Was that a veiled threat? The synapses of my mind were firing off like firecrackers. I had to find a way to keep the conversation going, anything that might give me some hint as to the caller’s identity. Was it the same gray-haired lady I had walked to the car? The Wigged Bandit? I wanted some clue, some indication from where she was calling.
“Have we met?” I asked.
“That’s not important, Ms. Childs. I’ll deliver the money tomorrow morning. Until then, I’ll be listening.”
The line went dead, exactly like it did when Tomi had called the first time. I wrapped the segment with a thank you to Bunny and Margo Thompson, and to our very generous mystery caller and all of KCHC’s listeners and merchants who had participated in the station’s promotion. I then signaled Matt to go to a commercial break. I needed a moment.
I raced back to my office. I had less than five minutes before I needed to be back on the air. I wanted to be alone when I called Eric. I prayed he would answer. I was in luck.
“She called.” The words escaped my lips before I could I even say hello.
“Who—”
“Tomi, the Wigged Bandit. She called a few a minutes ago. While I was on the air. She spoke to me.” I leaned against my desk, my heart pounding.
“You’re certain?”
“It had to be her. The voice, it was raspy and high-pitched and she mentioned she liked to help people. Like I did the day of the bombing. I think she’s sending a message; she knows I know who she is.”
“Carol, listen to me. This is important. Can you get your producer to email me a digital file of the show? Right away. I need to hear that tape.”
“Yes, but Eric, she’s planning to be here tomorrow.”
“What?”
“The reason she called. She’s making a donation to the St. Mark’s Fund. She said she was bringing it to the station tomorrow morning.” I glanced at the clock. I had less than sixty seconds to get back to the studio and another fifteen minutes of Kari’s show to go before I could sign off. “Look, I’ve got to go, I’m due back on the air. I’ll meet you at your office after the show.”
I hung up and raced back towards the studio, detouring through the newsroom where I grabbed a pile of pre-approved news stories. I needed filler news for the last segment, something light to end the show on. I had no intention of continuing the conversation concerning our anonymous donor or the chocolatiers’ tour, and I knew there was no way Margo Thompson was going to arrive before the end of the hour. Traffic was still snarled on the west side.
I took a deep breath as I grabbed the studio door and entered, smiling, as though nothing unusual had happened.
Bunny looked at me curiously.
I glanced down at the stack of news stories in my hand and found one I knew Bunny would like.
“Perhaps a change of pace? A little something fun to end the show on?” I smiled and handed the top story to Bunny. “Why don’t you take it?”
“Missing White Cobra Found Alive and Well in Thousand Oaks.” Bunny was delighted.
Chapter 20
I left Bunny in the studio, looking pleased with herself. She had handled the last part of the broadcast surprisingly well, laughing with callers and joking about the escaped Cobra. “Just how might one go about capturing it? Answer: Carefully. Caller, what did the cobra say to the flute player? Charmed to meet you.” For her first time behind the mic alone, she wasn’t bad. I knew Tyler would say the callers had carried the show with their suggestions and one-liners, but Bunny was happy and my mind was elsewhere. I was anxious about meeting with Eric. Even without traffic it would take me a good forty minutes to cut across town. Instead of hanging around and bonding over snake jokes with Bunny, I grabbed my cell phone. My eyes skimming my inbox for messages, I started walking back toward my office. I was halfway down the hall when I heard my name.
I looked up to see Tyler directly in front of me. Another five feet and I would have knocked him over. “My office, right away.”
Tyler did an abrupt about-face, and I followed him back to the newsroom, my eyes continuing to scan my phone for messages.
Without a word he entered his office and pointed to the chair in front of his desk—the hot seat—then sat down and stared at me like I’d done something awful.
“Mr. Morganstern called this morning.” Nobody called the new owner by his first name. Howard Morganstern had made it very clear after buying the station that he preferred to be called Mr. Morganstern, or Mr. M. for short. Tyler paused, as though he was waiting for a response from me.
