by Gen LaGreca
After her show, Laura returned to her office. She turned on one of the television screens on her wall. She'd already seen the online coverage of the story, but she wanted to observe how network competition had covered the case of James Spenser's murder. She called up a replay of the flagship program of the Miller News Network, which had just finished its live telecast. It, too, broadcast from the nation's capital, and it aired at the same time as her show. The Nightly News and Views with Sean Browne began with its handsome eponymous host covering the political scene in Washington, DC. Laura fast-forwarded to the point when Sean Browne addressed the murder.
"Police in Washington, DC, believe that a robbery went terribly wrong today when the victim attempted to fight back and was fatally shot by his armed assailant. The victim, James Spenser, who worked for the Bureau of Elections, was in the parking lot of Bailey's bar and restaurant in the southeast part of the city when the attack happened."
Sean Browne had two guests on his show whom he questioned about the incident. One was a crime stopper, who cautioned the audience against resisting an assailant.
"It's better not to fight back," he said. "Just give up your wallet, or purse, or whatever else the attacker is after."
The other guest was the spokesperson for the Bureau of Elections, the woman who had left Laura's multiple messages that day unanswered, but who was now appearing on the program of her strongest competitor.
"We mourn the loss of our colleague and friend, James Spenser, who was killed during a robbery today. He was a man of integrity with a strong record of public service."
Sean informed the audience that the police would provide extra patrols in the area where the murder was committed until they found the perpetrator.
Was Spenser the random victim of a perpetrator on the loose who remained a danger to others? Laura wondered. That was the story Miller News and other media outlets were spreading. Surely, that isn't true.
She observed the demeanor of her college classmate, Sean Browne. He was a senior when she was a freshman at Collier University. Today, at thirty-two, he was considered the town's most desirable bachelor. Even in close-ups he was flawlessly handsome in the style that people described as clean-cut, with perfectly proportioned features, dark brown hair and eyes, and an engaging smile. Yet something was missing—a spark in the eyes, a vibrancy to the face. Sean's eyes were calm, and his face was static. Reading his lines off the teleprompter, his manner was pleasant without being critical. Interviewing guests, he questioned without probing. He was like a pristine ship that sailed only in calm waters, never battling the gales and swells of raging storms.
Not a hint of James Spenser's suspicions about the SafeVote program appeared in Sean Browne's report, although Laura knew he was aware of the matter. Just how much did Sean know? She was determined to find out.
The smiling maître d' came out from behind his stand to show Laura and Sean to a table.
"Good evening," he said, cradling two menus in his arms. "Follow me, please."
That Sunday The Waves, the city's trendy seafood eatery, was quieter than it was on other nights of the week. Good, Laura thought, it'll be conducive to conversation.
The couple was escorted into the dining room, with its famed walls of aquamarine glass, laced with curved metallic strips to simulate the ocean and its currents. Rippled daily by schools of journalists, lobbyists, and politicians, The Waves had seen more than its share of tsunamis.
The maître d' recognized the diners.
"My daughter loves your show, Ms. Taninger," he said, as he extended a chair for Laura. "And my other daughter loves your show, Mr. Browne."
"Do your two daughters speak to each other?" Laura quipped.
The three of them laughed as the maître d' handed them menus and left.
"Why do we speak to each other?" Sean asked. "We're supposed to be fierce rivals, aren't we?"
She smiled in reply.
"Never mind, I know the answer. It's because I like seeing you, and you like getting my leads," Sean said. "And nobody admires you more than your arch rival."
"I do like the leads, and I'm happy to be admired."
"Even if you don't admire me as much in return," he said. He looked hopeful that she would deny it, but he received no reply.
"Now your show's number one! I saw the Stone Media ratings. Congratulations, Laura!"
Reaching across the table, he squeezed her hand.
She returned the gesture. His genuine admiration for her and pleasure at her success, with no touch of envy, reinforced her feelings of friendship toward him.
"But thanks to me," Sean continued, concern sweeping his face, "you've witnessed a murder. I never should have given you that lead."
"I wanted that lead, Sean. I want every lead I can get about SafeVote and what happened to Spenser."
"Still, I wish I could have spared you the horror of what you witnessed. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Sean, really. But I could use help investigating this thing." She paused before asking, an edgy tone in her voice, "Why was your report on Spenser's murder such a . . . whitewash?"
His eyes dropped, looking hurt by her remark. "I'm just reporting what the police are saying. Considering the neighborhood, the murder was likely the result of a random street robbery gone bad."
"Why are you so trusting?"
"Why are you so suspicious?"
"Oh, please . . . " Laura said.
Sean replied, "I have no reason to think that the authorities aren't being forthright and trying to do their best."
"Spenser's death raises questions that need to be answered."
"Like what?"
"For one thing, with the robber being armed, why would he need to strike so many blows to the victim? I'm sure you saw the police report. Spenser's mouth and eyes were bruised. His clothes were disheveled. There was too much roughing up, I think, for a robber whose only motive was to steal a wallet."
