by Lis Wiehl
“Tests have been negative so far for heroin, morphine, and Percocet,” Nicole said. “Now the lab is testing some of the less common ones. But we won’t have the test results back for several days—maybe longer if they don’t get a match.”
Rod looked dubious. “I still keep coming back to the idea that it would have been incredibly risky to hand him the package and then hang around. Would Victoria have the guts to stay?”
Nicole shrugged. “What better way to provide herself an alibi than to stay with him until the end and then cry crocodile tears while she takes over his program?”
“I’m not sure I would agree,” Allison said. “If you want to look at people who had a beef with Jim Fate, the line would be down the block. So Victoria Hanawa and Jim Fate didn’t always see eye to eye. But is that enough reason to kill someone?” She knew that it actually was, that almost anything could be reason enough in the right person’s twisted mind. “Victoria didn’t evacuate the building. She stayed even though she knew that something in that room was killing Fate. She stayed even though he ordered her to leave. She says it was so he wouldn’t be alone.”
The idea nearly brought tears to Allison’s eyes. She remembered what it was like, thinking she might be dying, anonymous, surrounded by strangers in the street. To have someone there, comforting her, steadying her, would have been so welcome.
Nicole would not be swayed. “Yeah, but what happened after everyone else had evacuated? What if Hanawa stayed so she could take evidence? With no witnesses. Or only one witness. And she knew he wouldn’t be able to say anything.”
Leif asked, “How about people who were listeners, or who had been on the show?”
Smoothly shifting gears, Nicole said, “I think the family of Brooke Gardner has got to be at the top of the list. After all, their daughter killed herself after having been on the show and basically having him accuse her—falsely—of killing her own child. And Fate did receive a threat directly linked to her death.”
Allison added, “And there’s Congressman Quentin Glover. We’ve all seen that commercial. And the transcripts show that Fate was hammering him day after day, calling on him to resign. Chris told us he has gotten several angry phone calls from Glover, and that he and Fate were once personal friends.”
“There’s no greater enemy,” Rod said, “than an old friend.”
CHAPTER 29
Southeast Portland
Leif drove easily, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on the emergency brake, only a few inches from Nic’s left thigh. After calling earlier in the day, they were driving out to interview Brooke Gardner’s parents, who lived in outer southeast Portland.
For the past few weeks, Nic had begun carrying Leif around in her head. Every morning, when she put on a blouse or selected a pair of earrings, she wondered what he would think when he saw them. If she read an interesting article in the paper or watched an intriguing segment on the news, Nic imagined sharing it with him. Pushing her grocery cart through WinCo, she wondered if he liked sharp cheddar or had a favorite brand of Ben & Jerry’s.
A few weeks earlier, they had met for Saturday breakfast. Makayla had spent the night with Nic’s parents. Before she agreed to meet him, Nic made it clear to Leif that it wasn’t a date. That they were just friends. And he had kept it light, not touching her, or looking at her in a certain way, or even saying anything that a coworker wouldn’t say.
But now, sitting beside him, aware of his every breath, she wondered if she was making a mistake, the way Allison and Cassidy kept saying. Something had shifted inside her in that crowded stairwell, when she had been convinced that she was only a few minutes from death.
Leif ’s voice interrupted her musing. “What are you thinking?”
Nic wrenched her mind back to the case. “I think we’re missing something. But I can’t think what.” She looked out the window. Twenty years ago, this had all been fields. Now it was strip malls, strip joints, and used car lots.
“Let’s hope it comes to you. Because right now, the way I see it, the problem isn’t that we don’t have enough suspects. It’s that we have way too many.”
The Gardners lived in an aging apartment complex that covered a couple of blocks. Leif kept to the posted five miles per hour as they wound through the narrow streets curving around dozens of identical gray two-story buildings.
They found the unit they were looking for toward the back of the complex. As soon as Leif knocked, the door swung open. A man and a woman—Stan and Linda Gardner, Nic presumed—stood in the doorway. They were both blond, both a little overweight, and neither of them looked that much older than Nic.
