* * *
Baxton must have been fuming because he wasn’t in his office when Alex stepped off the elevator. He was pacing the newsroom like a predator waiting for his prey.
He caught Alex’s eye from across the room and gestured toward his office. As Alex made the death march to the corner, he caught a couple sideways glances and concerned looks from colleagues that added to his trepidation.
When Alex met with Baxton in his office, it was usually a relaxed affair. In fact, Alex generally felt like he had the upper hand. Baxton was typically so busy adjusting his pencils or straightening his papers that he didn’t have much energy to push Alex too hard. He and Alex both knew that Alex was a gifted reporter, and Baxton had fallen into the role of corralling him when needed but, in general, he let him run loose.
When Alex closed the door behind him, Baxton was still standing, eyes locked on him. But Alex was ready. "Before you say anything, Colonel, just let me tell you why I did it."
"You know why I hate people your age? You think you always get to explain yourself. If this were the army, you’d be running laps, we’d be hazing and beating the shit out of you."
Alex smiled. "I guess I’m glad this isn’t the army. Colonel, please. Just let me explain."
Alex took a seat and eyed Baxton’s chair, coaxing him to sit as well. He did, and Alex knew he had an opening. "First of all, I made Susan do it. This is one hundred percent on me. Second of all, journalistically, it’s the perfect crime. We can deny that we editorialized if things go bad, but if they go well, we can take all the credit. If you look at the cutline, there’s no commentary there—strictly speaking. We simply published a recent photo of Dos Santos and mentioned, very casually, who he happened to be with."
Alex offered up his best shit-eating grin, but Baxton was not amused. "Are you done?" he asked.
"I think so."
"Do you have any morals at all?"
"I just—"
"Shut up, Vane. That question was rhetorical." He paused and cleared his throat. "Let’s skip past the fact that you were so impatient and insecure that you couldn’t wait twenty-four hours. Let’s skip past the fact that I shut down your story, and that I’m your boss. Wait, you do know I’m your boss, right?"
Alex didn’t say anything.
"That wasn’t rhetorical, Vane. I want to hear you say it."
"Yes, I know you’re my boss."
"Oh good. Skipping past the fact that you do not have any...influence...whatsoever over photo layout or cutlines...skipping past the fact that you used your influence to make Susan do something she knew better than to do...skipping past the fact that I had to pistol whip the photo guys to get them to tell me what happened...skipping past all of those things...journalistically this is bad, or at least could be bad. Not just bad, very bad."
"It could also be good," Alex offered.
Baxton stood and started walking around the office, talking with his hands. "Could it be good? Of course it could be good. Of course there’s a chance it works out. But do you know what else there’s a chance of?"
Alex opened his mouth but Baxton shot him a glare.
"Rhetorical again?" Alex asked quietly.
Baxton ignored him. "There’s a chance that there’s some other perfectly good explanation for the photo, that the fact that you didn’t double-source this, that you didn’t speak to Maria Fernandez or Diego Dos Santos, that you didn’t speak to other people who were at the event, that you didn’t follow even the most-basic journalistic practices...Goddamn it Alex, all of these things will embarrass us at best and, at worst, bring a torrent of calamity down on our God...damn heads!"
Baxton’s face had turned bright red. He ran a hand through his thin, gray hair, then let out a long sigh. "You must have someone protecting you higher up, because I was gonna fire your ass. I really was."
"What do you mean?"
"You do know that I have bosses too, right? You know that you and I aren’t the only two people who work here?"
"I know."
"I was gonna fire your ass before you even came in today but a couple of them talked me down. Said to see how it plays out."
Alex was just glad Baxton didn’t seem to know that he’d slept with Joey Bonner. That might have pushed him over the edge. He was about to change the subject when there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," Baxton said, but not loud enough to be heard on the other side of the door. He seemed to Alex to be totally depleted, like he’d used every ounce of his energy to yell at him. "COME IN," he shouted, almost knocking Alex backwards.
