Justifiable (2 page)

First, he drew a cross of oil on her forehead then a second cross in oil on the inside of her open wrist. He offered a prayer for her soul.

Sally lay still as dead wood, eyes stuck wide open, pleading for mercy. Now, she could ask God for mercy in person.

Time to return to St. Catherine’s Church.

So little time.

So many deserving sinners.

Chapter 2

Does pulling off the perfect murder count if the victim is a welfare mother?

Riley Walker stared out the foggy passenger window of the news van where early morning traffic slugged toward downtown Philadelphia with all the enthusiasm of a funeral march.

What if I’m right about the killer? What if...

The hell with that. What-ifs came with a high price tag.

Don’t dwell on the past
.

He focused on the cars caked in winter grime, the low-hanging clouds and water streaks fingering the dirty glass inches from his nose...anything to block the gruesome images that barged into his mind at any reminder of one hideous day he’d never live down.

What he wouldn’t give to be just another working stiff with a normal life, like the ones jockeying for position along Martin Luther King Drive today. To have spent yesterday recovering from a New Year’s Eve celebration, piled around a television watching football games with friends.

To turn back time and feel human again.

This time last year, he’d had plenty of reasons to celebrate as the number one anchor of the top television station in Detroit.

That life was gone. Taken by a killer’s bullet.

And my stupid drive to do what I believed was right when everyone else just went for a story.

That was yesterday’s news for everyone in the world except one family –
and me
– who would never forget.

Dwelling on that wouldn’t help Riley get through today or save this bottom-of-the-barrel job.

He needed to break a major story. Now.

And damn if the news fairy hadn’t dropped a big fat juicy one in his lap just after midnight.

Dumb luck and opportune timing was more like it. All he had to do was get to the freakin’ press conference in time to question the DA and force her hand the minute she tried to dismiss the Sally Stanton killing as domestic violence.

No other reporter knew what he had on this story and Riley would use that leverage to turn this into a blockbuster.

And because Sally Stanton deserves a voice. Deserves justice.

He closed his eyes to silence a conscience he hadn’t yet forgiven for getting him involved the last time. He needed to just get the damn story. Nothing else.

What about Sally? You just going to let this go once you get your story? Let the DA bury the investigation?

A conscience with a motor mouth. Damn it.
Shut. Up
.

If he hadn’t gone into the WNUZ archives last night to dig around in the news files for something he could turn into a story with teeth, he wouldn’t have this problem.

But working beat sleeping, where nightmares waited to ambush him.

Riley stifled a yawn, but he was ready for the press conference, and DA Van Gogh. She’d try to bury this killing as another unfortunate death. But she’d have a tough time brushing off why the body had been left on the front lawn of a prominent judge’s home.

Sally Stanton’s death had to premeditated. Not a domestic violence incident. Riley had more information than the other newsies, something exclusive that would throw a kink into the DA’s domestic violence angle, too.

All he had to do was toss out a few suspicions at the press conference to make it tough for her office to back off this case.

That wouldn’t happen if the traffic didn’t start moving. Even the clock had it in for him these days. 

A low curse seared the quiet. Riley glanced at his driver.

Cameraman Ron “Biddy” Bidowski maneuvered their news van from lane to lane, jockeying for any forward position. Buzz-cut black hair and six-foot-one, Biddy carried his two hundred and twenty pounds in all muscle and attitude.

Scowling at snarled traffic, he was in no better mood than Riley after getting called to cover the early-morning homicide tip. Except Biddy blamed Riley for dragging his ass out of bed to film a crime scene in the bitter cold.

Frigid air wailed through the cab from the driver’s side. Biddy had rolled down his window, proving ice water ran through his veins.

Riley hunched his shoulders. “Dammit, Biddy, shut that pneumonia hole. You trying to freeze my ass?” 

“Nope. Trying to clear the windshield and not ram the picture of that grinning jackass.”  Biddy nodded forward as if Riley hadn’t noticed the image advertising the anchor of WNUZ’s fiercest competition in the city. “When you getting
your
picture on the back of every bus in Philly?” 

Riley ignored how the question had come out thick with sarcasm. “One more ratings point and four more share points should loosen Lehman’s choke hold on the advertising budget. Then the only place you’ll see his – ” he lifted his chin toward the bus poster “ – ugly mug will be on garbage trucks.”

“So you say.”

“Don’t think I can do it?” 

Biddy’s chest moved with a heavy sigh. “Shit, I’m banking on you doing it. Literally.” 

That made two of them and Riley’s time was running out. He had to jack WNUZ’s ratings
before
next week when his contract came up for renewal. He needed to keep this deal so he could stay near his foster father, Jasper Owens, who was going blind – the main reason Riley had accepted this job.

That and this being the only station to offer him an anchor position three months ago after his career crashed in Detroit.

Not like he was trained to do anything else.

No regrets. He’d have dug ditches to be here for Jasper, the one person he’d never be able to repay, but digging ditches wouldn’t cover home care costs.

Biddy muttered a pungent curse under his breath when someone cut him off. “You really think this Stanton death’s a story?” 

I know it is.
“Got a feeling about this killing.”

The nod Biddy gave him said he’d heard Riley but was reserving judgment. Biddy had busted his tail for the past three months to boost ratings, too. Had more than earned the pay hike that would filter down to the team responsible for a jump in the station’s revenues.

