Scoop (29 page)

“What?”

“She went into the condo while we were interviewing the police officer. She checked around as quickly as she could. She noticed two things the police overlooked. One, all of Gilda’s makeup and moisturizers were gone. Makeup is one thing a woman won’t leave behind if she’s got any time at all to plan.” Roarke raised an eyebrow. “I’m just telling you what Mack said.”

“What else?”

“The officers said no clothes were missing, but Mack noticed a sack at the top of Gilda’s closet. She climbed on a step stool. The sack was labeled ‘summer clothes,’ but when Mack looked inside, there was nothing there.”

“You’re saying Gilda went on vacation? That’s impossible! Nobody’s allowed to go on vacation during sweeps weeks.”

“I’m not saying anything. It just seems peculiar. And a little more planned. They did mention the back door being picked. You should talk to the police, Roarke, and tell them what you were doing. They’ll understand. I can back you up.”

“Forget it.” Roarke stood and walked to the door. “Gilda wouldn’t leave for vacation during sweeps week and not tell anyone. I know her better than that.”

Ray sighed. Roarke seemed to think he knew Gilda better than anyone, and Ray didn’t know how to tell him otherwise. But for now, he had to focus on the story. And the story was taking him back into the battlefield.

Jill Clark pushed the door open to Hugo’s office. She caught him with his hand to his mouth and a pill bottle in the other hand.

Hugo swallowed and stared at Jill. “Yes?”

“You’ve still got me covering the sewage plant explosion. It’s sweeps week. I want to do something bigger.”

Hugo sighed. Jill was such a whiner. She was also very competitive, and Hugo knew every move she made was a move to get to the top. But Chad had said the sewage plant story was old news. Maybe give it to the anchors, cut the segment, and move on.

“What did you have in mind?” Hugo asked.

Jill smiled. “You know one of Gilda’s stories investigated the diseases we can catch from animals.”

“Yeah, well, Gilda’s not here, Jill, in case you haven’t noticed.” And as far as Hugo was concerned, the disease series had just about run its course.

“Why don’t I do it?” She tried using her innocent smile to cover the devilish twinkle in her eyes. “Why not? I mean, the segment is edited and ready to roll. They’d just have to take off Gilda’s voice-over and put mine on. And I did help Gilda with the research. I hooked her up with my vet, who says you can catch the flu from your dog.”

Hugo sighed. It would be one of their top sweeps stories, a week-long segment Gilda had thought up that everyone had really liked. And they had been advertising it last week. But still, just to hand it off to Jill? Something didn’t seem right about it.

“We’re working under extraordinary circumstances,” Jill added. “Normally drastic measures wouldn’t be necessary, but if we have any hope of saving sweeps week, we’ll have to make some exceptions to the rules.”

Hugo held his head in his hands. Something about the effect of the Blue Pill tended to keep him from feeling his “gut.” It numbed his gut and any other emotion that might prompt him in the right direction.

“Sure, why not,” Hugo said. “We’ll hit the sewage plant in the highlights and reinsert the animal-and-disease segment.”

“Thank you!” Jill said, clasping her hands together. “You won’t regret this. I know we’re going to be pulling in a lot of viewers tonight because of it. Shall I tell the promo department to go ahead and run a new teaser with me?”

“Sure.”

“And one more thing, Mr. Talley, just to plant a bug in your ear. I’ve been thinking of a piece Ray and I could work on together.”

“What are you talking about? You and Ray don’t do pieces together.”

“I know. But maybe next week we could. A co-reporting kind of thing.”

Why is she talking about next week?
Hugo wondered. They were barely getting through this one.

“I’ll talk to you about it later.” She smiled and left.

Then he saw Ray walk by. He looked in a hurry. Hugo jumped out of his chair, raced around his desk, and stuck his head out the door.

“Ray, come here.”

Ray turned, looking guilty for some reason. He made an obvious effort to stroll. “Yes, Mr. Talley?”

“Where are you going?”

“Just doing some work.”

“What kind of work?”

“You know, just getting things ready for tonight.”

“You interviewed Wynn about Gilda’s disappearance?”

Ray’s face told an immediate tale, one that Hugo didn’t like very much. “Uh…Wynn was leaving when I got there.”

“You didn’t get an interview with him?” Hugo felt his blood pressure rising.

“No. But I did interview an officer on the scene who gave us plenty of good quotes. They wouldn’t let us inside the condo.”

“What did they find out about Gilda?”

“Nothing conclusive.”

“Wynn told me the back-door lock had been picked. That doesn’t sound good.”

“Nothing was disturbed. Didn’t look like there had been a struggle.”

Hugo sighed and leaned against the wall. “Better off anyway, I guess. Chad thinks we should run with this Gilda story, and I think it’s a mistake.” He looked at Ray. “Where are you going now?”

A sheepish expression crossed Ray’s face. “Look, just don’t ask me too many questions right now,” he suddenly said.

Hugo stiffened. That wasn’t what he was expecting. It was his job to ask questions.

“What’s going on?” he demanded in a voice loud enough for people to turn their heads.

