Beyond the Headlines

by R. G. Belsky

  On that night, Bateman said, she had a lot to drink when she got to the Greenwich Village place and eventually passed out into a deep sleep. When she woke up in the morning, she remembered that she was supposed to meet with me about the interview in the Fifth Avenue place. She went back there, intending to tell me we should probably do it somewhere else given all the unpleasantness that had gone on the night before between her and Charles. But when she got home and found her husband’s body, she said she panicked. That she was in a daze and didn’t know what to do or if the killer might still be in the apartment. All she could think of was getting out of there—that’s why she didn’t call the police right away. But then the maid walked in, saw Hollister dead on the floor, and began screaming—and the police arrived soon afterward. She insisted she was not the person who killed her husband.

  That was Laurie Bateman’s story. It wasn’t much of a story. And it was all quite damaging to her. There was no doorman at the building. Instead there was an elaborate security system and electronic gate you had to pass through to enter the townhouse. A check of the security records showed two people entering the Hollister townhouse after 6:38 a.m., when Charles Hollister had made what was presumably his last phone call. They were Laurie Bateman, then the maid. No one else was there.

  Based on the overwhelming evidence, it was pretty hard for anyone to believe her story.

  Not the police.

  Not the Manhattan District Attorney.

  Not the judge who she found herself standing before in Criminal Court for her arraignment.

  Laurie Bateman was formally charged with first-degree murder, and she gave an O.J.-like “I’m 100 percent not guilty” plea. The judge then remanded her to Rikers Island without bail until the next court hearing.

  CHAPTER 8

  AT NINE A.M. the next morning, I was back at my desk in the Channel 10 newsroom.

  I’d only gotten a few hours of sleep. The actual courtroom appearance had lasted for only a few minutes. But there had been hours of waiting before it happened in late afternoon. After that, I kept reporting the story as best I could. Then I had to do both the 6 p.m. and 11 p.m. newscasts to report everything on air that I had been talking about on the breaking news bulletins, website podcasts, and everything else we’d done all day to cover the story.

  Sure, it was exhausting. But it was also exhilarating for me to be a real reporter again—even for a little while—instead of dealing with ratings numbers, ad sales, and demographic charts like I usually did in my job as news director at Channel 10.

  I sat at my desk, looking out the window of my office and thinking about Laurie Bateman.

  It was snowing again.

  All this snow was starting to give me the Christmas spirit too. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost nipping at your nose. Who was this Jack Frost guy anyway? If you ask me, he’s got a bit of a nose fetish. Sounds like a good topic for Dr. Phil. I wondered if I should belt out a few Christmas carols in the Channel 10 newsroom. Probably not a good idea. Jack Faron wouldn’t like it. He’s such a stickler for decorum.

  Almost Christmas again. Where did the time fly? I thought about Laurie Bateman sitting in a jail cell at Rikers Island. She was a long way right now from her apartment on Fifth Avenue, her Long Island beach house, chartered plane, yacht, and all the rest. Whatever happened, it sure wasn’t going to be a joyous holiday season for Laurie Bateman.

  Meanwhile, I had a dilemma. An ethical dilemma, which is the worst kind. I knew something about Laurie Bateman and Charles Hollister’s marriage that the rest of the world didn’t. Maybe even not the authorities. Bateman and Hollister were about to be getting divorced. A messy divorce. Which would involve lots of money and lawyers and the rest.

  Janet had told me there was a prenuptial agreement they were trying to break. If they couldn’t, Laurie Bateman would only get a small amount of money from Hollister. But, if he was dead, she presumably might stand to inherit a huge chunk of his fortune. That was a helluva story. And a helluva motive for Laurie Bateman to murder her husband.

  Except Janet had told me about this off the record, and I’d given her my word as her best friend—and, even more importantly, as a journalist—that I wouldn’t reveal it publicly.

  Hence, my ethical dilemma.

  I didn’t deal with it yesterday because the breaking news of the murder and Laurie Bateman’s arrest was the big story. But we’d need a big follow-up for the next day. And the fact that Laurie Bateman and Hollister were making plans for a messy divorce would be another blockbuster story for me and for Channel 10. Yep, I’d scoop everyone else in the media again. Except for that damn ethics issue. I couldn’t compromise myself as a journalist no matter how good a story it was. Every worse, I couldn’t compromise my friendship with Janet. Unless I could get her to agree to let me reverse my “off-the-record” promise to her. I knew the police would find out about it sooner or later, if they hadn’t already. And, when they went public with that information, everyone would get it at the same time and I would lose my exclusive.

  I called Janet and laid it all out for her. I pointed out to her that circumstances had changed dramatically since I promised her that the Hollister-Bateman divorce she’d told me about would remain off the record. I said I felt I had a responsibility as a journalist to reveal it to the public now. I said she had a responsibility as a lawyer to make this information available in the interests of justice. I talked about our long friendship and how that meant the world to me. I promised her I would never ask for another favor from her for the rest of my life, if she did this one for me. And I even promised her I’d pick up the check the next time we went out to dinner.

  “Go for it,” Janet said when I was finished.