But there was a third person with them, one she hadn’t expected. A toddler straddled Linda’s hip. After Leif and Nic introduced themselves, Linda said, “And this is Brandon.” He gave them a shy grin that showed his small, white teeth like freshwater pearls, then turned and pressed his face against his grandmother’s bosom.
The Gardners invited them in, and then settled into a worn, beige plaid couch. Leif took the tan recliner while Nic sat on the matching ottoman, which was the only other piece of furniture in the room.
“Do you know why we’re here?” Nic asked.
“I would guess this has something to do with what happened to Jim Fate,” Stan said. He regarded them steadily.
Leif opened up the file he had brought and held up a plastic evidence bag. Inside was the newspaper clipping about Brooke Gardner’s death—and the threat scrawled on top of it—that Nic had found in Jim’s office. The Gardners looked at it without any sign of curiosity or alarm.
Leif said, “We were able to use new technology to get fingerprints off this. And guess what? They match someone in this room. And it’s not me, and it’s not Special Agent Hedges. Or Brandon, for that matter.”
There were no prints on the clipping, so it was a lie, but it was a legal lie, one that often encouraged the guilty to immediately admit the truth. They had successfully used the same technique before. Two months earlier, Leif had told a robbery suspect that he had sent the mask the robber wore into the lab, which had been able to get a “facial print” off the mask. The robber had at once admitted his guilt.
Stan shook his head. “I didn’t write that.”
Linda said, “I did.”
They all, even Stan, turned to look at her.
“It was right after they figured out”—she looked down at her hand stroking her grandson’s fine blond hair—“that Brandon was alive. My only child was gone, and it was all Jim Fate’s fault, and Brandon’s father was threatening not to let us ever see our grandson again.” She made a sound of bitter amusement. “Grandparents basically don’t have any rights in Oregon. With just a few careless words, Jim Fate destroyed my entire family. He hounded my only child to death solely for the sake of getting more listeners. And he never even apologized. There were times I did want him dead. But I never acted on what I was feeling, other than to send him that note.” She took a shaky breath. “And we’ve all come to terms with it since then.”
“How could you come to terms?” Nic asked. She couldn’t buy it. “I’ve got a daughter. If someone caused her death, I would never, ever forgive them. I would probably hunt them down and kill them myself.”
Leif shot her a sideways look. They were supposed to be playing roles, but she figured he knew the truth when he heard it.
“And maybe one of us would have.” Stan raised his empty hands. “Except we probably would have just gunned Jim Fate down in the parking lot and then stood there and waited to be arrested. No sense in running and hiding when you’ve got nothing to live for. And no sense sending him some package not knowing who else would be in the room when he opened it. Our beef was with Jim Fate, not anyone else. Six months ago, I would have gladly looked into his beady, blue eyes and put a bullet right between them. Linda and I used to talk about it. About how we would do it. The only thing that stopped us was this little guy here.” He reached out with one square hand and
cradled Brandon’s left foot, clad in a tiny blue Nike. “If we killed Jim Fate, we risked never seeing Brandon again.”
The boy gave him a smile, which made Stan grin in return.
Linda said, “Look, a couple of months ago, we got four hundred thousand dollars from our settlement with KNWS. Maybe the money is what brought Jason—Brandon’s dad—around, I don’t know, but now we’re back in his good graces. We babysit Brandon every day while Jason is at work. Sure, I know, it’s free child care for him, but I get to see my little baby grandson every day. Brandon is just a wonderful, wonderful boy. And he reminds me so much of his mother.”
While Linda directed her words to them, she simultaneously played a game with Brandon, poking him under his arm or in his round tummy. Now he let out a delighted giggle. She raised her eyes to their faces. “So, no, we didn’t kill Jim Fate. By the grace of God, we didn’t do it.”
As they were getting back into the car, Leif asked Nic, “What do you think? Do you believe them?”
“I think I do, actually. I think we need to look someplace else.”
