edition of every major paper in the metropolitan area, as well as a few nationals. He tossed them on Wallace's desk one at a time, giving us a chance to read each headline.

I wasn't aware newspaper fonts could run that big.

"You have no idea how much it cost us to dump our page one and get the Paradis story in there," Wallace said. "None of them report anything substantial. That'll come tomorrow.

With any luck we'll sell enough papers today to make up for the printing and shipping delays."

"Even in death Athena breaks the bank," Jack said. "You know some a.s.shole found a highball gla.s.s from last night that still has Athena Paradis's lipstick on it? Bidding on eBay is up to ten grand. I'm thinking of joining the fray, resell the gla.s.s during the trial and retire."

"This case will never go to trial," I said, a sick feeling in my stomach.

"And why not?" asked Wallace.

"Fools with a cause don't go quietly. They don't put their hands behind their back, and they don't care about their Miranda rights. This guy's in it until the end."

"Let's hope you're wrong," Wallace replied. "Right now all we can do is our job. So let's talk."

Jack flicked my ear as he walked by. "What, no iPod today?"

I sighed, played along.

"I usually take it off when I get to the office."

"Hard to concentrate when listening to Bee-yonk, right?"

I didn't correct him, frankly would have felt like an idiot telling him the correct p.r.o.nunciation was Beyonce. A few 43.months ago, I made the careless mistake of going to the bathroom and leaving my iPod on my desk. The mistake wasn't leaving it out in the open, but trusting someone like Jack to act like an adult. By the time I got back to my desk, Jack had scrolled through my entire playlist and taken votes from the entire newsroom as to which artists I should delete from the hard drive permanently. The results were tabulated, and for a week after that he would ask for the player to see if I'd complied. Finally I removed the offending songs, just to shut him up. According to Jack, any music created after 1986 should never be heard through my (or any other) speakers again. He said if not for the Dylan and Springsteen, he would have thrown the entire thing in the garbage.

"Henry," Jack said, his voice now without any condescension. "If you don't think this case will go to trial you're an idiot. Someone's getting prosecuted, even if it takes a few cases to get the right suspect. Costas Paradis's private jet is on its way to the city as we speak, and I can promise that he's bringing h.e.l.lfire and brimstone and a savings account large enough to be a continent unto itself. Whether it's Shawn Kensbrook, the security staff at the Kitten Club, the killer himself, or Lord Zeus up on high, somebody's getting locked away while the key is thrown in the ocean. Half a dozen tabloid hacks are writing first drafts of quickie books that will be on sale in your local grocery store within the week."

"Cynical much?" I said.

Jack dismissed the question. "If you want to last in this business as long as I have, you'll have the cynical alarm on High 24/7. Question everything. everything. You wouldn't be here right You wouldn't be here right now if you hadn't done that last year."

"So why did a line I wrote end up at a crime scene?" I asked. "That's my question."

44."Let's hope it's an eerie coincidence," Wallace said. "That it doesn't have some sort of meaning that plays into why Athena was killed."

"If this goes to trial," Jack added with a smile, "we can always claim libel, say the killer used Henry's quote out of context."

I absently scratched my ribs.

"Now the question for you both is," Wallace said, "where do we go from here? We've got the killer's message. Jack, you check with the NYPD, see if Chief Carruthers has any suspects or leads."

"I want to talk to the ballistics department," I said. "Jack, do you know anyone there you can hook me up with?"

"Why ballistics?" Wallace asked.

"Athena was killed by a high-powered rifle shot from a rooftop three blocks away, and the killer left a message he wanted to be found. This is as premeditated as it gets, and was executed with careful consideration. No doubt the murder weapon will fit into that. Then we can run a check on the gun, find the store he bought it at, go from there."

"Jack?" Wallace said. Jack scratched his beard. It looked a little darker than it had the last few days, the brown a little more, er, not gray. With our coverage of the Paradis murder, we were going to sell a lot of papers. Jack wanted to look his best in case there were any photo ops or interviews. And who was I to question the omnipotence of Just For Men?

There was a beep alerting Wallace to an incoming e-mail.

He clicked the mouse, eyes narrowing as he read.

"Mayor Perez called a news conference for noon today.

Costas Paradis will be in attendance."

I looked at Jack, who was staring at the screen, thinking.

The fire was just starting to burn, and I felt it, too.

"I want you both there," Wallace said. "And I don't care 45.what you do or how you do it, get something different to run with tomorrow. I need angles here that won't be covered by the other papers."

"Angle is my middle name," Jack said.

"Yesterday you told me it was Glenfiddich," replied Wallace.