I sat quietly, my arms and legs crossed, and continued to clutch my cell in my hand. I had no idea why Tyler was telling me Mr. M had called, but I knew it wasn’t going to be good. I could only wish he’d hurry up and get it over with. I was anxious about meeting with Eric. My stomach was doing all kinds of flip-flops, and the clock was ticking.
“He was listening to the show this morning. To be exact, he was listening to his wife.” Tyler rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Why on earth you allowed her to do more than sit in and answer a few questions about the St. Mark’s campaign, I’ll never know. But because you did, he now thinks it’d be a good idea if she filled in for Kari until she’s ready to come back to work.”
I put my phone down and stared back at Tyler. “Bunny fill in? You’ve got to be kidding. She wasn’t that good.” Damn that Cobra story. I should have given her something more mundane.
“It doesn’t matter if she was good. She’s the owner’s wife and now I’m going to want you to sit in with her every day. No way I’m leaving her in the studio alone.”
“What? You want me to babysit? She’s the owner’s wife.”
“Call it whatever you like, but she doesn’t go near a mic unless you’re there. We’ve got enough trouble keeping listeners without Bunny putting them to sleep with her goody-two-shoes approach to news.”
There it was. Remaining in the studio, particularly with Bunny, meant I wasn’t going to have time to research the jewelry store robberies or to find out what really happened to Carmen. I was about to protest when my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the screen. “Results in on Carmen’s death. Call me. DG.”
I stood up. “The coroner’s report for Carmen’s in. You’ll have to excuse me.” I knew no matter how frustrated Tyler was with Bunny and Morganstern, the results of Carmen’s autopsy trumped it. Tyler would want to be first on the air with the cause of Carmen’s death no matter Bunny’s dictate.
“Go.” Tyler waved his hand dismissively at me. “But tomorrow, you’re back in the studio with Bunny. No excuses.”
I didn’t argue. I got up from the chair, returned to my office, and called Dr. Gabor, DG for short. Eric would have to wait.
I was one of the few reporters in town who had Dr. Gabor’s personal inside line. Before Bunny’s chick-lite format, if I was working on a story, Dr. Gabor would text me first before releasing the results to the media. I’d become his favorite newsperson, if for no other reason than I had survived his orientation requiring all new reporters wanting access to his reports to attend an autopsy. The fact I hadn’t fainted or refused to come back appeared to have earned his respect. Of course, it didn’t hurt that I also plied him from time to time with free tickets to Disney Hall.
“Got your text, Doc. What do you know about Carmen?”
“I can tell you someone definitely tried to poison her.”
“Tried?”
“She aspirated, choked on her on own vomit. Someone spiked her drink with copper sulfate. Stuff wouldn’t have killed her by itself, but either way she died, and as a result, the cops look at that as a homicide.”
I scribbled “copper sulfate” on my notepad and Googled the name.
“It’s a crystal or powder, also known as bluestone or blue vitriol. I’m afraid it took us a while to get the results back. Always does with poisons. Can’t say
it killed her all by itself, but it certainly contributed. Stuff’s wicked. The effects would have had a burning sensation in her chest. She probably felt hot, sweaty, disoriented, and then started vomiting. Convulsions. I’m afraid that’s what killed her. She choked to death. I’m surprised nobody tried to help or clear her throat. But then with that crowd, people were probably too drunk to realize what was happening or didn’t want to get their hands dirty.”
My Google search listed copper sulfate as an herbicide used for the treatment of fungal infections. Also commonly used in veterinary medicine. My eyes stopped. Veterinary medicine? The article, written by a farrier, suggested the use of copper sulfate mixed with Venice Turpentine and polypropylene was excellent for the treatment of horses’ hooves. But hardly something someone would mix with champagne.
I knew of three people close enough to Carmen who would have known about copper sulfate and its uses. And two of them had been in the barn the day of Carmen’s memorial.