  “Huh?”

  “You can go with the divorce stuff on air, Clare.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted me to say?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t think it would be that easy.”

  “Look, it’s going to come out sooner or later now. Probably sooner. If it’s going to be splashed all over the media, I’d rather you were the one doing the splashing—instead of having anyone else break it.”

  “Then I definitely can go with what you told me about the divorce?”

  “It’s not off the record anymore.”

  So much for the ethical dilemma.

  A short time later, I was running the Channel 10 news meeting. Maggie brought us up to date with the latest details on the investigation.

  “It all looks pretty cut and dried,” she said, relating a lot of the details from my story last night and adding a few new ones that had been updated since then. “The DA thinks they’ve got an airtight case against Laurie Bateman. First-degree murder.”

  “Is that the highest charge there is?” asked Cassie O’Neal, one of our on-air reporters. Cassie’s long suit is looking good on camera. But she’s definitely not the brightest bulb in the room. Yet she’s tremendously popular with our viewers and makes a big salary. Bigger even than me. Welcome to the wonderful world of TV news.

  “Yes, Cassie, it’s a degree higher than second-degree murder.” I sighed.

  Jeez.

  “What else do we have on the story?” I asked Maggie.

  “Okay. We’ve put together an updated profile on Hollister and Bateman. We talked to a lot of people who knew or had come into contact with them. A lot of it is pretty colorful. Hollister was a damn ruthless businessman, willing to do anything to anyone to make money. Bateman was supposed to be difficult to deal with too—flaunting her wealth and her celebrity status at every opportunity. She wasn’t exactly the adorable little girl anymore that people remembered. A long way from being America’s sweetheart. Bottom line is neither of them were very popular with those around them.”

  “Nice people, huh?” Maggie muttered.

  “Money corrupts,” I said. “It’s the root of all evil.”

  Someone laughed. “I wouldn’t know, I work for Channel
10 News.”

  I waited until the end to reveal my news. About the Hollister and Bateman divorce that had been in the works when he was killed. I said I would report that part of the story myself on the news that night.

  “Wow, that’s big!” Brett Wolff said. “A motive for murder like that sounds like the final nail in the coffin for Laurie Bateman’s conviction.”

  “Yeah, how did you find out about that?” Dani Blaine asked.

  “Carlson’s my name, exclusives are my game,” I said brightly.

  CHAPTER 9

  “SO WHAT’S LAURIE Bateman’s defense strategy?” I asked Janet.

  “I have no idea at all.”

  “That’s a helluva thing for her lawyer to admit.”

  “I’m not her lawyer.”

  “You were her lawyer.”

  “For the divorce. But that all changed once Hollister died. She’s got a criminal lawyer now. If she gets convicted for his murder, she can’t get any of his money. If the lawyer helps her beat the murder rap, then she’ll need an estate lawyer to represent her as the legal heir to whatever share of her inheritance that’s spelled out in Hollister’s will. I don’t do criminal or estate work. I was only there for the divorce. That means I’m out of the picture now.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “Fine.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure, I don’t enjoy being involved in a big high-profile case like this.”

  “That’s the difference between you and me,” I said. “I love high-profile cases.”

  “There’s a lot of differences between us, Clare.”

  We were eating dinner at Friend of the Farmer, a restaurant on Irving Place just south of Gramercy Park. I liked the place because it had a fireplace. A real fireplace, not one of those gas flame things you turn off and on. Nothing better than sitting in front of a roaring fire on a cold winter night. I always wanted to have a fireplace in my house. Only thing is I don’t have a house, just an apartment. First things first.

  Janet was eating a salad, which she usually did. I never knew exactly what kind of salad she ordered when we went out. I just referred to them as “that green stuff you’re eating,” which generally elicited a roll of the eyes from her. Me, I was in a mood for comfort food because of the cold and blustery weather outside. I had the meat loaf with mushroom gravy on top, and buttery mashed potatoes on the side. Okay, it pretty much used up most of my calorie count for the day. But I’d skipped lunch, so I figured the daily calorie thing should work out about even. Of course, I wasn’t sure I could resist sampling the pastry tray later. But I’d worry about that when it happened.

  “Who’s the criminal lawyer for Laurie Bateman?” I asked between bites of my meat loaf.

  “Donna Grieco.”

  “Good choice.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “No.”

  “Then why … ?”

  “I just figured Laurie Bateman would hire the best when it came to a defense attorney. I mean she hired you for her divorce, right?”

  Janet smiled. She picked up a small piece of lettuce along with a plum tomato on her fork. Janet ate very neatly. She did everything very neatly. Me, I had already spilled mushroom gravy on my sleeve and made a mess on my plate with the buttery mashed potatoes.

  “Can you get me in to see this Grieco woman?” I asked her. “Maybe I could still get a Laurie Bateman interview. She owes me an interview, remember?”

  “Bateman’s in jail.”

  “What if she gets out on bail?”.

  “They don’t usually grant bail in a murder case.”

  “Okay, then I could do a jailhouse interview with her. It would be a great story. I could use this interview to prove that Laurie Bateman is innocent of murdering her husband.”

