“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.
“I know you tried to communicate with Gilda Braun about it. You signed your initials instead of your name.”
“How do you know that?” Green snapped.
Ray tried to keep his calm. “Mr. Green, I’m an investigative journalist. You told me to go figure this thing out, so I did. And I’m starting to find out some things that appear, at least on the surface, very disturbing. For one, your old boss, Howard Crumm, owns the company that supplies the chemical in question.”
Green nodded, putting his cigarette into a bowl. “I was a nobody at the plant, you understand. But I came to work every day and did my job. I noticed one day that one of the chemicals we used had changed. The smell was different, and the color was a darker shade of blue. So I went to my supervisor and asked a few questions. The more questions I asked about it, the more I was told to shut up. But I take my job seriously, you know. I knew the chemicals I handled could be dangerous. Finally I was told that they switched chemicals because the new one was cheaper and did the same job. I questioned its safety, I got fired. They said I was stirring up trouble. I tried everything I could, but I was just one man against…well, a lot of people who just wanted me to stop talking. So I decided the best way to get their attention and others’ was to put the media on it. I watch your news channel. I thought Gilda Braun really cared about people. But when it came down to it, the truth came out. I watched every day for four months, and the plant was never mentioned on the news, not once. I was ignored, and look what happened.”
Ray decided to try to steer
the conversation away from the mans grudge. “Tell me how you discovered Crumm was involved.”
“I decided to figure out where this chemical was coming from. This was after I was fired. When I went to get my stuff out of my locker, I wrote down everything from the bottom of the plastic barrel. It took me about six weeks, but I figured out who was at the end of the rope. A company called Betreal. Crumm owns it, like you said. It’s covered up with a lot of other companies, so you can’t just trace it back by looking up a few things. But if you keep digging, you find Crumm. Betreal owns companies that own companies that own companies, if you know what I mean.”
“So Crumm would’ve benefited financially by switching chemicals.”
“Yep. He used a cheaper chemical, so he probably was pocketing what he saved there, plus he was being paid for the use of the chemical.”
Petey Green sounded a lot more educated in person than he did in his letters. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Mr. Green,” Ray promised. He stood and offered a hand to shake. Green looked pleased as he shook it.
“Thank you. Thank you for believing me.”
“I’ll get back to you.”
Ray walked to the door, and just as he was about to leave, Green said, “And listen, not that my opinion means anything, but that Hazard girl, she’s one good anchor.”
Chapter 27
Hugo had been watching Sam carefully all day. He seemed back to normal. Hugo had no idea what had gotten into him Friday, but he’d made several intentional trips to the weather center, and Sam seemed fine, though not apologetic. Hugo wasn’t going to push it. He had a lot of ground to cover.
Hayden was working hard on her script, and so was Tate. Amazingly, this woman seemed to put everyone at ease. Though nothing would get rid of Tate’s infamous smirk except a mouth transplant, he did seem more confident with Hayden by his side. So Hugo decided to give Tate a couple more serious stories.
Unfortunately, it was looking to be a dull news day. Almost always, Hugo could count on a car wreck, a shooting, a fire—something spectacular. But all was calm, so he sent Trent out to the mall to do a story on how many stores had Christmas decorations up before Thanksgiving. That wouldn’t win any ratings points, but if Chad was right, Gilda’s disappearance might.
Hugo went to the break room to get a glass of water, instead of using the pricey bottled water out of the fridge. He was an old dog. He knew it. But to his credit (and probably nobody would agree with him), he’d come a long way in changing with the times. Sure, there were things he still couldn’t get past—like casual dress at the office or calling everyone by their first name—but he’d also conceded things too. He permitted personal calls when needed, and he had put in vending machines for those who couldn’t manage to pack their own lunch.
He worried a lot about the next generation. It wasn’t that he necessarily saw a lack of work ethic. Every kid he knew here worked like a horse. He supposed it was the sense of entitlement that concerned him, that if they made A and B happen, then C should be handed to them. He worried about their expectations, their spending habits, their ideals, and where they set their hopes and dreams.
Of course, who was he to talk? He was having a hard time managing his own life. He couldn’t make it through the day without anxiety medication for an anxiety disorder he didn’t have. And expectations? He had plenty to keep people in his life weary.
Maybe he was holding on too much to the past. He still remembered the days when his father would come home at 5:30 p.m. sharp, and dinner was always served at 6:30 p.m. sharp. They would watch television together for exactly one hour, and then his mother would help him get ready for bed. His father would always come upstairs and read him a story before bed, and then the three of them would sit on the edge of Hugo’s bed and pray.
Those days were long gone, but they were comfortable, secure days. His father died of a brain aneurysm when Hugo was seventeen, and his mother passed away four years ago after living in a nursing home for nearly a decade.
What about this life was so worth all the effort? There were pockets of pleasure, days of peace, but most of the time, life was lousy. One could never keep up with anything or anybody. There was always more work to do, more people to please, more effort to give. And for what? Another day worse than the one before?
