Scoop

by Rene Gutteridge

  “Why?” Hugo asked.

  “Don’t you want first chance at the story?”

  “What story?”

  “You’re the news guy. You don’t think a local news anchor gone missing is a story?”

  “Wait…wait a minute,” Hugo said. “I don’t want this thing to make the news. Why can’t you do your investigation quietly and get back to me?”

  “I can’t promise that another station won’t get wind of it.”

  Hugo stared at his desk. How could this be happening?

  “Besides, you owe me.”

  “Excuse me?” Hugo asked.

  “After how I was treated Friday, I think it’s a good move on your part to make sure you show me, and my department, in a good light.”

  “What are you talking about? How were you treated?”

  “Why don’t you ask Ray Duffey about that?”

  Hugo looked up at Ray, who stared at the carpet. At the pause, Ray looked up.

  “I’ll do that,” Hugo said.

  “We’ll be designating the condo as a crime scene in about fifteen minutes.”

  “All right.”

  Hugo hung up the phone and looked at Ray. “What’s going on?”

  “Sir?”

  “Captain Wynn is ticked off and says he was treated poorly.”

  A worried expression crossed Ray’s face. “I…I had to cancel an interview with him Friday.”

  “Why?”

  Ray fumbled his words. “Look, I decided there was more to the Green story than meets the eye. I was supposed to interview Captain Wynn about the investigation into Green’s assault, but something told me…well, I went to Green’s house.”

  “I know. I told you not to. Mr. Arbus indicated that Mr. Green is threatening to sue us.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry about that. But he said something very interesting.”

  “What?”

  “He told me I should ask Gilda Braun why he was so angry.”

  “Gilda? What does she have to do with this?”

  “That’s what I wanted to find out, sir.”

  “Well, speaking of Gilda, that’s who Captain Wynn was calling about. Apparently someone broke into her condo this weekend.”

  Ray’s eyes widened.

  “They think there may be foul play involved.”

  “Why?”

  “Because someone broke into her condo.”

  “Well that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It apparently means something to Captain Wynn. He wants us to cover the story.”

  “He does?”

  “He said we owe him. So get out there pronto.” Hugo paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “Do we even want this to be a story?”

  “Well…I was ‘the story,’ and all that happened to me was I banged my head.”

  “You got assaulted on live television. We didn’t have a choice about coverage. This is Gilda, though.” Hugo knew a certain level of fear permeated his tone.

  “And with the captain calling already, it doesn’t look like we have a choice in this case either.”

  Hugo stood and closed his eyes. Already, it was turning out to be another bad day.

  “Where are you going?” Ray said.

  “To talk to Mr. Arbus. Tell him what’s going on.”

  “Oh.”

  Hugo walked past Ray and was almost out the door, when he stopped. “You mentioned you had more evidence about the wastewater treatment plant?”

  Ray shook his head. “No. I mean, it’s nothing important. It can wait.”

  Hugo walked out, his ear trained for his office phone, hoping it would ring and hoping it would be Jane.

  “Roarke!” Ray said, scrambling toward him. Roarke looked up, his normally unexpressive face lighting up. “Roarke!”

  “What?”

  “Keep your voice down!” Ray hissed.

  “My voice is down. What’s with you?” Roarke said.

  Ray looked around to make sure he hadn’t drawn attention. Roarke looked around too. Then their eyes met.

  “The police went to Gilda’s condo this morning. They saw the picked lock on the deck door. They’re calling it a crime scene! Hugo’s sending me out to cover it right now!”

  Roarke grew pale.

  “You have to tell them, Roarke.”

  “Tell them! Why?”

  “Because, they think it’s a crime scene, and it’s not.”

  “It might be,” Roarke said. “Something has happened to Gilda. I’m glad the police are taking this seriously.”

  “Roarke—”

  “If a picked lock makes them take a second look, then good. Maybe they’ll find her. I’m telling you, Ray, I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Roarke, you can’t be serious!” Ray lowered his voice. “You have to tell them it was you!”