  “And if you can’t do that?”

  “Then maybe I can get her to admit she did kill him. Either way, that’s a big story for me.”

  Janet shook her head.

  “I think you have a better chance of the second option—a Laurie Bateman confession—than the first one.”

  “You think she’s guilty?”

  “Based on the evidence, I don’t see any other possibility.”

  “Jeez, and you’re her lawyer.”

  “Was her lawyer.”

  “Still …”

  I’d finished my meat loaf and potatoes. Janet was only halfway through her salad. I didn’t want her to feel awkward about eating without me, so I perused the pastry options. There was an apple pie a la mode—with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream on top. A real calorie buster if I ever saw one. I told myself I needed to show restraint. I thought about doing this for thirty seconds or so. Then I ordered the pie and the ice cream—but without the whipped cream. I figured that was a nice compromise.

  “Between you and me, Clare, there was another motive Laurie Bateman had to want her husband dead,” Janet said. “Even more of a motive than the divorce or the prenup or the other woman. I’m pretty sure the authorities know about it by now, and I’m betting this will be the biggest part of the case they build against her.”

  The apple pie with vanilla ice cream was really, really good—and it was going to take something damned big for me to stop eating it.

  But what Janet just said qualified as damned big.

  I put down my fork.

  “Okay, I’m listening,” I said.

  “At one point early in their marriage, when things were good between them—and he was apparently head over heels in love with her—Hollister rewrote his will. He previously had left pretty much everything to his family, especially his son Charles Jr. But under the current will he left the bulk of his money and, maybe even more importantly, controlling interest in the Hollister business empire, to his wife, Laurie. But recently, when things had begun to fall apart in the marriage, Hollister had notified her that he was in the process of rewriting the will again to cut her out of it because of the looming divorce. He died before he could do that. So his will giving everything to her is still the one in effect.”

  “Jesus! That is a pretty damning motive.”

  “Like I said, all the evidence looks to be stacked against her.”

  The apple pie and ice cream were still sitting there in front of me. They didn’t look so good anymore. But I wasn’t ready to give up yet. On the apple pie and ice cream. Or on Laurie Bateman. I dug my fork in, took a big bite, and thought for a few minutes about everything Janet had told me.

  “Sure, all the evidence makes it look like Laurie Bateman killed him,” I said finally. “But that’s only the evidence we know about. Maybe there’s more evidence out there. Evidence we don’t know about yet. And that evidence could point the finger at someone else as Charles Hollister’s murderer.”

  “And you’re the one who’s going to find that evidence?”

  “I have before on other stories.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  “So will you ask Donna Grieco about getting me an interview with Bateman?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Janet said.

  CHAPTER 10

  EVERYONE THOUGHT LAURIE Bateman was guilty. The police. The DA’s office. Even Janet, who had been her attorney, assumed she did it. All of the media had already pretty much convicted her, too. The New York Post polled readers on Twitter and found that more than 75 percent of them believed she had murdered Charles Hollister. Most of the others said they weren’t sure. Hardly any of them said she was innocent.

  The police had—and were continuing to add to—a pretty impressive collection of evidence that she was the one who killed her husband. There was motive—actually a couple of possible motives: money and jealousy; means, she owned the gun he was shot with; and opportunity, she was the only person at the apartment with the body and the broken lamp which had been used to deliver a deadly blow to his head when the maid arrived—and saw her trying to flee the crime scene. Yep, Laurie Bateman was obviously guilty as hell. Hardly even worth wasting tim
e on a murder trial. Let’s lock her up now and throw away the key.

  Unless you looked at it all from a different perspective.

  You see, I had seen seemingly airtight cases like this—even stronger cases than the one they had against Laurie Bateman—fall apart in the past. Once the police zeroed in on a prime suspect, they did their best to collect any and all evidence to prove that person did the crime. And, if they do come across any evidence that doesn’t support their “guilty” scenario, they ignore it. There wasn’t anything corrupt or illegal or negligent on their part; that was simply the way a police investigation worked. They want to convict the bad guy—or woman—they’ve got in their sights. So that’s the case they build, and anything that doesn’t fit into that neat little package is pushed aside.

  Just for the hell of it, I decided to do the opposite.

  Ignore the obvious suspect, Laurie Bateman.

  And look at who else might have murdered Charles Hollister.

  Maggie brought me an updated file she’d pulled together about Hollister—and we sat in my office going through it.

  “The bottom line is—and I found examples of this over and over again—Charles Hollister had made a lot of enemies,” Maggie told me. “He screwed all kinds of people over the years, both in bed and in the business world. If Laurie Bateman wasn’t caught red-handed at the scene, there’d be a long list of potential suspects. Charles Hollister was not a nice man.”

  “How not nice was he?”

  Maggie ran through a list of questionable, often barely legal, business transactions Hollister had been involved with over the years. He’d made a great deal of money from them. But he’d also left a lot of anger, heartbreak, and tragedy in his wake from people whose lives he had destroyed in his quest for profit.

  “It wasn’t only the big-money deals,” Maggie said. “He could be unbelievably cruel and heartless in other ways.