"Mine is Shane," I said proudly. They both looked at me.

I wasn't proud anymore. "I mean it's Angle, too."

Jack shook his head. "Wine cooler. That's your middle name. Get a good story and I'll promote you to Zima."

"And Henry," Wallace said, "if anyone asks about the quote the killer used, you have your 'no comments' at the ready. Am I correct in a.s.suming you're not hiding anything? That you have no reason to think this is anything but an awful coincidence?"

"I swear I have no idea," I said honestly. "Trust me, after last year I'd just as soon stay out of the spotlight as much as possible."

"Then let's keep it that way. We have to a.s.sume the suspect used it simply because the quote was relevant, or that he has some serious bats flying around in his belfry."

"That might work better than a 'no comment,'" Jack said.

"Now get a move on," Wallace continued. "I have no doubt there'll be some fireworks at this conference. You won't want to watch from the back row."

6.

Paulina Cole sat at her desk, holding a warm cup in her hands. She took a sip. Coffee and Xanax. Better than toast and a runny omelet. She'd squeezed Dr. Shepberg's name into an article naming the best psychiatrists in NYC and ever since then the prescriptions arrived in her mailbox once a month.

Behind Paulina's desk were half a dozen picture frames containing front pages pulled from the New York Dispatch. New York Dispatch.

Stories she'd broken, papers so hot they'd sold out their print runs and been dissected on blogs around the world. Since she'd joined the Dispatch, Dispatch, the paper's circulation had grown the paper's circulation had grown 1.5 percent, a number many tried to attribute to a new marketing campaign, but those in the know knew it was solely because of her. Ted Allen, the Dispatch' Dispatch' s publisher, had said s publisher, had said as much during the last shareholders meeting, and promptly given her a ten percent raise. He said Paulina Cole represented the bold new direction the Dispatch Dispatch would be taking into the would be taking into the twenty-first century, that despite all the perils facing the print industry, technology simply couldn't compete with an oldfashioned nose for news. According to Allen, the Dispatch Dispatch was tired of being the number two newspaper in New York.

And come h.e.l.l or high water (possibly both) they would even- The Guilty 47.tually best their number one enemy. Even if it meant simply hiring away their top reporters.

That's how he phrased it. Their enemy. enemy. This wasn't business, this was war. The longer you stayed satisfied being This wasn't business, this was war. The longer you stayed satisfied being number two the more likely you'd fall out of the race completely. n.o.body remembered the guy who lost the election, the ex before meeting your soul mate. The second-best were forgotten, pulped. If you weren't willing to kill to grab the lead, you deserved to get trampled.

That was Paulina's job; to do the trampling, to sell newspapers.

And for all the battles waged between the two newspapers, the coverage of Athena Paradis's murder could be the Dis- Dis- patch' s Gettysburg. Athena was the most recognizable s Gettysburg. Athena was the most recognizable woman in the world, more than the president's wife, more than Princess Diana (h.e.l.l, most of Athena's fans were too young to have even heard heard of Lady Di), even more than that of Lady Di), even more than that lucky gal who scribbled the words Harry Potter Harry Potter on a notepad. on a notepad.

The battles lines had been drawn. More newspapers were going to be moved during the Paradis investigation than any event save a terrorist attack. Of course Paulina could argue that more people had seen Athena's reality show than had voted in the last election, so by sheer volume alone this was the biggest news story of the decade. Besides, the Lindbergh baby had never posed on the cover of her self-t.i.tled alb.u.m wearing stockings and wrapped in a fire hose.

Until three o'clock this morning, Paulina had been digging into the personal life of David Loverne, congressional candidate, philanthropist, father of Henry Parker's ex-girlfriend Mya, and alleged keeper of somewhere in the vicinity of four mistresses. It was a cover story in the making. David was beloved. Tall, handsome, the kind of man other men looked 48.up to and women wanted to look down upon. She was going to blow the whole thing wide open, expose the creep for who he really was. His fans and supporters would be demoralized.

His detractors (yes, there were some) would eat it for breakfast. And every one of them would fork over their fifty cents to read it.

Over the past week, Paulina had interviewed two women who claimed to have slept with Loverne, both within the past year. One dalliance occurred in a limousine after a stump speech, the other in an airplane flying to Dubai. Taking Loverne down would sell papers. Getting in another dig at someone close to Henry Parker was just icing on the cake.

There was a knock on her door.

"Come in," she said. In walked Terrence Bynes, the Dispatch' s Metro editor. Paulina's direct boss. The fact that s Metro editor. Paulina's direct boss. The fact that he would lick between the subway railings if Paulina asked him to was implicit in their relationship.