I hung up the phone and made notes from my conversation with Dr. Gabor. I included information concerning the effects and uses of copper sulfate and my suspicions that Donatella, Paley, and Diaz—either together or separately—might have used it to poison Carmen. I filed it on my computer under “Wigged Bandit Investigation” and then sent a note to our promotions department to reserve a set of tickets for Dr. Gabor for the next Christmas Concert at Disney Hall.
Chapter 21
Before I left the station, I wrote out a quick thirty-second news report announcing the LA Coroner’s findings on Carmen’s death and emailed it to Tyler.
The LA Coroner has ruled Carmen Montague’s recent death a homicide. Sources close to the investigation, who asked not to be identified, believe Ms. Montague’s death may be related to a recent string of jewelry store robberies in the Beverly Hills area. No further information is available at this point.
Brief as it was, I knew Tyler would want to use it in the upcoming news segment, and sandwiched between enough chick-lite news stories, Bunny couldn’t complain. After all, Carmen was a celebrity, and we could hardly ignore it. I followed up with a quick email telling Tyler I’d be out of the office for the next couple of hours.
On the drive over to Eric’s office, I kept thinking about what the FBI knew about Carmen and the robberies and wondering how well it matched up with what I knew. I was growing frustrated. I felt certain Carmen’s death was related to the robberies and that an international jewelry ring was operating in Beverly Hills. But as much as I wanted to break details about it, I couldn’t. My hands were tied by what little I could report per the FBI, and what I couldn’t get on the air per Bunny.
I pulled into the parking lot behind the FBI’s Los Angeles office on Wilshire and glanced up at the tall white building. It took up most of the lot between Veteran and Sepulveda and stood like a giant monolith overlooking the busy 405 freeway. The façade of the building reminded me of an old-fashioned computer keypunch card, the windows with their dark recessed portals looking like punched chads.
Eric’s office was on the seventeenth floor. My palms began to sweat as I parked my Jeep. I had been to Eric’s office exactly once, and that was before I started working as a reporter. Now I felt like I was entering enemy territory, that anything I said could and would be used against me. I knew my imagination was getting the best of me, but I’d never been a government witness. I had no idea what to expect. I straightened my skirt, ran my fingers through my hair, and took a deep cleansing breath. I hoped it would strengthen my confidence.
I entered through a set of bulletproof glass double doors and was immediately greeted by a middle-aged uniformed guard. The man’s muscles bulged beneath his shirt.
“Take your shoes off and place your purse on the counter. Keys, belts, and jewelry in the basket. If you have firearms on you, take ’em out as well.” Muscle-man shoved a basket across the counter and waited for me to comply.
“Don’t carry a gun, but I’ve got a mic. That count?” I smiled and reached into my bag for my microphone.
He ignored my weak attempt at humor and glanced inside my purse. Seeing nothing suspicious, he nodded me through the metal detector and told me to sign in. I was given a guest ID and pointed in the general direction of the elevators. I guess they didn’t think me much of a threat. I was on my own up to the seventeenth floor.
When the elevator doors opened, Eric was standing in the hallway. Our eyes locked. There was a moment of hesitation on both our parts. I stood rigid, unsure what to do. He looked at me, his eyes scanning my body from head to toe, then indicated I should follow. I trailed behind him down a long hallway covered with pictures of agents and awards until we came to a set of double doors, the entrance to a large formal conference room.
Inside the room, half a dozen agents, all dressed in blue business suits, white shirts, and ties, were seated around a long oak table. They stood as I entered. An unexpected but polite action I assumed was an attempt to make me feel at ease. It had the exact opposite effect. I began to sweat. My head started to feel warm and the palms of my hands were even wetter than they were on the drive over. Eric introduced me as KCHC’s reporter. He made no mention of our personal relationship, but did say I was a possible material witness to the robbery in Beverly Hills. I recognized a few faces as we sat down, undercover agents I’d seen as escorts the night of the awards ceremony.
