Finder's Fee (6 page)

Still, she came to work every day, investigated news stories, wrote copy, and did all the duties common to a television
reporter. She also waited. Waited for her cell phone to ring or an email to arrive from another station offering her a better job. She had been waiting two years.

Turning her attention back to editing the videotape, her image, microphone close to her mouth, was motionless before her. Just thirty-two, she felt she looked older by half a decade. The woman who looked back at her wore neat brown hair to the shoulder and pale lipstick and displayed hazel eyes under gracefully arched eyebrows. Her gray, off-the-rack business jacket, matching slacks, and white blouse gave her an air of professionalism. Karen acknowledged that she was not a stunning beauty, but she was also far from being the wicked witch of the west. She was good enough to be in front of the camera, but lacked the eye-candy appeal that had become the hallmark of twenty-first century newscasting.

She made the final digital cut, ejected the videotape, and exited the dim, claustrophobic space. As the door closed behind her, she took a deep cleansing breath, attempting to evict the stale smell of the video bay.

“Is that the school graffiti piece?”

Karen looked up as her news director, Dwayne Hastings, approached. He stopped a respectful three feet away. “Yeah. A story on graffiti in LA; that'll make the ratings spike. Sure you don't want to save it for sweeps week?”

“Sarcasm is an ugly adornment,” Dwayne said. He stood six-two, was trim, and still had the piercing blue eyes that had made him the best known news anchor in northern California. San Francisco had been his throne and for ten years, he sat upon it with regal flair. That ended when the alcoholism he had hidden so well became known in the worst possible way. Driving drunk, Dwayne Hastings lost control of his car and slipped over the center line of a two-lane road. He lived, the
mother of two in the other car didn't. Lots of money paid to a high-price attorney kept him out of jail, but his days before the camera were over. Only KTOT would let him work in the industry and at half of what he earned before.

Karen had seen tapes of his on-air work and knew that Dwayne had changed his looks. No longer needing to keep a youthful appearance, he let the natural gray of his hair grow out and now sported a trim mustache and soul patch. It looked good on him. Although age had caught up, he was still a striking man — a striking figure whose eyes had lost the luster of life.

“Sorry, Dwayne. I guess I woke up on the wrong side of the web this morning.”

He gave a nod of understanding. They both stood with their professional feet mired in the tar of KTOT. “How come you're doing the editing? Where's Cindy?”

Cindy Chu served as senior cameraperson — although she preferred “camera tech.” A bright and pleasant woman who had no problem lugging out-of-date video cams around, Cindy was Karen's first choice for work and friendship.

“She dashed home. Her son forgot his lunch. She's making an emergency peanut butter and jelly delivery. She should be back any minute.”

Dwayne nodded. He never complained or chastised someone for taking time to meet a family need. Most KTOT employees attributed his patience to the fact that his alcoholism had cost him his family and deprived another of a mother.

“How you coming on the Women in Industry series?”

Another sore spot. Karen considered such assignments as fluff pieces. Very few viewers would tune in to see how some rich woman is making out in the business world.

“It's going. I have my first interview this afternoon.”

“Who's up first?” Dwayne had given her several names but left it up to her to refine the roll if she found someone more interesting.

“Judith Find of Find, Inc.”

“Ah, the new Martha Stewart. Good choice. I met her once at some charitable get-together. She's sharp.”

“I plan to ask some hard questions.” Karen waited for the response.

“As you should. Just stay away from slander and libel.” He gave a chuckle then turned serious. “Do your best on this assignment, Karen. I know you want out of this cul-de-sac of journalism. I understand. You deserve a break and I may have a way of helping.”

Suspicion bubbled up in her. “What do you mean?”

“I've made a call to an old friend. I don't have many friends left, but this guy owes me. I saved his bacon once. Only he and I know what happened and that's the way it's going to stay. Anyway, he's in Seattle. Not the world's largest market, but it's far from being the smallest and the station is a network affiliate. It would be a great next step.”