  “No way, dude. Then they’ll ask why I was there and I’ll have to explain the love letters.”

  “But—”

  “Besides, how are you going to explain those letters I gave you?”

  Ray sighed.

  “Did you read them?”

  “Yeah,” Ray said.

  “What’d they say?”

  Ray turned so his voice wouldn’t drift into the newsroom. “They were unbelievable. Four letters signed P.G. about the sewage plant!”

  “What? The sewage plant? How is Green involved?”

  “According to the letters, this P.G. used to work for the sewage plant. He wrote Gilda four letters telling her that a chemical they had begun using was dangerous. His first letter told her how much he trusted her, because she looked like a nice woman and seemed to really care about the city. The second letter reiterated his admiration and explained again his concerns about the plant. He’d been fired, he says, because he protested the switching of the chemicals, said they were unsafe and weren’t worth risking people’s lives by saving money.

  “By the third letter, he was clearly upset that no one had explored his story. He writes again about the dangers of the chemicals and says the station has an obligation to investigate.

  “The fourth letter—well, let’s just say it can be summed up by Mr. Green’s left hook to my head.”

  Roarke looked dumbfounded.

  “That’s why he was so mad. It didn’t have anything to do with the pigs. He hates our station because he felt like Gilda didn’t do anything.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Gilda,” Roarke said. “Gilda would at least look into something like that.”

  “I agree. But Green is illiterate, or close to it. Most of the words were spelled wrong and written in large letters. Sometimes the letters were backward. The writing was in pencil, very heavy on the page, almost like a kid using a crayon. These letters could’ve easily come across to Gilda as from some crazed maniac.”

  Roarke shook his head. “I know Gilda. She wouldn’t dismiss a letter like that just because of misspelled words.”

  “It sounds like she did, Roarke. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. There have to be answers.” Ray looked at his watch. “I have to go. Hugo wants me shooting footage at the crime scene.”

  “You don’t want to keep the captain waiting.” As Ray turned to go, Roarke grabbed his arm. “Not a word about my being there.”

  “Roarke, just think—”

  “Not a word.”

  Ray sighed and looked into his friends eyes. Roarke never asked for much from their friendship. Ray could guess how humiliated Roarke would be if the police found out about his love letters. He nodded and turned, racing toward his desk for his notepad. Beaker was probably already in the van, waiting for him.

  The shrill sound of the phone drew his hand toward it. Don’t answer it, Duffey. He looked at his watch. He still had a few minutes to spare. And something told him this phone call was going to be important. You don’t have time….

  “Hello?”

  “Ray Duffey?” The voice was digitally scrambled and sounded like that of a man who’d smoked eighteen packs a
day. A chill tickled his spine and stood his hair on end.

  “Yes?” Ray breathed.

  “I have some important information for you.”

  Chapter 24

  Hugo watched Chad Arbus’s expression carefully, but to his surprise, Chad’s face lacked any expression at all. The response was only silence as Chad folded his fingers together and placed his hands against his mouth, which propped his head up as he stared at his desk.

  “Sir?” Hugo finally asked.

  “I’m thinking, Hugo,” he said. “Sometimes you have to think.”

  Hugo wanted to talk, not think. He wanted to talk this thing through, figure it out.

  Finally Chad said, “Why not?”

  “You’re serious?” Hugo asked.

  “Of course I’m serious. This is a story, Hugo. Surely you recognize a story when you see one.”

  “But we’re talking about Gilda. How are we supposed to remain objective? I mean, it was one thing to cover Ray’s story, but this could be serious. Something terrible could’ve happened to Gilda.”

  “And as our luck would have it, it happened during sweeps week.” Chad glanced at Hugo. “It sounds cold, Hugo, but its the news business. We can’t pick and choose how the world decides to self-destruct and who goes with it. We can only offer pictures and commentary.”