Leif raised one eyebrow. “Would you still think that if I told you that they have a nephew who is a paintball enthusiast?”
The news made Nic raise her head, like a dog catching a scent. Paintballers used smoke grenades. Was she going soft, getting distracted? Why was she making decisions based on emotions and not facts? “Knowing that, I’m going to have to reserve judgment. Has anyone questioned the nephew yet?”
“It’s happening as we speak.” He shot her an amused look. “You’re second-guessing yourself now, aren’t you?”
His crooked grin made her stomach do a slow flip.
“If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re right. I think those two were telling the truth. They wouldn’t risk losing their grandson.”
What was she thinking, continually letting this guy slip past her guard? Nic kept herself to herself for a reason. In a careful voice she said, “I don’t think I’ve had a chance to thank you for tracking me down during the gas leak.”
“Well, that hug you gave me was a good start.”
Heat flooded her face. “That’s the thing, Leif. I shouldn’t have done that. And going out to breakfast with you a couple of weeks ago was . . . Well, I don’t want to say it was a mistake, but I think it sent the wrong message.”
“Wait a minute. This isn’t going to be one of those ‘Let’s just be friends’ speeches, is it? Because A, you already gave it to me. And B, I already am your friend. At least I like to think I’m your work friend. But Nic, I can’t lie to you—I want to be more. I want to be your friend outside of work too. And I even want to be more than that. I won’t deny it. But if all you feel comfortable with is friendship, that’s fine. And if you don’t want either of those things, if you just want me to be your coworker and that’s all, then I’ll accept that.”
Leif raised an eyebrow, and she guessed that it cost him to keep it light. “And I won’t even let you know how much you are missing.”
“What if I don’t know what I want?” Nic said softly. Those weren’t the words she had intended to say, but they came out anyway. “What if some days I want one thing, but the next I want something different?”
He lifted his hand from the emergency brake, gave her left hand a brief squeeze, then let go. “All I can tell you, Nic, is that whatever you want, whatever you’re ready for, whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”
CHAPTER 30
Keller Auditorium
Friday, February 10
Jim Fate’s funeral was held at the Keller Auditorium, only a few blocks from KNWS. Every one of the nearly three thousand seats was filled. As in so much of her life, Cassidy was present in two capacities: as a participant and as a reporter. She was expected to write a story about the funeral as soon as it was over. Andy, along with dozens of other cameramen from media outlets all over the country, was relegated to the balcony.
Eric had told her that more than half of the “Heavy Hundred”—a list of the top American talk show hosts ranked by Talkers Magazine— were expected to be in attendance. As she walked into the lobby, Cassidy saw a few famous faces, but thanks to the nature of radio, many of the attendees were anonymous enough that only their bodyguards and the outlines of bulletproof vests under their dark suits gave them away. Making up the bulk of the crowd were hundreds of people who, Cassidy guessed, were just fans of Jim. Although he would never have used the word “just” to describe them.
Entering the auditorium, Cassidy caught sight of the gleaming mahogany coffin onstage. It was hard to imagine that Jim was in that wooden box. How could someone so much larger than life be in there? The thought made her feel panicky, and she pushed it away. She would definitely need Jim’s Somulex tonight. To the left of the coffin was a podium, and to the right was a string quartet. While she could see them moving their bows over their instruments, the crowd made too much noise for her to hear them.
Was Jim’s killer somewhere in the auditorium, mingling with the others drawn here for their own reasons? Cassidy knew that police would be photographing license plates and videotaping people as they walked through the doors.
She waved at Allison on the far side of the room. As she looked for a seat, she saw Nicole sitting toward the back and gave her a smile. Nicole answered with a single nod. Does that woman ever loosen up? Cassidy wondered. Sometimes when she was with Nicole, especially on the rare occasions when Allison wasn’t around, Cassidy was painfully aware that she was just too much—too talkative, too disorganized, too loud. Next to Nicole’s dark pantsuits, even her clothes seemed too bright.
