As Dr. Bristol left to see other patients, Braden moved to the bed and gently hugged his daughter.
“Megan, sweetie. Welcome back! You’ve given me such a scare, honey. Promise me you’ll never do anything like that again.”
“Oh, daddy” Megan rasped, her throat feeling raw from the tubes that had been down there. “I’m so glad to see you. I’m so sorry for being so stupid.”
“Now now, don’t worry about that, baby. Your phone message scared the hell out of me. I was afraid you were going to do something silly because of that jerk. Believe me, sweetie, he isn’t worth it.”
Megan reached out to her father. She wrapped her arms tightly around him. She hugged for dear life. Braden responded and for several moments they just hugged. He had his little girl back.
Braden realized she meant more to him than anything else, including his precious newspaper career. He thought of the years that had been lost. Forget that, the future starts now.
“Daddy, I did something very stupid. I was on the island and all I could think about was the pain of losing Dennis. I wanted to end it. I nearly did. As I walked into the water, the cold shock brought me to my senses. I wanted to live, but I was out of my depth and I can’t swim. I couldn’t stay afloat. It was a horrible feeling as I started to swallow water. I couldn’t breathe.
“Thank God there was a boater nearby who saved you, Megan. You were a very lucky girl.”
“I realize that Daddy. I also realize Dennis isn’t worth dying for. He’ll never change. I know that now and I want to get on with my life.”
“And I’m here to help you baby, as long as you need me.”
“I will always need you, Daddy. I’m sorry for the horrible things I said to you earlier.”
“That’s OK, don’t worry about it. I know I haven’t been the best father in the world in the past. I haven’t always been there for you when you needed me. But I’m here now and for as long as you need me. You can stay with me until you’re ready to get a place of your own. You can build a new life here, honey.” Braden smiled warmly at his daughter.”
She smiled back. “After I get out of here, I am going to tell Dennis we’re finally through. He can go back to New Jersey without me.”
“No need,” said Braden. “I’ve already given him a goodbye from both of us. It’s one I’m sure he’ll remember for a very long time.”
Nurse Andrews gently touched Braden’s arm. “I think that’s enough, Mr. Young. Megan needs to rest now. You can come back in the morning.”
“Fine, nurse. Thank you for everything you’ve done,” said Braden.
He turned back to Megan, kissing her gently on the cheek. “You go back to sleep, honey. I’ll see you tomorrow. It will be the beginning of a brand new life for both of us.”
“Bye, daddy. I love you,” said Megan, her voice sounding sleepy. Her eyes closed again. But this time she was breathing on her own.
Young hailed a cab at front of the hospital.
“Take me to the Daily Express as fast as possible,” he told the driver.
Braden Young’s other world awaited.
Chapter 59
Toronto Daily Express 8:35 PM
BRADEN YOUNG strode into the newsroom feeling revitalized and ready for action.
Megan was out of immediate danger and safe in the hospital. He would help her put together the pieces of her life tomorrow. Right now the task at hand was to get tomorrow morning’s paper put to bed and on the presses before midnight.
He summoned his various editors into his office for the final line-up meeting. Normally the meeting was held much earlier, about 4 p.m. But Young had been rather preoccupied with other pressing matters.
“Right, folks,” his voice boomed across the table. “Sorry for the delay tonight, some pressing personal matters came up. But now let’s get this show on the road. What do we have for the front page?”
Assistant Managing Editor Paul O’Connor chirped up. “Well, Braden I think our strongest story right now is the piece by Katie Cannon on the latest Wolfman murder last night. There is also the piece by Donna-Marie Pierce on the city hall construction kickback scandal. It’s been cleared by legal with a few minor revisions. There’s another terrorist bombing in Kandahar. A truck bomb took out a café and 30 people, fortunately none of them were our military this time.”
“Sounds a pretty solid line-up, Paul,” said Young. “For now, let’s go with the corruption scandal as our top line story. Katie’s piece can be a secondary story. I’m afraid it may change before long and have to be updated. Unfortunately, we believe she has been kidnapped by the Wolfman and might be his next victim. The police are following up on it now and we are hoping they can track this creep down before he does her any harm.”
The editors sitting around the table looked shocked. It was the first they had heard of this new development. One of their reporters was in danger.
The Wolfman murders were no longer just a story. It brought into sharp focus that this is real life.
Somehow reporters often felt they were immune from the stories they wrote about. They strove to keep an objective, unbiased view of things. But this was hard to do when the life of one of their own was in danger.
Reporters in a war zone knew the risks they took. Too many journalists had paid the ultimate price in pursuit of truth and knowledge in covering war zones. They accepted that as the necessary risk of doing their jobs.
But covering stories in your own city was rarely life threatening. Even murders. The odds a psychopath would target a reporter were astronomical.
Young’s report about Katie Cannon was only the first piece of news to shake the editorial group. He then delivered the second bombshell.
“We also have a potential dynamite story from Trevor Trevanian, our correspondent in Afghanistan, which will override all these other stories and be our top line banner story if it gets here in time. Trevor has a worldwide scoop, the first live interview with Osama bin Laden in years.”
