But the case hit a fever pitch on Wednesday when the FBI had an opportunity to illicit a confession out of Deangelo in a covert operation. However, Deangelo chose to take his own life, plummeting into the Cold River Canyon at the southern part of the Idaho wilderness area instead of facing charges. Just moments before, Deangelo had killed FBI agent Elliott Mercer, wounding him with two gunshots before shoving him off a cliff and into the canyon.
Deangelo was suspected in the murders of more than a dozen people while living in Boston as a captain for the Scarelli family.
FBI officials have also seized control of Cloverdale Industries and have shut down operations until the bureau completes its investigation of the alleged drug making plant.
***
Cal’s journalistic efforts delighted Youngman, who edited in the details of how the case related to Salt Lake City – the drugs were flowing into the city from Cloverdale Industries. The Seattle newspaper did likewise.
It made for a compelling lead story on the front page in both cities, strengthened also by Kelly’s compelling photojournalism that captured the images of the people and places involved.
“This is outstanding work from both of you,” Youngman told the two former Register employees. “I’d love to offer both of you a job, if you’re interested.”
They both promised Youngman they would consider it, but at the moment, they were crashing hard from the adrenaline rush of the last three days.
The FBI provided a security detail for both Cal and Kelly, putting them up in separate safe houses that night. It was only a safety precaution FBI agents told them, adding that there was likely nothing to worry about. But the security presence helped Cal and Kelly both sleep well that night. They needed it – an awkward reunion with Statenville awaited them on Thursday morning.
CHAPTER 67
WHEN CAL AND KELLY walked through the doors of The Register’s office late Thursday morning, the handful of employees remaining stood and clapped. News traveled fast, though the magnitude of such news in Statenville warranted a special edition. But it was an edition that would never get printed.
Guy was gone and FBI agents combed the publisher’s office for anything that could link him to the illegal activity going on with Gold and Cloverdale Industries. Joseph Mendoza was destined to lose control of the paper due to his ties to Gold. Sammy Mendoza would likely find some jail time, too – not the ideal candidate to take over the family business. If Kelly chose to stay in Statenville, it looked increasingly likely that the keys to the Mendoza treasure trove – The Register – would be handed to her at a young age.
Daniel Richardson, one of The Register’s board members, greeted Cal and Kelly. He informed the pair of the plans to restructure the newsroom, offering Kelly the role of publisher and Cal the title of executive editor. It was another decision that needed time.
Cal thought it sounded like a romantic idea – marrying Kelly, settling down in a small town, and making The Register a trusted source of information again. But as much as Cal liked the thought of it all, the idea that he would have to stay in Statenville – cow town, Idaho, as he liked to call it – for the rest of his life wasn’t so appealing. Maybe it wouldn’t have to be that way. Maybe he could have his dream girl and his dream job. They could investigate more corrupt politicians and governments together and win a few Pulitzers …
But that wasn’t really Cal’s dream, the kind he had an opportunity to seize right now. His deepest professional desire was to cover professional sports for a large metro daily newspaper, not write grip-and-grin cutlines for a podunk weekly. He wanted to talk about the Super Bowl at dinner parties after he returned from covering the event. He wanted to share his opinion in columns and online for websites – and have fans talk about his thoughts on whatever particular subject he decided to broach. He had long given up the idea that he would play in the NFL after he tapped out at an average 5-foot-9 and 160 pounds wearing winter clothes. Cal’s dream of covering an NFL team still remained a attainable. And it was too early to determine if it was worth sacrificing that dream for Kelly.
Cal sat down at his desk and began going through his papers and notebooks. He knew that he wasn’t long for this job or this town. The Tribune job was a nice offer, but it wasn’t a sportswriter job; though it was far better in pay and exposure than anything The Register had to offer – even at the executive level.
His iPhone buzzed, slowly walking across his desk. It was Josh.
“Hey, Josh. How are you?”
“I’m all right, but probably not as good as you, Mr. Scoop.”
“So, The Times ran my story there in Seattle?”
“Oh, did we. It dominated the front page of today’s paper. Why didn’t you tell me you were working on this?”
“Probably because nothing started happening until the moment I hung up with you on Monday.”
“Impressive. You’ll have to tell me all about it this weekend.”
“You’re still coming?”
“You better believe it. I wouldn’t miss thrilling eight-man football action on Friday night for all the taters in Idaho.”
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow at the airport.”
Cal couldn’t believe it. A conversation – albeit a short one – that did not include one single insult from Josh. It was a first.
“Who was that?” Kelly asked.
“Oh, that was my friend Josh. He’s coming into town this weekend. You’ll have to meet him.”
“Aww, that’s too bad. I’ve got other plans. I’m going on a fly fishing trip with my dad this weekend. Maybe he can help me figure out what to do with my life and this opportunity here.”
“Sounds like fun. Have a good time. Let me know what you decide.”
Kelly laughed. “What? You want to know if I’m going to be the publisher or not so you can decide if you want to work for me?”