  “Gilda wouldn’t want us to do this,” Hugo complained. “She has a reputation to think about. She is highly regarded in this community, and she would never approve.”

  “That might be true, but what can we do? She’s not around to give her opinion, is she?”

  “We don’t even know if this is a real story yet. We don’t know what has happened to her. We can’t report on what we don’t know.”

  As Chad unthreaded his fingers, a tolerant smile spread thinly across his face. “All right, Hugo, if that’s the way you want to play it.”

  “Play what?”

  “You’re going to sit across from me and act like your conscience is bothering you.”

  Hugo looked away. Was his conscience bothering him? Shouldn’t it be? He looked back at Chad, who now wore an amused expression. Hugo tried another angle. “Look, Ray may be on to something. He says there may be more to the sewage plant explosion.”

  “The sewage plant is an old story, Hugo. Surely you know that.”

  “Maybe it has run its course, maybe it hasn’t. But there still hasn’t been a good explanation for what caused the explosion. There may be more to the story. If anyone can find out, Ray Duffey can.”

  Chad shook his head. “No. Let it go.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t have the guts to say it, but I do.”

  “Say what?”

  Chad leaned forward. “Hugo, you and I both know this business is not about covering the best news. It’s about sensationalizing the news you do cover.”

  Hugo felt embarrassed, for himself and for Chad. It wasn’t what the news business used to be about. Not in the old days. It used to be about keeping viewers informed with real news they could use. Not car chases and people dangling off the sides of buildings.

  Chad grinned. “We could cover an apple dropping from a tree, and with the right music, sad-looking people, and sound bites, we create an angle. And that’s what it’s all about. The angle. Something mundane becomes something sensational. And then it becomes news.” Chad leaned back in his chair without taking his eyes off Hugo. “I’m still waiting for that independent analysis to come back, Hugo. And when it does, it will be interesting to see who the weak links are. Know what I mean? Somewhere there’s a weak link.”

  Hugo stood.

  “Where are you going?” Chad asked casually, apparently surprised that Hugo had actually stood without Chad’s prompting.

  “To work,” Hugo said, making a dramatic gesture toward the door.

  “Are you putting that girl back at the anchors desk?”

  “Her name is Hayden Hazard. And yes.”

  Chad nodded. “I think it’s a good plan. She has the right look, seems to be able to connect with the audience. I’d like to see her in a blouse cut a bit lower. Gilda always liked to unbutton the top two. Not too much, but enough.”

  “Why don’t we worry about getting through the newscast without imploding tonight, okay?” Hugo walked out, hoping Chad would threaten to fire him. If he were fired today, he doubted he would shed a tear.

  Ray looked around the newsroom, then at his watch. He was going to be late to the scene if he didn’t leave within a couple of minutes. He didn’t want to risk ticking off the captain again, but as he clutched the phone to his ear, he also knew he couldn’t just hang up. Not without asking a few questions.

  “What kind of information?” Ray asked the heavy breather on the other end of the phone.

  “Information that will put a few puzzle pieces in place.”

  Ray tried to find the in-control, cool-headed reporter that he knew lived somewhere inside of him. “You’ll have to be more specific. We’re solving several puzzles right now.”

  “I’m only interested in one.” Ray heard a smile in the voice.

  “Okay. What is it?”

  “First of all, I need to know that I can trust you.”

  Ray blinked, glancing around the newsroom again. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “Well, Ray, I’m the one with the information, so you’ll just have to risk it.”

  “You know my name,” Ray said, starting to feel the thrill of it all surge through his veins. “What’s yours?”

  There was a pause. A long one.

  “I…um…don’t call me anything.”

  Ray lifted an eyebrow. “I need to know what to call you.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s just how it’s done. The caller or informant always has a name they go by. Like…Deep Throat.”

  “That’s no good. I don’t want to be called anything associated with pornography.”