Bynes was wearing suit pants with cuffs an inch too long, and a blue work shirt that looked like it had been fermented with starch. His eyegla.s.ses were too big, not to mention unnecessary, considering Paulina knew his last eye exam produced 20/19 vision. And she'd be willing to bet there was a rolled sock (or two) down his trousers as well.

"I a.s.sume you read the Gazette Gazette this morning," Bynes said. this morning," Bynes said.

"f.u.c.king online edition," Paulina said, taking another sip, feeling that delicious warm tingle. "Read only by cheapos and kids without the attention span to click the 'Next Page' b.u.t.ton.

Their print edition didn't have anything we didn't, that's all we should be concerned about."

"Tell that to Ted Allen," Bynes continued. "The man is p.i.s.sed. p.i.s.sed.

He thinks we got scooped, and he's looking to point the finger."

"We did get scooped," Paulina said. "But that's like saying 49.we got stabbed by a toothpick at the start of a knife fight. What Henry Parker wrote this morning won't be a blip on the radar tomorrow after Perez's press conference. So tell him if that finger goes anywhere near me I'm cutting it off."

Bynes smirked. "Why don't you tell him that?"

"Well, it's your job, but I'd be happy to. I'll e-mail him right now." She pulled out her keyboard and began typing.

Bynes placed his hand over the keys.

"That was a hypothetical question," he said.

She stopped typing. "Don't ever ask me a hypothetical question again, or I'll hypothetically strangle you with your shoelace. I call every bluff I see. Remember that."

Bynes swallowed, flicked his eyes down to his wingtips.

"So what do I tell Ted Allen? He's p.i.s.sed this Parker kid got to the cops before we could."

Paulina leaned back in her chair. She closed her eyes. This This Parker kid. This Parker kid.

Her eyelids flew open.

"This Parker kid is a good reporter. Give me pages four through seven tomorrow for coverage of the murder."

"That's a lot of copy. Are you sure you'll have enough to fill that s.p.a.ce?"

"Don't ask me that again. I could give a rat's a.s.s what you do with pages eight, nine and sixty-nine. Oh, and get Tamara Finnerman to do a write-up of David Loverne's speech at the Alzheimer's event last night. When my story runs, I don't want people thinking we've had it in for him. Tell her to use prose so syrupy and purple I'll be able to see the Crayola logo.

Tell Allen that between these two stories, the Gazette Gazette will be will be limping within weeks."

Bynes laughed, then wiped a loose dribble of saliva from his mouth.

50."I'm not going to tell him that. What, you think covering a story we've already been scooped on will suddenly have Wallace Langston quaking in his Doc Martens?"

Paulina smiled at him, crossed her legs.

"Every war begins with an opening volley. Parker's scoop this morning was the Gazette' Gazette' s opening volley. I'm not simply s opening volley. I'm not simply returning fire, I'm coming back with a Howitzer up their a.s.s.

You know my ex-husband was a state prosecutor. One thing I learned from him, other than that men are as useful as dirty bathwater, is that n.o.body remembers how how you won, they you won, they remember if if you won. We simply take what Parker has, know you won. We simply take what Parker has, know what he's going to know, and make it our own. Henry's a great reporter, but after last year he's nervous, twitchy, and doesn't want to rattle the cage any more than he already has. I have someone who'll shadow him closer than his beard stubble, and I'll be waiting to lay down the copy."

Bynes smiled. "I thought you said Finnerman was the one who wrote purple prose."

"Trust me," Paulina said. "It'll look better on paper."

7.

I was walking toward city hall alongside Jack O'Donnell, nearly having to sprint to keep up. And his legs had an extra thirty years of mileage. I dialed Amanda, figured I'd say hi before radio silence. She picked up on the second ring. "Hey, hon, can't talk for long, just wanted to say hi. I'm heading to the press conference with Jack. Think I can smell the mayor's cologne a mile away," I said into the cell phone.

"Hey, babe. No problem," she said. "I'm about to go into the library and I think they've starting arming the cell phone police with automatic weapons."

"Good thing you finally learned how to use the vibrate b.u.t.ton." Jack elbowed me. Amanda, Amanda, I mouthed. He raised his I mouthed. He raised his eyebrows. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. He opened his mouth to say He opened his mouth to say ah. ah. Then Then he ran his thumb across his throat. Cut it off. Cut it off. "Anyway, I'd "Anyway, I'd better turn this off. Jack is giving me dirty looks. I'll call you as soon as this circus is over."

"Is it a three-ring circus, or does Athena Paradis warrant four?"