“Bin Laden! How the hell did he track him down when all the armed forces and intelligence of the U.S. failed?” exclaimed Ted Morrow, the national editor.
“It’s a long story, Ted. Let’s just say that Trevor was selected by al-Qaida personally to interview their leader. Trevor got himself into a spot of trouble in Pakistan, but I’ve pulled some strings to hopefully get him released. If it works, we might get the story in time for tonight’s edition. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”
Young stared with pride at his colleagues around the table. “If his story comes in time, we’ll have to remake page one. I’ll want to give this a huge splash. It could make the international reputation of this paper and put us on the same level as the Washington Post and the Watergate stories.”
Young listened attentively to some of his other editors and their stories for inside the paper.
“Right, folks, let’s get the pages made up and plated ready to go,” said Young. “We can make revisions to the front page later if things come together in time.”
Young dismissed his editorial team who went back to their workstations.
Braden felt his adrenaline flow. He never tired of the anticipation of bringing the news together in one package. He felt that old adage was trite but true.
Ink did flow through his veins.
Chapter 60
The Wolfman’s Lair 8:45 PM
KATIE CANNON just sat and waited.
There was nothing else to do. She had readjusted her clothing. Now she could only wait until Ian McDonald returned. This time he was sure to kill her. But she was certain he would want to take his pleasure first.
Katie was determined she wouldn’t go down without a fight.
If only she could find something to defend herself with. She looked around the cell. Nothing. There was only the small tray of food with a plate and the empty glass of milk. Ian had been forced to retreat with his wounds and leave the tray.
An empty glass of milk. Glass.
An idea
came to Katie. She moved over and picked up the glass. She smashed it onto the cement floor. It shattered into several shards. Very carefully she picked up a large shard about four inches in length.
Perhaps it would make a weapon if she could force herself to use it. Of course, she could. She must if she wanted to live. She swept the other pieces out of sight underneath the cot.
Cannon palmed the glass shard in her fist, careful not to grip it too tightly and cut herself. It would make a weapon. It would have to do. It was all she had. It was her only chance.
She heard the door open. Ian McDonald entered the room.
He carried the knife in his right hand. His left arm was bandaged where she had slashed him. His left hand also held pliers.
He walked slowly toward the cell with a menacing leer on his face.
“It’s time, bitch!” He spat the words like venom from a snake. “It’s time to play, my sweet. I’m going to make you pay dearly for cutting me. First I’m going to fuck you and then tear your tongue out while you watch.”
He waved the pliers at her.
“Bring it on party boy if you think you’re man enough to take me on.” Katie said the words with a greater bravado than she felt right now.
But she believed she needed to show strength and defiance. She needed to egg Ian McDonald on and to keep him off balance.
“If you think you’re man enough to take me, come on and get it. I doubt you can get it up anyway.”
Ian was livid. She could see it in his eyes. They were burning coals of blackness. He curled his lip slightly into a snarl. He took out the keys and opened the cell door.
Katie backed up as he entered. He walked forward. She stepped back until she felt the cot against her legs.
Ian put the pliers into his pocket. He reached out with his left hand and grabbed Katie’s arm, pulling her body towards him.
“Katie, there is nothing you can do to stop me. Cooperate and I’ll make it easier on you. Your death will be quick and I’ll take your tongue post mortem.”
“Well, since you put it that way maybe I should just lie back and enjoy it,” said Katie. “Ian, you’re such a gentleman. Or perhaps I should just call you, Wolfie.”
“Cut the sarcasm,” snapped McDonald. “You’re such a beautiful woman, Katie. It would be a shame to defile those looks. You will be my pièce de resistance, la crème de la crème.”
“Ooh, he speaks French. You’re so cultured, Wolfie.”
“Shut your mouth, bitch. I’ve had enough of your sarcasm.”
Ian moved in closer to kiss her on the mouth.
Katie made her move.
She brought her right hand up under the Wolfman’s chin. The shard of glass was exposed and sliced through the skin of his neck like butter. She thrust it across his exposed throat. She must have nicked the carotid artery because a spurt of steaming red spilled over her.
There was a look of total surprise in Ian’s eyes as he grabbed at his throat, trying to stem the flood. He turned away from Katie and she heard a gurgling noise coming from his mouth as he began to choke on his own blood.
“There you bastard,” Katie spat at him. “That’s for all the others. I hope you rot in hell!”
Ian stumbled a few steps, continuing to gurgle as he bled out. Suddenly his body started to tremble and twitch. He fell to the ground, a pool of red spreading below him like a giant stain. His body twitched again, then he lay still. His eyes stared glassily outward. They saw nothing.
The Wolfman was silenced forever.
Katie Cannon just stood there staring at his body. It was the first time she had ever killed anyone. She suddenly felt cold and started to shiver.
After a few seconds, it hit Cannon that she needed to get help. She headed out of the basement and up the stairs. She emerged into a hallway in the house leading into the kitchen.
The doorbell rang.
Katie hesitated, not sure if she should answer it. It rang twice more with an urgency that demanded a response.
She opened the door. There stood Inspector Peter Moon and CID officer Brian Savage.