“No, it’s not that. I’m just wondering what I’m going to do and I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
“Don’t worry – I’ll share them with you as soon as I know something. We do make a great team though.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
Cal wondered if he was at a crossroads in his life or a simple fork. Maybe those paths would converge again one day – or maybe they would branch out in opposite directions never to intersect again. Everything was uncertain for Cal. But it was a good uncertainty, the kind most people wished they had again when life was still unscripted.
Cal knew tough decisions were ahead.
CHAPTER 68
AT 7 A.M. ON FRIDAY morning, Cal got up and checked his email before driving to the Boise airport to pick up Josh. Cal still loathed getting up with the sun, but Josh had selected a morning flight, leaving him no choice but to join the ranks of the early risers.
Cal’s in-box overflowed with requests for interviews from media outlets across the country. They all wanted to know how he learned of Carmen Deangelo’s identity, and what kind of reaction the people of Statenville had regarding their mayor’s sordid past and subsequent death. One boring request for his time after another – except for one.
The producer from the “Mitch in the Morning” show on 950-AM KJR in Seattle wanted to see if Cal would be interested in joining Mitch for 10 minutes at some point that morning to discuss the death of quarterback Cody Murray. It was the one angle Cal had wanted to tell but didn’t have the right opportunity. Finally, a venue to properly eulogize an outstanding quarterback, one who had a surprising future for a player on an eight-man team. He replied right away, even though the show was nearly an hour old.
Cal’s iPhone rang 30 seconds later with the show producer giving him specific instructions on what to do. The producer wanted him on in 15 minutes since one of the other guests – a well-known Major League star – had cancelled on Mitch due to an unforgiving night on the town the previous evening. Cal was happy to fill the spot.
Cody had received offers from Eastern Washington and Boise State, but there were
rumors that Oregon State and Washington were also interested in the dual-threat quarterback. It was Mitch’s way of stealing the city’s hottest story that morning and giving it a sports angle to attract more listeners. Besides, he was the only one with the reporter who had a front-row seat to all the mayhem.
Cal was insightful and flawless during his interview with Mitch. The 10-minute scheduled interview turned into 20 minutes of compelling radio with a break in between. Cal was so interesting that Mitch even delayed an interview with Seattle Seahawks head coach Pete Carroll for five minutes – and Mitch even allowed Cal to encourage listeners to follow him on Twitter. Mitch’s producer had to come up with a plausible excuse for Carroll to wait, instead of telling him that the guy on the air right now is really good. When Cal’s interview was over, his iPhone buzzed again.
“Hey, Cal. Just wanted to let you know that Mitch loved you – and he wanted to know if you’d be interested in talking about recruits from Idaho throughout the fall, on occasion.”
“Sure, I’d love to. You know how to find me.”
Cal hung up and smiled. He didn’t know how he could get a foot in the competitive Seattle sports market, but in one phone call, he was in with both feet – without really trying. He checked his email account again before heading out. His seven loyal Twitter followers were now part of a legion of 80 that had suddenly appeared since his interview. Cal couldn’t wait to tell Josh.
Before getting up from his desk, Cal noticed one more email that piqued his interest. He began reading:
Cal,
I just wanted to thank you for finding out the truth about Cody, Devin and Riley’s deaths. They deserved as much, even though it was their own senseless actions that cost them their lives in a way. The few people who love Statenville for what it was, not for what it has become, will grieve their deaths – and celebrate the return of the real Statenville, the one that was built on the backs of hard-working men and women as opposed to some drug scam.
I’m sure you’ll have job offers galore after doing such a thorough job of covering this story that supposedly wasn’t. But I just thought you should know from a Statenville old timer that you did us proud.
Best of luck wherever you go!
Warmest Regards,
Coach Mike Miller
Cal wasn’t sure which was harder to secure – a Pulitzer or a compliment from anyone, much less someone you tried to objectively cover on a regular basis. Either way, Coach Miller’s email might as well have been a Pulitzer to Cal. He printed it out. It was something else he couldn’t wait to show Josh.
***
At the Boise airport, Cal awaited Josh’s arrival inside. He hated driving around waiting on people to deplane or waiting in the cell phone lot. Besides, Cal thought if he was picking up anyone from the airport, it had to be a real friend or a family member. He wasn’t a chauffeur. Even chauffeurs parked their limos and went inside to personally greet their clients – the idea of a cell phone lot was absurd. Cal always felt greeting someone inside was the personable thing to do.
When Josh came through the glass doors, Cal greeted him with a handshake and then a hug – one that emphasized they were close friends but nothing more than that. The three rhythmic pats on the back that came in unison verified as much – “We’re (pat) just (pat) friends (pat)”.
“It’s good to see you, Josh.”
“Good to see you too, Cal.” Josh immediately turned the conversation toward a more serious tone. “How are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, with all the things you went through over the past week, how are you doing? Are you crazy now? Was it hard going through that? Did you think you were going to die?”
Josh paused before lightening the serious mood.
“Is your rookie Ken Griffey Jr. card bequeathed to me in your will?”