“Mr. Talley,” Ray said quietly, “I can’t tell you right now. And I can’t
tell you why. But I’m asking you to trust me. I think this lead is going to turn out to be very important for us.”

Hugo didn’t know what to say. If there was anyone he trusted, it was Ray. But lately, Ray had been unpredictable.

“Is this about the wastewater treatment plant?”

Ray’s expression changed just enough that Hugo understood that it was.

“I just took Jill off that story,” Hugo said, making himself sick at how much he sounded like Chad. “It’s yesterdays news.”

Ray’s eyes begged Hugo for understanding and trust.

“You can’t tell me?” Hugo asked again.

“It would be better if I followed this lead. I’ll let you know if it turns up anything, though. I promise.”

“Okay, fine,” Hugo finally said. “Well, at least it’ll keep you away from Mr. Green.”

Captain Wynn sat in his office and nodded for Officer Pratt to close the door. The kid looked scared, as he should. “Tell me the rumor isn’t true,” Wynn said, glancing at Detective Martin, who stood next to him.

Pratt stared at the carpet. “It was a mistake, sir. I just got caught up in the moment. The reporter looked desperate.”

“Reporters always look desperate, Pratt, when it serves their need. They’ll do anything to get a quote. Don’t you know that? You should see what I’ve had to put up with through the years. I’ve been on TV more times than Patrick Buckley. It’s ridiculous.” Wynn leaned forward, making Pratt engage him. “What did you tell them?”

“Nothing important, sir. I promise. I just gave the basics. Told him we didn’t find clothes missing or anything that would indicate she’d left in a hurry. I also said they would need to talk to you for further information.”

Wynn let out a deep sigh. “Fine. Good. You’re dismissed. And Pratt, no more interviews. Got it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Close the door behind you.” Wynn watched the kid walk out and close the door, then he turned to Martin. “Let me see them.”

The detective pulled out a paper sack and opened it on top of Wynn’s desk. He handed him a stack of neatly folded paper tied up with a rubber band. “Nice, heavy-weight paper,” Wynn observed.

“Yes.”

He opened the note on top. “Handwritten.”

The detective smiled.

Wynn read the first note. “So we obviously have someone who is obsessed with Gilda Braun. Writing her love letters. Looks like rather frequently too.”

“And,” the detective said, holding up another paper sack. “Inside is a paperweight, which we found on top of the letters. Inscribed on top are the words
You are lovely.”

“How do we know it’s from him?”

“Because he refers to it in his sixth letter. Apparently he liked to leave her little gifts, such as chocolates and flowers. And paperweights.”

“Any leads?” Wynn asked, folding the note.

“If you read all the way through those notes, you’ll find that the person leaving the notes most likely works with her. There’s a hint here and there.”

“Does he threaten her?”

“No. They’re all letters expressing how much he likes her and how great she is.”

Wynn huffed. “My wife could take a few lessons in that area.” He gave the stack of notes back to the detective. “The fact that the back door lock was picked is significant. Let’s get on this.”

“I agree.” Martin paused at the door. “There’s going to be a media storm on this one, considering the subject.”

“I know,” Wynn said, shaking his head. “I’ll handle it.”

Martin left, and Wynn picked up the phone and dialed. “Yes, I need to make an appointment for a facial.”

Like a fast spreading rash, a horrible hot itch caused Ray to claw at every exposed piece of skin as he stood on Petey Green’s porch. He’d knocked. Well, tapped. Lightly. He was losing his nerve with every second that passed.

He could hear the pigs around the corner, rolling around in their mud, oblivious to their part in all this. He rubbed his head, feeling the prick of the stitches against his fingers. He was an idiot for coming back here. But something told him that this was what Green had wanted all along. Someone to—

The door flung open and there he stood in his overalls and dingy white shirt. But that’s not what caught Ray’s attention. It was the shotgun tucked under his arm like a newspaper.

“Uh…,” Ray stammered.

“I knew it would be you!” Green spat. “What is wrong with you, boy?” He looked around, maybe for a camera. Then he looked back at Ray, curiosity replacing anger. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t have a microphone or a recorder or anything,” Ray said. “I came here by myself because I want to talk to you.”

“’Bout what?”

“Howard Crumm and the sewage—wastewater treatment plant.”

“It’s a sewage plant, son. Call it what it is. Tell it like it is. That’s what got me fired, you know.”

“Because you knew the chemical being used was dangerous.”

Green’s eyes grew still, staring right at Ray. Then he glanced around and lowered his shotgun to his side. “Come in.”

Ray entered the small house. He could see the kitchen straight ahead, which looked barely big enough to hold a refrigerator and stove. A narrow counter was cluttered with dishes. To the left was the living room, where two recliners with cushions held together by duct tape sat in front of an ancient television.

Petey Green looked unsure what to do with company. When Ray just stood there, he grunted and pointed to one of the recliners. Ray sat down in the one that looked the least used. It appeared he made a good choice.

“What do you know?” Mr. Green asked, lighting a cigarette.