"Maybe Spenser resisted more than the attacker expected. Maybe he had to fight Spenser for his wallet. Maybe he didn't want to be nailed for murder, so his fists were the first resort and the gun was his last. That would explain the blows."
"So much violence to steal a wallet? Really?"
"So, what's your theory?" Sean folded his arms, assuming a skeptical posture.
"Maybe the attacker's real motive was to rough up Spenser, to send him a message to keep quiet. The guy stole Spenser's wallet, so no one else would guess the real motive. But Spenser fought back, and when he did, the thug pulled his gun, rather than risk being caught. That's when he shot Spenser and ran away. That would make the beating the real purpose of the attack, not robbery. A beating to send a message—without words, just blows. Spenser was a smart guy. He would've figured out the point of the attack."
Sean shook his head.
"Look at the obvious. James Spenser chose a terrible neighborhood for his meeting with you. Right?"
"He didn't want us to be seen together."
"I'm just glad you weren't the one attacked."
"I didn't have a secret to tell."
"Come on, Laura." Sean persisted in dismissing her claims. "James Spenser was well-dressed in a rough part of town. He looked as if he had a few bucks, and that made him a prime target for a street crime. That's the most likely explanation. That's what the police are saying, and it's what Darcy Egan said when I called her for the administration's comments."
"Why does she take your calls, but not mine?" Laura said with indignation. "Never mind, I know the answer."
"How do you expect her to react? You practically interrogate people. Should she make it look like the president is on the defensive?"
"I'm the press. I'm supposed to question them." Laura said, feeling anger creep into her voice. "The president's chief advisor can't cherry pick press that's favorable to the president. I expect Darcy Egan—and the Bureau of Elections—to deal with me, not to blow me off!"
Sean smiled, embracing her with his eyes.
&nb
sp; "You look so vibrant when you get angry, Laura. Controversy becomes you!"
Don't change the subject, Sean, she thought.
"And what about you?" she asked. "Why aren't you angry?"
"I like to think I left my wide-eyed fantasies in school. Isn't that what we're supposed to do as adults? Drop the youthful idealism and grow up?"
"Grow up to be what? The living dead? Soulless?"
He laughed.
"You are fascinating. Somehow you never got the message to be more realistic and practical. I hope you'll never let anyone kick sand on that wild fire that lights up your face."
Laura sighed.
"I don't understand you, Sean. If you like a wild fire in me, why do you keep only a . . . pilot light . . . burning in yourself?"
"I stir up plenty of fire. I give you leads, don't I?"
She thought of the scoops he had given her—a kickback scheme involving a governor and the state's key contractors, the tax evasion of a senator, the misuse of campaign funds of a congresswoman, and other scandals—which turned out to be important stories that she'd pursued successfully, while Sean chose not to lock heads with the officials involved.
"Why do you give me stories that compromise our political leaders, instead of breaking these scandals yourself?"
"Your positions give me something to counter on my show," he teased.
"Is that the real reason you pass on some of the most important stories to me? Or is it to allay your conscience?"
"Allay my conscience for what?"
She smiled in a friendly manner but spoke bluntly.
"For having such a cozy relationship with people you're supposed to be objectively reporting about."
"I enjoy a decent relationship with the people in power," he said. "It helps me in my work. What's wrong with that?"
She didn't reply.
"You think that makes me a coward? Don't you?"
A waitress approached to take their drink order, sparing Laura the necessity to answer immediately.
When the server left, a plaintive tone colored the newsman's voice, "That's what you think, isn't it? That I'm a coward."
She paused to select her words carefully.
"I think you're on the short list for an exclusive interview with President Ken Martin, and you don't want to rock the boat. I think that's your latest excuse for giving the people in power a pass."
He laughed and said, "And I might get that interview, if I play my cards right. Sometimes it's best to be prudent."
"You mean unethical," Laura corrected.
He shook his head at her. She could see she'd wounded him, yet his eyes were tempered with his affection.
"How is it that getting along with people and advancing my career make me soulless in your eyes? I'm being shrewd and practical."
"So am I," she said. "Here's something practical: Why are $400 million unaccounted for in the Bureau of Elections' expenditures on SafeVote?"
Sean waved his hand dismissively.
"Come on, that's a rounding error."
"A rounding error? With whose money?"
"Or somebody approved a contract that the agency doesn't want to reveal publicly, probably an award to a contractor for a political donation," he added. "But that doesn't mean the contractor isn't qualified to do the work. That kind of stuff is as old as time, Laura. Give me a break."
She leaned toward him, her elbows on the tablecloth, her hands outstretched, her eyes intense.
"It would help if another journalist—a popular, respected news host like yourself—joined me in investigating this, in writing and talking about it, in keeping the story alive."
The waitress arrived with their drinks. Sean seemed to welcome the interruption, but Laura wasn't finished with her plea. As the waitress left and Laura stirred her drink absently, she stared at her companion.