This was out of character. “I thought you wanted to keep the team together.”

“I do. At least until I retire, but you deserve a little help. So do me proud on this and I'll make certain the right eyes see it.”

“I … I don't know what to say. Is something going on that I should know about?”

“Be sure you take Cindy with you. She's the best cameraperson we have.”

Dwayne walked away leaving Karen to wonder why he so adroitly evaded her question.

J
udith closed her cell phone, ending the call.

“Well?” Luke directed the Volvo along the right lane of Interstate 10. They had been driving the freeways, going in circles discussing what to do. As they drove, Judith sat in the passenger seat, Luke's laptop resting on her legs. At times, the daylight glare made the screen difficult to read but Judith learned that she could shield parts of the monitor with her hand, the shadow making the image visible.

“Thirty minutes. The jet has to be fueled and the pilot needs to file a flight plan.”

“Any way to keep him from doing that? A flight plan is a map to our destination.”

“I think it's an FAA requirement. I'd be asking him to do something illegal and that could cost him his livelihood. Besides, merely asking would raise all kinds of flags in his mind.”

“Asking to leave as soon as possible doesn't?”

“Executive pilots are used to sudden requests for transportation. That's what they get paid for.”

“Okay. I guess you're right. So we have to kill about thirty minutes.”

“In this traffic, it might take you half an hour to turn around and travel back to the airport.”

“I hate wasting time.” Luke frowned and checked the rearview mirror for what must have been the hundredth time since they left Barnes & Noble.

“We could use the time to talk ourselves out of this nonsense.”

“It may be nonsense but it's pretty serious nonsense.”

Judith knew what Luke meant. Whoever was orchestrating this had pictures of them from decades before and the dates of their secrets. She knew what she had done and had hoped that it would never come to the surface again. She had spent decades training her mind to avoid any hint of the event; now some stranger had her number and was using it to force her to do what she would never do under any other circumstances.

“I thought we were agreed.” Luke's words had taken an edge. “We see this through until we find a way out, if there is a way out.”

Judith gazed out the window, a dim reflection of her face revealed the stress she felt. How could any of this happen? How could someone know what she did decades ago and then wave it in her face? And why such an odd request? Find and rescue a boy she'd never met. There had been no mention of blackmail money but the Puppeteer was blackmailing them all the same.

“I didn't mean to snap at you,” Luke said. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

Judith looked at the handsome man behind the wheel, then smirked. “It will take more than that to hurt my feelings. I developed emotional calluses a long time ago.”

“Still, we're stuck in this together. We probably would never have met if life continued on as it was, and here we are, chugging along the freeway at a breakneck speed of twenty miles an hour.”

“I'm thankful for the slower pace. You drive like a New York cabbie .”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

“I didn't mean it as a compliment.”

“That's okay. I'm an expert at adjusting reality to fit my needs.”

“I keep coming back to the ‘why us' question. Why a day trader and a businesswoman?”

“There's that word again — day trader. I hate that word.”

“Trading stocks yourself instead of using a broker is the definition of a day trader.”

He shook his head. “Listen, Ms. Businesswoman, I don't use a broker because I'm smarter than they are, have better insights, know my chosen industry more completely than they do, and have better connections. Why should I pay a commission to someone to do what I can do myself?”

Judith closed the notebook. Reading in the car made her queasy. “Okay, I'll yield the point but your protestation does nothing to shed light on the question.”

“Maybe it has nothing to do with what we do now but what we have done in the past. Clearly, we can be blackmailed. Maybe we've been chosen because we both have something to hide.”

“Makes sense, at least as much as any of this makes sense.” Once again, she thought of asking Luke to drop her by the office and dealing with the fallout the best she could. But then she thought of the missing boy — Abel Palek? She owed him nothing. He was no kin. Yet no matter how many times she told herself such things, the boy with the strange eyes invaded her thinking.