The door swung open and a scared teenager Alex barely recognized stood in the doorway. He was medium height and almost as wide as he was tall, with a long blond ponytail and a t-shirt with a picture of a computer on fire and block lettering that read, "I’m giving her all she’s got, Captain." He looked thoroughly uncomfortable in his own skin, and Baxton’s glare wasn’t helping.
"Mr. B-Baxton, sir?"
"Who the hell are you?" Baxton barked.
"I’m the n-n-new tech intern. James St-Stacy." Now Alex remembered him. He’d been around the office installing software updates over the last few weeks.
"What do you want?" Baxton asked.
James turned and pointed through the large windows of Baxton’s office, which looked out into the newsroom. A TV on the wall was playing the local news and the segment bar at the bottom read: "Shocking Twist in Mendoza Trial."
"I was t-told to come t-tell you," James said. "The photo has hit the n-n-news."
Baxton and Alex hurried into the newsroom, where everyone was staring up at a large flatscreen TV on the far wall.
The anchor was just finishing up her background summary of the trial and its significance. Then, a picture of the photo from The Standard popped up on the screen. "This photo, printed this morning in The New York Standard, is causing quite a stir around the Lower Manhattan District Court. The photo claims to show the lead counsel for the defense, Diego Dos Santos, with the mother of the alleged victim in the trial of Manny Mendoza. If true, legal experts say it’s a clear conflict of interest that could upend the trial. For more, let’s go to Chris McKenzie at the courthouse. Chris?"
The shot changed to the steps of the courthouse, where Chris McKenzie was looking gravely into the camera. Alex knew Chris from the trial. He was about fifteen years older than Alex, wore boring brown suits and placid smiles, worked four or five hours a day, made twice what Alex made, and would probably get a national TV job any minute. Alex envied the hell out of him.
"Thanks, Rachel," Chris began. "You’re exactly right. Sources around the courthouse say that both the defense and the prosecution are in turmoil this morning as news of the photo trickles out. We don’t yet have independent verification of the photo, but it is already causing quite a stir. You’ll recall, questions were raised before jury selection as to whether Mr. Dos Santos had any conflicts that would keep him from representing Mr. Mendoza." He paused for a half second and held a finger up to his ear. "I’m being told now that Judge David Butcher is calling an emergency meeting of counsel on both sides of this sensational trial. We don’t yet have word as to what the precise purpose of that meeting will be or when it will take place but we will be following the details for you all morning. Rachel, back to you."
Phones started ringing around the office.
Alex’s cell phone was vibrating in his pocket and everyone in the newsroom was alternating between staring at the TV and staring at him, some with envy, some with admiration, and some with looks Alex couldn’t read. He’d broken a few stories before, but nothing like this. He’d felt the rush of being first on something, but he’d never experienced anything quite like what he was feeling. It was like being wonderfully tipsy and stone cold sober at the same time. Like he was making love to the most amazing woman on earth and finding out that she had become unexpectedly pregnant with his child at the same moment. It was like no other feeling in the world.
Baxton put a ha
nd on his shoulder. "Well, you’re in it now. For better and worse. We’re all in it now."
Chapter 7
Alex basked in the glow for as long as he could, but a few minutes later Baxton pulled him back into the office. After five more minutes of lectures, Baxton moved on to the next steps. "Here’s what’s going to happen, Alex. First…you will not take calls on this story…you will not answer questions...you will not appear on TV. Got it?"
Alex nodded.
"Second...you’ll head down to the courthouse as soon as you walk out of here and you will go back to reporting the news. That means you will piggyback off McKenzie’s standup at the courthouse, try to find out what happened at the meeting with Butcher, and so on. Is that clear?"
Alex nodded again.
"Finally...you will approach Dos Santos or whoever you can speak with in his camp and you will try to get a comment about the photos." He paused for a moment, then almost smiled. "Do you know how to predict if a story has legs?"