Hugo sipped his water and leaned against the wall. Maybe if he’d had a different disposition. He was kind of a negative guy. But he hadn’t always been. He’d grown that way the older he’d become.
Now he had his own daughter to raise, and nobody could tell him he wasn’t giving it his all. Every extra ounce of energy and money he had was spent raising that girl. And it was only lately that he’d begun to resent Jane’s work. He just wanted her to be happy—maybe he just wanted to be his wife and daughter’s champion. But maybe he was just a chump.
Ray walked in to the break room, straight toward Hugo, as if he expected him to be there, except this room didn’t have glass walls.
“Mr. Talley, I’ve got a lot of information for you.”
“A while ago you didn’t want to give me any information.”
“Just hear me out. Green found out that Howard Crumm, the plant director, was using a chemical…an unsafe chemical…brought in from a company that Crumm also owns.”
“Green…the pig guy?”
“Yes. Crumm’s company is hidden by a lot of different other front or shelter companies. But if you keep digging, you find a company called Betreal at the end of it all. Crumm is the CEO.”
“This chemical—did Crumm know it was unsafe?”
“That’s not clear, but Green said he tried several times to bring that possibility to his superiors’ attention, and he was fired for it.”
“So all we have are Green’s charges? You have nothing else to corroborate this?”
Ray hesitated.
“Ray, what else?”
Ray sighed. “I got a phone call from someone calling himself Electric Horseman. He’s the one who gave me the Crumm lead that Green verified.”
“Electric Horseman?”
“I know the story sounds crazy. Comes complete with a voice scrambler.”
“This is what you were keeping so hush-hush?”
“Look, whoever is calling wants us to know more about the plant explosion, but he’s going to great lengths to make sure we don’t identify him. He’s probably scared the same thing is going to happen to him that happened to Green.”
“So Green, the man at the center of the pig controversy, is now at the center of the plant explosion?”
“That’s why he attacked me. He’s been so mad at our station because he wrote several letters to Gilda and—”
“Letters to Gilda? How is Gilda involved in this?”
Ray paused. “I found letters that Green sent to Gilda about the plant.”
“What kind of letters?”
“Green was trying to get our station to pay attention to this problem before it got out of hand.”
“What?” Hugo could hardly believe what he was hearing. “We can’t get involved in something like this.”
“We can make things right, Mr. Talley. We didn’t listen the first time. Now we have a second chance.”
“I told you not to see Green!”
“I know you did. And I’m sorry. But I had to follow the story.” Ray’s expression looked stoic. “It’s news, Mr. Talley. This is real news, news that affects people’s lives. Isn’t this what we do all this for? Isn’t this what you always tell me the news world used to be like, before we began worshiping the gods of sensationalized video clips?”
Hugo looked away. He’d always thought of Ray as his protégé. Now look what he’d created. A kid with a conscience. Hugo wiped the moisture from his lip. Chad had insisted they not run with this story, but that was before they had this information. Chad really wanted the Gilda story to be the top news, but it was a publicity stunt to say the least. Maybe this story would persuade Chad to dial it back a notch where
Gilda was concerned.
“Let me get a piece together for it,” Ray said. “This is the story, Hugo. This is it! We’re the only channel that has this information.”
“I’ll talk to Mr. Arbus. It’s not definitive. Don’t get your hopes up about it. And you better have something ready for the Gilda story that you were supposed to be working on.”
“It’s ready to go.”
Hugo raised an eyebrow. “That was fast. Didn’t have much to work with?”
“It’s a developing story.”
“I’ll get back to you.”
Hugo could see the contained excitement in Ray’s face as he respectfully nodded and rushed out of the room. He guzzled down the rest of his water and headed to Chad’s office.
But to his surprise, Chad wasn’t there. And Hugo couldn’t find him anywhere.
Ray was busy in editing bay three. Excitement continued to stir inside of him. There was nothing like the idea of bringing down a crook. He already had plans for tomorrow. He would start interviewing plant employees to see what they had heard. He imagined many of them would be reluctant to talk, especially if they had their suspicions about the chemical. But Ray felt sure he would be able to gather enough information to make Crumm very, very nervous. He hoped he would be watching tonight.
He’d covered all his tracks. He’d left a message for Crumm to call him back, knowing full well that Crumm wasn’t returning phone calls from anybody in the media. Still, there was the off chance that the plant director might want to tell his side of the story. Ray was careful not to tip him off about the nature of the phone call.
He glanced up and noticed Jill in the doorway, her arms crossed. The room was so small that having someone stand in the doorway made Ray feel claustrophobic. “Jill,” he acknowledged.
“Ray,” she said, smiling. He pretended not to notice. Any time Jill smiled, it meant she was going to say something to make him feel small. “Did you hear?”
“Jill, I’ve been kind of busy,” Ray said.
“I landed Gilda’s week-long piece about diseases we can catch from animals.”
Scoop Page 22