Cassidy plopped her much-maligned tote into one of two empty seats. But eventually a woman stood in front of the seat and glared at Cassidy until she was forced to set the tote on top of her feet. If you need a tissue, Cassidy thought, don’t look at me. She got more glares from the woman when she pulled out her notebook and began to take notes.
Cassidy ignored the frowns and sighs. She had a theory. Act as if you were allowed to do something, or deserved something, or that it was only natural—and after a while people would begin to believe it.
The ceremony began with a minister reading the Twenty-third Psalm, and then praying for all those Jim had left behind. For a minute Cassidy hoped that Jim, wherever he might be now, could see the full house. She knew it would mean a lot to him.
After uttering a few vague platitudes, the minister turned the mike over to a tall, stooped man, who cleared his throat nervously.
“Hello, I’m Aaron Elmhurst. I’m the program director for KNWS. I had the privilege of hiring Jim Fate twelve years ago. I thought I was doing him a favor, but it was really the other way around. It wasn’t long before he found his voice and turned our little station into a powerhouse. A lot of you out there probably want to know how he did it. What was his magic? I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He leaned closer to the mike. “I have no idea.”
There was scattered laughter.
“Jim could take the kernel of a story and turn it into a provocative show you couldn’t stop listening to. He had such a way with words. A way of cutting straight to the point that was as sharp as a razor blade. I mean, sure, sometimes you would say, ‘Holy cow! That’s not what you expect to hear on the air.’ But that was what made you listen to Jim.” Aaron paused to wipe his eyes. “This might come as a surprise to those of you who only knew Jim from his on-air personality, but Jim mentored and inspired so many people. And he was loved by so many. He may have had a bombastic personality on air, but he was a very compassionate and caring human being in his private life.”
Cassidy wondered if they were thinking of the same Jim. She had liked Jim, liked him a lot, but they had had something in common. They both realized that they had to look out for themselves. That no one else would do it for them.
Aaron ended by saying, “And if any of you would like to come up here and share stories about Jim, please do so now.” There was a pause, as everyone
waited for someone else to go first.
Finally, Victoria Hanawa made her way to the stage. Cassidy watched her closely. This was the woman Jim had wanted her to replace. She was tall and slender and painfully erect. Her high cheekbones were sharp under her skin, her eyes dark shadows.
“I was with Jim those last few moments. As you’ve all heard by now, he died a hero. He knew he had been poisoned, but he refused to expose anyone else.” She forced a smile onto her face. “But I’m not here to dwell on how he died, but on how he lived. And how he worked. Jim did his homework. But there were days I would come in with carefully researched pieces, and he would show up with something he had read in the National Enquirer the night before and light up the board for hours.”
Appreciative chuckles rippled through the room.
“What I liked best about Jim was that he wasn’t afraid to tell it like it was. And if anyone dared to disagree with him?” She pretended to hesitate. “Can I say rant? Is that too strong a word? There’s a reason people called him The Talkmaster or The Man Who Will Not Shut Up.”
Now laughter rolled through the audience. Victoria leaned closer to the mike.
“Can I get a ‘Hey now’?” she asked, echoing one of Jim’s catchphrases.
“Hey now!” came the response from all sides. Even Cassidy found herself calling out the phrase.
Victoria’s smile faltered. “I keep thinking of arguments I want to have with him. But now I won’t.” She burst into tears. “Jim, I wasn’t through with you yet.”
Aaron took her arm as she left the podium. By now there was a line waiting to speak.
Willow Klonsky, Jim’s intern, said, “I dreamed my whole life that I would work with Jim Fate. But I never dreamed that my life would be saved by him.”
A nationally known radio talk show host said, “People say that Jim Fate was hated by some. Just look at how many of us are here. I think we put the lie to that.”
Chris Sorenson, Jim’s call screener, said, “I hope that wherever Jim is, there’s a mike there. Because taking it away would be like cutting off his air. He needed to be talking to strangers from behind a microphone.”