Cal chuckled. “All cards are going to you, Josh. But seriously, I’m doing all right. I try not to think about the fact that Kelly and I were almost murdered and dumped into the bottom of a canyon – and maybe not in that order. When I do think about it, it’s like an out-of-body experience. I see myself doing things I wouldn’t naturally think to do.”
“It’s just amazing what you did. And your story had our whole newsroom buzzing.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. It also had my editors buzzing, especially when I told them I was flying out to meet you today and that you were one of my friends from college. They wanted me to give you something.”
Josh extended an envelope with The Times logo and address on it. Cal grabbed it and began opening it.
“What is it?”
“It’s an offer for you to come work as an enterprise reporter on our sports staff.”
“Are you serious?” Cal jumped up and down a few times before giving Josh a hug without regard for how anyone viewed their relationship. Josh almost lost his balance in all the elation.
“Yeah, I’m serious. After your story came through, I mentioned that we were friends and reminded the sports staff that I beat you out for the internship – to which I received many wise cracks, most of which were completely demeaning toward me. Our sports editor then dug up your resume and asked me if I thought you’d want to work in sports.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him yes, of course. An hour later, they gave me this envelope and told me to give it to you when I saw you today.”
“Wow! All I can say is thanks! We’re going to be together again.”
“Well, not so fast. I’m not sure if I’m going to end up staying there after my internship is up next month. It’s all up in the air.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“For me – but not for you. You really deserve it, Cal. I mean, anybody that served a sentence at a small town weekly has definitely paid their dues.”
“Well, it’s not as bad as you might think. I actually met some really nice people in Statenville and learned a lot, thanks to Guy Thompson, God rest his soul.”
“That’s great. I’m glad it worked out for you.”
Josh paused before wading into the touchy subject of women.
“So, what about this Kelly girl? Is there anything to you and her?”
“That is a good question. I really like her, but I’m not sure we’ve got the same vision for life.”
“That’s too bad because I’ve got an offer for her as well to come work for The Times.”
Cal looked slack-jawed at Josh.
“They offered her a job, too?”
“Yep, sure did. The photo chief was blown away by the amount of quality pictures she took as you guys were fleeing for your lives. Really good photojournalism, from what he said. You think she’ll take it?”
“I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine.”
“So, you gonna take the job?”
“Probably. I’ve got a lot to work through after the past few days. I want to weigh all my options, but you know Seattle is where I’ve wanted to be for as long as I can remember.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Cal smiled and said nothing. He turned onto the interstate and pressed the gas pedal down. He was doing things his way – no compromise, hard work and a stroke of good luck. It hadn’t felt that way four days ago. Yet, like a story can turn on the fortune of one good lead, so can one’s life. Cal couldn’t believe his was turning out to be one such story.
THE END
To learn more in the next installment of the Cal Murphy series, keep going to get a sneak peek of "Cross the Line" ...
CROSS THE LINE
CHAPTER ONE
NOAH LARSON WATCHED RAINDROPS trickling down the window over the kitchen sink, racing to a predictable end. Most drops would find their way to the bottom of the sill before joining others to form a small stream that spilled into the dormant flowerbed. A few lucky ones would take control of their fate, resisting the urge to be like everyone by sticking ever so tenuously to an open spot on th
e glass. But even they were susceptible to being washed away by a collision with just another raindrop or a blast of air. It was a depressing thought, one that was quickly washed away by the reality of Noah’s life. Who had time to ponder the depths of existentialism when there was a Super Bowl to win?
In three hours, Noah was scheduled to join his teammates on a charter flight to Houston where the Seattle Seahawks would attempt to bring home the first Lombardi Trophy the city had ever seen. And it was going to happen—he just knew it. Nothing was going to stop his destiny on the football field. Ever since he first began playing peewee football, Noah’s talents were apparent to everyone, including himself. While he had boxes of personal trophies, plaques and accolades, they stayed in unmarked containers on a shelf in his garage. The only trophy Noah wanted to show off was the smooth silver one, hoisting it above his head while confetti rained down from the rafters of Gillette Stadium. That destiny was only six days away.
“Dad, did you pack my lunch?” came the question from across the kitchen that snapped Noah back to the present.
“Sure, Jake. Got it right here,” Noah said, handing his six-year-old son a brown paper sack. “I even remembered to put your favorite Capri Sun in there, too.”
“Apple?”
“I thought you liked grape.”
“Daaaaad! You always mix up my favorite flavors. I like grape jelly but apple juice.”
“Well, we can fix that right now.”
Noah shuffled to the pantry and ripped open a six-pack of apple-flavored Capri Suns, grabbing one for Jake.
“Here you go, son. I’ll get it right next time—don’t you worry.”
“It’s OK, dad. I’m really gonna miss you this week.”
“I’m gonna miss you too, sport. But I’ll see you on Friday. You and mom are flying down and we’ll do something fun when I’m not busy.”
“I can’t wait! Can we go see the Dynamo’s stadium while we’re down there?”
“The Dynamo? Son, you do remember that I’m playing in the Super Bowl on Sunday? And you want to go seen an empty soccer stadium?”
Dead Shot (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 1) Page 18