Judith wondered about the youngster. If he were truly abducted, if his life were in some danger, then wouldn't someone know of it and call the police? The mystery man who had drafted them so easily with a threatening phone call and pictures
he should not have had tracked them down and found a way to press them into service. He seemed a man of great resources and as such, wouldn't he be the better one to track a missing child?

Judith's head hurt from the unanswerable questions. She did not have enough information to make a reasonable guess at the machinations that put her in the car of a stranger.

“We'd better head for the airport.”

“We're shooting in the dark.” Judith bit her lip. “What can we hope to find by flying to Fresno?”

“It's the only hard fact we have. The document offered precious little.”

“And why is that, Luke? Did it contain so little information because the writer had no other facts or — ”

“Or are we being led like a dog on a leash? Yeah, I thought of that too. If that is true, we may learn the next thing we need to know in Fresno.”

The dog on a leash image upset Judith. It was not only possible but likely that they were being worked by the caller. Dubbing him the Puppeteer made even more sense. He pulled the strings and they danced.

Judith flipped open her cell phone.

“Who you calling?” Luke seemed concerned.

“Terri, my assistant. I want to make sure she got my car and to let her know that I won't be in this afternoon.”

“Are you sure that's wise?”

“I was only warned not to tell anyone what I was being pressed to do. I have appointments that need to be canceled.” She hit the speed dial and waited for the ring. Nothing happened. Odd. She closed the phone and repeated the previous steps. This time she heard a ring which ended a second later as a mechanical voice answered.

“I'm sorry but your call cannot be completed. Your account has been suspended. Please dial …”

“Unbelievable.” She snapped the phone shut.

“What?”

“My account has been cut off.” She looked at the phone in disbelief.

“Forgot to pay the bill?”

“Of course not. We spend thousands a year on cell phones for our execs and key personnel. Someone is going to get an earful from me.” She dialed the two digit number plus pound that would connect her to customer ser vice. The verbal battle began. When it was over, Judith felt more confused than before.

“From what I heard, that didn't go the way you wanted.” Luke slowed the car as the traffic continued to coagulate around slow-moving big rigs.

“They said they haven't been paid in three months. I know that's not true. Our CFO oversees an experienced team of accountants. Such a thing can't happen.”

“Try my phone.”

“You didn't want me to try the call in the first place. Why the change of heart?”

“Just do it.”

Judith took Luke's phone. It was one of the newer hybrids combining a cell phone with a handheld PC. It took her a moment to figure out how to dial through a screen instead of with buttons. She raised the phone to her ear.

“I'm sorry but your call cannot be completed — ”

She switched the phone off. “Same thing. But you already knew that, didn't you?”

“I didn't know it, but I suspected it. You don't seem the kind of CEO that tolerates shoddy behavior from your employees.
My guess is that our friendly Puppeteer has pulled a few more strings.”

“Can he do that?”

Luke cut a glance her way.

“Okay, okay, obviously he can. What I mean to ask is
how
can he do that?”

“No way to know that. Maybe he owns the cell phone company, maybe he owns
someone
in the company; he could have bought someone off or blackmailed a key person like he's blackmailing us. We know the guy has some technical skill or people working for him who do; perhaps he hacked the system. Right now, all we have is guesswork.”

Judith gazed at the traffic. Hundreds of people surrounded her. Every day she passed thousands of people on the freeways, side streets, in buildings and restaurants, whom she did not know. Any one of them could be a saint and any one a killer. None wore signs that revealed their heart and intent. Everyone kept their thoughts, desires, and sins behind a mask of flesh. She knew this well. She did it every day.

“Do you think he's watching us right now?”

“I've been trying to monitor the traffic. It's why I've been spending so much time in the slow lane. Most California drivers are too impatient to stay in this lane. So far I haven't been able to identify anyone on our trail. Of course, that doesn't mean anything.”