And Riley would make sure Biddy got his due, no matter what.

The cameraman had some kind of money problems he kept to himself, which suited Riley. He’d made the mistake of becoming friends with coworkers in the past.

That had blown up in his face. 

But lumping Biddy in with that spineless bunch in Detroit would be wrong. He was one of the only people at WNUZ, or in Philly for that matter, who didn’t treat Riley like he butchered kittens for a pastime.

The only person who didn’t give Riley a daily jaded look to remind him that Detroit had destroyed his career and shredded his sanity.

No, the blame fell to me, not Detroit
. A bad decision for the right reason didn’t change the outcome.

One that had broken a family’s heart and left him hollowed out. He might have a chance to rebuild his reputation some day, but he’d never outrun the nightmares because...nothing would bring back a dead child.

He rubbed his temple where an ache had set up camp.

Wondering about that little boy they’d never found kept Riley awake at night.

Always the boy. 

Amazing how one decision could go so hideously wrong.

Can’t go back and change the past when it’s written in blood. Just get through another day
. Right now he had thirteen minutes to make downtown and drop an oh-shit bomb on the DA.  Get the story. Let others worry about justice.

Nobody else cares about a dead welfare mother. Why should I?

Because he still felt an ember of passion for helping the victims of crimes. But for the first time in his life, getting involved scared the hell out of him. Someone else would have to champion the pitiful woman found dead in a ragged brown coat. 

He would not survive another Detroit. 

Biddy wheeled off the interstate and zigzagged along surface streets.

Riley let go of his mental wandering to grab the passenger door handle and brace himself. “Can we make the press conference on time
and
in one piece?”

Biddy ignored the jab, maneuvering the van’s steering like a NASCAR driver on holiday. “How come that new DA bitch calls a news conference at nine anyhow? She knows we all covered the killing last night and halfway into breakfast. What’s the damn rush?” 

“What? You think she cares if you get another hour to snuggle your wife?” 

“Sore topic,” Biddy grumbled. “One more weekend working and I’ll be snuggling a six pack on the couch.”

Riley had no advice to offer. He didn’t have baggage. Not after divorcing a woman who had thought her wedding vows were optional. Add that to becoming a social pariah three months back, and demand on his personal time had fallen off significantly.

His new motto had been an old saying years ago – a rolling stone gathers no moss. Damned lonesome existence, but one where he wouldn’t get his balls nailed to the wall by a divorce attorney’s Mont Blanc pen.

Biddy slid around the last corner, catching the curb with his rear tires and jarring Riley’s teeth. He slammed their “Nuz You Can Uze” van into the press parking lot at the courthouse with ninety seconds to spare.

There wasn’t a parking space to be had.

Undeterred, Biddy jumped the curb and parked on the sidewalk. He slapped his NEWS CREW AT WORK sign on the dashboard and piled out of the van.

The rear doors squealed open and slammed shut as Riley reached the back bumper.

Biddy chortled. “Hope they take the two grand out of Lehman’s yearly bonus.” 

“Two grand?” 

“Annual parking fines.”  Biddy stumbled and almost dropped the camera and a bundle of equipment he juggled.

Riley grabbed the tripod.

Biddy’s lurid curses should have melted the snow banked around the sidewalk. “All this just to hear the DA’s latest dribble about Philly’s tourism image.”  He turned a hard glance loaded with challenge at Riley, impatience loaded with a hair trigger holding it back. “You got a plan?”

Not one that would make Biddy happy. “I’m giving Van Gogh one chance to tell me why that body was placed on the judge’s front lawn. I’m betting she’ll blow us off. That’s all I need to break the story I have in mind.”

Had the murder been a message for the judge?

Or someone else?

Hell, he had a slew of questions
everyone
should be asking. Such as why the killer had placed the body with hands crossed as though posed for the morgue.

And why the killer had called Riley instead of the police.

Chapter 3

Riley set an urgent pace down the sidewalk to City Hall’s front door, careful not to lose his footing on the icy surface. If he did take a header, chances were Biddy would pause first to inspect the tripod he carried for damage
then
check Riley for a broken bone.

Covering several quick steps, he reached the door first and waited for Biddy to knock the snow off his boots.

His cameraman belonged to NABET and Riley was a member of AFTRA and both were broadcasting unions. No anchor had to carry equipment for his photographer, but Riley showed any camera staff the same consideration by helping with equipment regardless of his position. Biddy wasn’t social to begin with, but in a show of mutual respect he’d told Riley early on, “If you ever get turned in for union violations, you can bet your ass it wasn’t me who dropped a dime on you.” 

Riley’s kind of guy, especially Biddy’s “get the job done and screw the rules” mantra. Cutting edge news reporting meant scars on occasion. Just part of the job if a person did it right. You had to put it all on the line to get to the facts.

At least, that’s what Riley had believed until...

Shit
. Focus on today. The next five minutes. Now
.

Biddy passed through the open doorway and headed for the elevator. He mumbled in a tired voice, “Another suck assignment.”  

“Trust me. This beats the hell out of missing child assignments.”  Riley snapped his jaws shut.
Breathe.
He shook his head to clear his mind and stop the backward fall into a black mental hole.
Get your shit together.

If he wanted to prove everyone wrong who had declared his career over, he had to stick to reporting news...
and
keep a lid on his temper.

Three major network affiliates in ten years.

His foster dad had called him passionate.

Others called him a hot head.