“Katie, thank God you’re safe,” said Moon.
He stared at the bedraggled young woman in front of him. She was drenched in blood down the front of her blouse.
Katie said nothing.
She just leapt into Moon’s arms and hugged him.
Chapter 61
The Wolfman’s Lair 9 PM
DETECTIVE PETER Moon wanted to take Katie right to a hospital to be checked over, but she declined.
“I’m fine, Peter. I’m just a little shaken up. I need to get back to the paper right away to file my story. It’s the final chapter of the Wolfman saga.”
Katie related what had happened at the house and told the police officers they would find McDonald’s body in the basement.
“I’m so happy to see you alive, Katie,” said Moon. “I thought we would be too late tracking you down. Thank God, you’re so resourceful.”
“I guess it pays to be a stubborn bitch.”
“Well, the Wolfman certainly bit off more than he could chew this time. There will have to be an investigation of his death, of course. We’ll call in forensics. But you won’t have anything to worry about. It’s a clear case of self-defence.”
“I would hope so, Peter. Can you give me a lift back to my place first? I need to shower and change clothes before going to the newsroom. I don’t think they would want me there in these bloody clothes.”
“Sure thing, Katie. No problem.”
Moon left Savage at the scene to deal with the forensics team when they arrived and drove Katie back to her apartment.
* * *
The hot needles of water from the shower stung, but felt great.
Katie luxuriated in the spray, letting the water ease the aches and pains she had endured over the past several hours.
While she showered, Moon phoned Braden Young to inform the editor that his reporter was safe and sound.
Katie Cannon would be coming back to the paper soon.
Chapter 62
Andrew Chase’s Office 9:30 PM
ANDREW CHASE was discouraged.
He had worked his way through his Rolodex and most of his important financial contacts. He struck out on all counts.
No one was willing to take the chance of loaning him money, especially the large sum he was seeking to bail out the paper.
Things didn’t look good.
He might have to make that phone call to London after all. Only a couple of hours left on Rupert White’s offer.
There was one last glimmer of hope. It is worth a try, Chase decided.
He reached into his top desk drawer. He removed a small black personal address book. Lightly flipping trough the pages, he found the name he was seeking.
Walter Houston.
Walter was an old friend of his father. He was a Montreal billionaire in the shipping industry. Walter’s fleet of ships traveled the globe taking cargo to ports of call from New York to Shanghai. Perhaps he could prevail on him to invest in the paper.
Chase placed the call.
“Walter, Andrew Chase here,” said Chase after Houston answered the phone. “Sorry to call so late, but I desperately need a favor.”
“Andrew, my boy. It is so nice to hear from you. It has been so long. I remember you as that precocious little tyke in shorts. I knew even back then you would make something of your life. And you have. You’re a successful newspaper publisher in one of the biggest markets. Your Dad would be proud of you, Andrew.”
“I’m not so sure of that, Walter. Dad never wanted me to pursue a journalism career. He wanted me to go into the family business. I think I was a huge disappointment to him.”
“Pshaw, Andrew. That’s not the case. Your Dad and I were really good friends. Sure, he was disappointed you didn’t follow in his footsteps. But I know for a fact that he was proud of your independent spirit and your desire to carve your own mark on the world. You are doing it, my
boy. Believe me, you are doing it.”
“Well I’m glad you think so, Walter. That’s why I’ve called. I want to offer you shares in the newspaper. I need a substantial cash investment if we’re to stay afloat much longer. We’ve made progress, but it’s a highly cutthroat market here.”
Houston paused a moment, then cleared his throat. “Well, how much do you need, Andrew? I really know nothing about the newspaper business. Shipping is my game. At the age of 81, I’m too old a bunny to start learning something new.”
“You wouldn’t need to get involved in the business, Walter. You’d be a silent partner with a proportional share of the profits. I’m willing to give you a 10 per cent share for an investment of $50 million. That should give us enough of a cash infusion to carry us over this crisis. The paper is growing, Walter. I’m convinced my new editor will turn this thing around and make us a major player in the Toronto market. You will earn it back in time in profits.”
“Well Andrew at this stage of my life, more profit is not my major objective. I’ve had three wives I’ve supported and my only son is a major disappointment to me. Roger is nothing but a ne’er-do-well playboy, content to fritter away his inheritance. He will not succeed me in the business.”
Walter Houston paused a moment before continuing. The regret in his voice was discernible.
“I’m focusing more on philanthropy now as you know, Andrew. My time here on earth is coming to its closing stages. I am giving away my money to cultural organizations, theatres, hospitals and numerous charitable causes. I’d like to leave some lasting legacy to society.”
“Having your name attached to a major metropolitan newspaper would be one form of lasting legacy, Walter. I’d like you as a partner. If I don’t get this money I’m afraid I will have to sell the Daily Express to Rupert White.”
“What, not to that pirate!” spluttered Houston. “The man is a blackguard and a stain on honest business people. You can’t sell to him, Andrew. Count me in. Have your financial people contact mine and we’ll arrange an immediate transfer of $50 million. I owe this in memory of your father and his long support of me.”
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