Alex shrugged. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that if Baxton knew Joey was the source of the photos, and that they’d slept together, he would have fired him on the spot. He just wanted to get out of there.
"The stories that have legs are often the ones that confirm a pre-existing idea or prejudice, whether or not that pre-existing idea or prejudice is correct. People already think of Dos Santos as unethical, even corrupt. They were waiting for a nugget to pounce on. You gave them that nugget with the photo. Now, who the hell knows what’s gonna happen? All sorts of shit might come out. But you need to get Dos Santos on the record about this. Then at least our bases will be covered."
"Is that it, Colonel? I mean, I’m eager to get down to the courthouse and report the hell out of this for you."
Baxton dismissed him with a wave of the hand and an admonition. "Alex, you are on the thinnest ice a journalist has been on since God created editors. Don’t blow it."
* * *
Alex called Joey from the taxi but her phone went straight to voicemail. He figured she was in with the judge and Dos Santos but as he bounded up the steps of the courthouse, he realized he was wrong. The meeting was already over.
To his left, Joey and her team were walking down the steps and waving for taxis, a throng of reporters chasing them. To his right, three or four TV crews were set up, cameras trained on the large revolving door that led into the courthouse. Alex stopped on the top step, torn between heading in to find Bearon and heading back down to try to talk to Joey.
That’s when he saw Diego Dos Santos emerging from the courthouse and walking right toward him. Dos Santos smiled and nodded at the cameras, then stepped within a foot of Alex, who was frozen on the top step.
Dos Santos leaned in, still smiling. "Get your ass to Feng’s Dim Sum on Chambers Street in the next ten minutes. Come alone or I will ruin you."
He stepped back and patted Alex on the back like they were old friends. He turned and smiled at the cameras, which had all turned to capture him and Alex. He said, "And keep smiling, Alex. The cameras are rolling."
* * *
Feng’s was a famous hole-in-the-wall Dim Sum place in Tribeca that had been there since before Tribeca was cool. Alex had heard reporters and lawyers talk about it as a great spot for an early dinner, but no one ever took the time to go that far north for lunch on a workday. It took Alex a little over ten minutes to get there, but he arrived before Dos Santos and sat at a cracked linoleum table in a dark corner in the back. At a large, round table next to him, two middle-aged women picked the stems off green beans while three others rolled dumplings. It was only eleven and the lunch rush hadn’t arrived.
Alex was hungry, and he figured that if he was about to get reamed by one of the top defense attorneys in New York, he may as well do it on a full stomach. A man wearing an apron emerged from the back and Alex ordered a plate of Feng’s famous crab and pork dumplings and a black coffee.
When Dos Santos came in, he looked around the restaurant and, as soon as he saw Alex, he marched up and slid into the booth, facing away from the entrance. "You son of a bitch," Dos Santos said.
Alex reached out his hand. "Alex Vane, New York Standard. I’m here on company time and I should tell you that anything we talk about will be on the record."
"Why did you set me up?"
"I just thought I should tell you—"
"Screw you."
Alex leaned back and wrapped his interlaced hands behind his head. "You’re the one who asked me to lunch. Was it just so you could berate me?"
The dumplings arrived and Alex scooted them to the center of the table. "Wow, they’re fast here. Help yourself. They’re supposed to be the best in the city."
Dos Santos didn’t say anything.
"So, is this about the photo? I mean, you didn’t just want to have dumplings with me, did you?”
Dos Santos took a sip of Alex’s coffee and slid it back across the table.
“Uh, like I said...help yourself. What makes you think I had anything to do with that photo coming out in the first place? You must know that reporters don’t choose art or write headlines or captions."
"You really have no idea how bad a day you’re having, do you?”
Alex dipped a dumpling in sauce. "I’m not the one who just got outed as having a conflict of interest that will ruin my biggest case, and maybe my career. I never set out to ruin someone, but c’mon, his mother?" He popped the dumpling in his mouth.
"How do you think I found out you were behind the photo?"
It was a good question, and it made Alex a little uneasy. "Someone at the paper?"