  “I understand.” An awkward pause followed.

  “I’ve got it,” the voice said. “Call me the Midnight Cowboy.”

  “The Midnight Cowboy?”

  “Yes. That sounds good. Shadowy.”

  “Are you talking about the movie with Dustin Hoffman and Jon Voight?”

  “Never saw the movie, but yes.”

  Ray paused. “Well, um, that’s about two gigolos in New York City.”

  “I thought it was about rodeos.”

  “You might be thinking about Urban Cowboy.” Ray offered.

  “Urban Cowboy. That doesn’t have as good a ring to it.”

  “It had Debra Winger in it. She’s cool.”

  “I liked her in Terms of Endearment and An Officer and a Gentleman. That’s it.”

  Ray stared at his desk. This call was getting more and more bizarre.

  “What about Electric Horseman?” Ray offered. He was running out of ideas, time—and cowboy movies.

  “How can I be dark and shadowy with an electric light suit on?”

  “You won’t actually be wearing an electric light suit. It’s just the name I’ll call you.”

  Another long pause. “All right. Electric Horseman it is.”

  “Great,” Ray said, feeling exasperated. “Now, about the information.”

  “The director of the plant, Mr. Crumm, has been investigated for embezzlement schemes. Start there.”

  Ray had his pencil and notebook in hand, but he didn’t write anything down. “I know that.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. What else do you have?”

  “Petey Green, who assaulted you, used to work at the wastewater treatment plant.”

  Ray sighed. “I know that too.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Look, Electric Horseman, I’m not about to divulge my sources here. But so far, you haven’t given me anything I don’t already know.”

  “I’m trying to help you. You’re not being very grateful.”

  “You’re not being very helpful.” Ray looked at his watch. He had t
o leave now if he wanted any chance of the captain still being at Gilda’s condo. “I’ve got to go, but why don’t you call me back if you have anything else that’s helpful.”

  He could hear an irritated sigh, or what he thought was a sigh. It was hard to tell with the voice scrambler. “One more. Did you know Mr. Crumm owns the company that makes the chemical that may be responsible for the explosion of the plant?”

  Ray’s grip tightened around the phone. He’d only heard about the embezzling. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Tell no one of our conversation. You’ll be hearing from me soon,” said Electric Horseman, and the phone went dead.

  Ray tore off the page in his notepad, stuffed it in his pocket, and raced toward the door, where he could see Beaker coming toward him. “I’m coming!” Ray said, and Beaker sneered and walked out. Ray walked as fast as he could toward the door. As he opened it, he ran right into a woman standing outside.

  “I’m so sorry!” Ray said, reaching down to help her off the pavement. When she looked up at him, Ray was mortified to recognize Mack, Hayden’s sister. “Oh.”…

  “Hi, Ray,” she smiled, helping herself up. “Don’t worry, I’m okay. It’s stupid to stand in front of a door anyway.”

  “No, really, it was my fault,” he said, trying his best to make a good impression while watching Beaker out of the corner of his eye throw up his arms in disgust. “How…how are you?”

  “Fine. Just hanging around the station. I’m here for a week, so I thought it’d be fun to see what Hayden does.”

  “Oh. Good.” Ray needed to bolt to the van, but how would that look? He’d nearly knocked her unconscious.

  “What are you up to?”

  Ray pitched a thumb toward the van, where Beaker stood with his arms crossed. “Just getting ready to cover a story. Crime scene,” Ray added, hoping to make himself sound exciting, since he wasn’t doing a good job of making any other kind of impression.

  Mack’s eyes lit up. “Really? A crime scene?”

  “Yeah.” Ray smiled. “I have to get going now. But I hope to see you again before you leave.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  “What?”

  “Just a ride-along? You know, like we do in the police department. I promise to stay out of your way.”

  Ray glanced at Beaker. Maybe having Mack along would keep the cameraman from griping. “Why not?” he said, smiling.