"Sean, we're not talking about a little program with no significance here. We're talking about a revamping of the country's entire election system. There are anomalies in SafeVote that James Spenser noticed. Now he's dead. I see anomalies in their accounting. Instead of quietly giving me leads and sitting on the sidelines waiting to do a puff piece on the president, you have a chance to join me in pursuing a really important story."
Sean's smile contracted under her attack.
"Why shouldn't I want that interview with Ken Martin? He rarely grants them, and an interview with him would blow my show's ratings through the roof. Every journalist would kill to get it—except you."
"I put my name in for the interview. I'd love to have it, if he'd sit for probing questions. But I'm sure he'd rather have softballs thrown at him."
"That's not fair, Laura. I ask questions that interest my viewers. Besides, my boss wants me to do my job the way I'm doing it. You remember my boss," he said sarcastically, "the man you most admire in the world?"
She dropped her eyes at the mention of Reed Miller, the head of Miller Communications, the parent company of Miller News Network where Sean worked.
"The man I used to admire," she said.
Laura's pain was palpable, and Sean seemed to retreat when he saw her expression.
"I'm sorry," he said, regret in his tone. "I didn't realize—"
"Forget it."
Reed Miller was the innovator and entrepreneur who had created Miller Communications, a major player in the retail sales, news, and entertainment industries. He had developed a winning formula for combining and transforming the way consumers obtained a wide spectrum of products. If you shopped with Miller Communications, or sought the news, or subscribed to one of the company's entertainment packages, you also received ample incentives to utilize the other services. Through its one-stop portal, Miller Communications made purchasing goods, obtaining the news, watching the latest movies, accessing major sports events, and hearing a virtually unlimited selection of music quicker, easier, less expensive, and more satisfying than other companies had done, and it rose to dominate the markets it served.
Two years ago, Miller Communications got caught in the crosshairs of the Martin administration's Bureau of Fair Trade, one of the most powerful federal agencies that regulated corporations, including their allegedly monopolistic activities. Fair Trade sued Miller Communications to break up the large conglomerate, which the government considered to be a monopoly that crippled the competition by causing disruptions in the marketplace—and by becoming too powerful a player in the news industry, a player critical of the president.
Laura had defended Miller Communications, the strongest competitor of Taninger News, against the action of the Bureau of Fair Trade. She fiercely supported Reed's company not just because of her professional integrity, but she was also romantically involved with him. Despite the fury unleashed on her by her father and siblings, the affair continued for a year, the most glorious year of her life. Then Reed ended it. He reached a deal with the Bureau of Fair Trade, and they dropped the lawsuit against him. In turn, he dropped Laura. The pain of it was like a wound that refused to heal.
"Laura, that bastard, Reed—"
"Forget it."
"I can't ever forgive him for what he did to you—even if he did give me my big break."
The terms of Miller Communication's settlement with the Bureau of Fair Trade were fortunate for Sean because Reed Miller agreed to restructure his news organization to reflect what the agency called more "diverse" and "even-handed" news; hence, Sean was hired to help accomplish that.
"I'd like to body slam him—"
"I said forget it." She swept back a ribbon of hair that had fallen onto her face, wishing her memory could be so easily dispatched.
Reed is a distraction, she thought, and returned to the topic at hand.
"Sean, how is it that James Spenser came to you? I mean, you're not the kind of journalist to run with his story."
When he didn't answer, she pressed on, "He confided in someone else first, didn't he?"
"I can't say."
"I think the ideal person
for Spenser to have gone to would've been someone with authority in voting issues, someone in government who would be involved with the new voting system, and yet would also be sympathetic to an insider's suspicions."
"I can't—and won't—confirm that."
Which seems to confirm it, she thought.
"Sean, I think that the ideal person for Spenser to have contacted first would be someone on the Senate oversight committee that oversees the Bureau of Elections and the SafeVote project. That committee is led by members of the president's party, so normally they won't buck the administration. Except this time, there's one senator who did oppose Ken Martin, a senator from the president's party who at first was highly skeptical of the new voting system and tried to stop it, but who had to relent because he's running for reelection too, and he needs his party's endorsement and financial support for the campaign. This senator just happens to head the Elections Committee. I'll bet James Spenser went to him. And I know that you happen to be friendly with this particular senator. He passed the lead on to you."
Sean's mouth tightened. His eyebrows arched. He squirmed in his chair.
"I can't say!"
"Your face tells me I'm right! Senator Bret Taylor was the first to know about Spenser's misgivings."
Sean leaned forward and grabbed her arms.
"You can't ever reveal that!" he said. "I'd be toast. I'd never be trusted again in this town."
"Sean, come clean!"
"Look, I told Spenser and his . . . ally . . . that this kind of investigative journalism was your specialty, and you'd do a better job of it. They gave me permission to pass the lead on to you, but only after I swore to them that you could be trusted unequivocally."