"They were pretty quick to throw you under the bus, Alex. I call to yell at editors at least once a week and they usually stand tall for their reporters. In your case…"
Dos Santos narrowed his eyes and studied Alex. Alex thought he looked older up close. He was in his mid-fifties, but Alex always thought he looked fortyish in court and on TV. Alex could see the lines under his eyes and the bronze-colored makeup that attempted to fill them. He could see the effort that had been taken to comb his thinning black hair over his bald spot. For a moment Alex felt like his relative youth was some sort of shield.
After a long minute, Dos Santos said, "You really don’t know?"
"What?"
Alex reached across the table and carefully lifted a dumpling off the platter. Dos Santos was smiling now, and Alex felt a lump forming in his chest.
Dos Santos continued, "I came down here thinking you were in on it, that you set me up, but you really have no idea what’s going on, do you?"
Under normal circumstances, Alex would have feigned confidence. But he could tell Dos Santos wasn’t bluffing. He bit the edge of the dumpling nervously, breaking the seam. A ball of pork and crab fell out and bounced off the table onto Alex’s lap.
Dos Santos chuckled. "You got played, Alex."
Alex wiped at the grease stain on his jeans casually, his head spinning.
"The picture you published is fake. It was staged. When I came down here I figured you’d been in on it. But you’re as innocent as I am. Now, I need to know who leaked the photo to you. Someone is trying to screw with me and, if it was Bonner...well…"
Alex straightened his back and tried to muster some confidence. “You know I won’t tell you who my source was.”
Dos Santos laughed to himself. He ripped the paper wrapping off a pair of chopsticks and popped a whole dumpling in his mouth. "The key is to eat them whole," he said. "They make them small here so you don’t have to nibble at them."
"You’re bullshitting. You’re just trying to—"
"No. You got played."
"You’re lying," Alex said, but he barely believed it. As bad as it was to have defied the Colonel, as long as he was right he knew he could recover from it. If Dos Santos was telling the truth…Alex didn’t want to finish the thought.
"Man," Dos Santos said, "I almost feel bad for you. It’s a pain in the ass for me, but Judge Butche
r gave me a day to prove that the photo was fake. He threatened to throw me off the case, sure, but he gave me a day, and I won’t need half that. You?" He scoffed and shook his head. "Your career is over."
Dos Santos took another sip of Alex’s coffee and walked out.
* * *
After paying, Alex stumbled out of the restaurant. The sun had crested over the tall buildings of Tribeca while they were inside, casting a sharp light that burned his eyes. He dialed Joey but again it went straight to voicemail.
He considered calling the Colonel, but what good would that do? He’d just yell at him even louder if Alex raised the possibility that the photos were staged.
He called Bearon as he walked toward the courthouse. "Can you tell me anything about what’s going on there?"
"Hold on." Alex heard Bearon walking, then the creak of a door. "I only have a minute, and I don’t know much. Judge Butcher met with both sides for half an hour. I thought he’d declare a mistrial or at least kick Dos Santos off the case. But he didn’t. I talked to a Dos Santos underling and he said…well...he wouldn’t tell me much but...is there any chance the photo was fake?"
Alex didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t see how it could be true, but if Dos Santos had been able to convince the judge to give him time to prove it was fake, he must have had something convincing. "Any idea where Joey is?"
"Prosecutor Josephine Bonner?"
"Yeah."
"Wait, why’d you just call her Joey?"
Alex didn’t say anything.
"You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t. Or please tell me you did. I don’t know whether to pry for details or lecture the hell out of you."
"Can you just tell me where she is?"
"I have no idea. She and her team shot out of here right after the meeting."
Alex sat at a bus stop to consider his options. First, he needed to talk to Joey. She was the only person who could give him anything definitive about the photos. But she wasn’t picking up the phone, maybe because she was busy but more likely, Alex feared, because she was shutting him out.
The Cutline (An Alex Vane Media Thriller, Book 0) Page 5