At the head of the table was Special Agent Douglas Donner. I had heard Eric speak of him. Agent Donner was a short bookish-looking man. Not someone I would have pegged as an FBI agent. Slightly overweight and balding, he didn’t fit the mold. But Eric had said the man had the mind of Stephen Hawking and the instincts of a well-trained pit bull, a deadly combination for anyone on the wrong side of the law.
Donner was the last to sit down and the first to speak. “Ms. Childs, I understand you’re the reporter who appears to have accidently inserted herself into our investigation. And that you may be able to help us identify the Wigged Bandit.”
“I think so,” I said. In hindsight, I wasn’t so sure. I had only met her once, and so much had happened since then. I hoped I could remember enough to make some type of ID.
“Ms. Childs, am I correct in understanding that you believe you walked the Wigged Bandit to your car the day of the robbery?”
“Not my car. She was headed in the direction of the parking lot where I was parked, and I offered to help her with her things.” This sounded worse than it was. I was making myself out to be an accomplice. I pushed several strands of loose hair behind my ear and smiled nervously.
“And she gave you a gold brooch.”
I nodded nervously. “And I gave it to Agent Langdon, once I was aware what it was.”
“You realize, of course, Ms. Childs, we don’t typically run into situations like this, particularly with the media. Ever.”
“No, sir. I wouldn’t think so. It’s highly unusual, and it certainly wasn’t planned.”
Donner shot Eric a look and there was an uncomfortable pause as Donner shuffled through some papers and Eric filled a water glass in front of me. I took a long sip, placed it back on the table, and waited for his next question.
“And prior to walking this Wigged Bandit back to your car—let me rephrase—prior to the explosion, did you identify Agent Langdon as he was leaving Henry Westin’s with Miss Montague?”
“Yes, sir, I did. But not on the air. I had just finished my report when my friend Sheri saw Agent Langdon with Miss Montague.”
“Sheri Billings, correct?” Donner pulled one of the pages from the pile of papers in front of him and stared at it. I could see he had a picture of Sheri and some scribbled notes.
“That’s right.”
“And why was she with you?”
“I’d asked Sheri to join me. The station had been doing a Chocolate Charity Campaign to benefit St. Mark’s. A kind of Beverly Hills chocolatiers taste-off, and her c
hocolate palate is much better than mine. My expertise extends about as far as a Three Musketeers bar from the nearest vending machine.”
There was a snicker around the table. Donner leveled his eyes at me like a battering ram.
“Miss Childs, much as I appreciate your need to insert some levity into the situation, I hope I don’t need to remind you this is a serious matter.”
“No, sir, not at all. I just meant I wasn’t on the air when I saw Agent Langdon. Nor did I mention his presence or that of the FBI in any of my reports concerning the robberies. I put two and two together pretty quickly and realized after the bombing and spotting Eric that he had to be working undercover. My spotting him was an accident.”
Donner put the papers down in front of him and stared at me, his eyes boring into my own. “That’s a smart assumption on your part, Ms. Childs, and try as we do to keep our agents’ identities a secret when they’re in the field, we can’t always guarantee that. In fact, Agent Langdon was a last-minute replacement. We hadn’t expected to have him in the field for this operation at all. We thought he was too old for Carmen.”
I choked back a nervous laugh and glanced at Eric. “I’d have to agree.”
Eric raised an eyebrow. I could see the fact Donner no longer considered him a young stud was mildly annoying to him. I smiled.
“One of our other agents had a family emergency. His wife went into labor early, so Eric stepped in.”
Donner reached across the table for a pitcher of water and poured himself a glass. “Ms. Childs, did it ever occur to you that the old lady you helped may have had something to do with the robbery?”
I paused. It was definitely getting hotter in the room. Either somebody had turned up the heat or I was having a hot flash.
“In hindsight, I suppose it should have. But you have to understand I was in a hurry to get back to the station. I had just seen my—” I stopped myself. I was about to say “boyfriend,” but that seemed like a ludicrous term to put upon ourselves, particularly now.
Without a Doubt Page 12
