Tempting the Devil

by Potter, Patricia;

  Daisy was the world’s most abused cat, to hear her tell it. She meowed plaintively and refused to rub against Robin’s leg as she usually did. Eager now to rid herself of the brace, Robin quickly filled the food dish, refilled the water dish, and went into her room.

  She unbuckled the brace and pushed the heavy, ungainly apparatus into a corner, then rubbed her leg. She needed an hour in a hot tub, but she also needed sleep. Without the protection of the brace, she used crutches to get to the bathroom and ran the hot water.

  When the tub was full, she moved onto the edge of the tub and used her arms to lower herself down without putting weight on the leg. Just a few more weeks, the doctor promised, and she could discard it. How she awaited that day!

  Once in, she sat back and reviewed the day, the sorrow of it still haunting her. Daisy finally entered and sat on the toilet seat and stared at her with rebuke.

  The phone rang and she groaned. She should have left the machine on.

  It kept ringing.

  She finally managed to get out of the tub and onto the crutches, very aware that by the time she reached it, the caller would likely have hung up. But she tried anyway; maybe it was one of her sisters. Maybe the baby had come early.

  As she expected, the phone was dead when she reached it. Then she thought of the hang-ups on her answering machine. Her first thought had been telemarketers. But now …

  She left the water in the tub. She wasn’t going back for that. She’d take care of it in the morning. Whoever had called apparently was persistent. They would call back. She wanted to be near the phone.

  Daisy jumped onto the bed but took the far corner to continue to sulk. Robin turned off the light and stretched out on the bed. Her leg ached, but not as badly as before the bath. A few more weeks.

  She would always have a limp, the doctors said. A small price to pay to keep the leg. The initial call was to amputate. Thank God there were second thoughts.

  She had just dozed off when ringing pierced her consciousness. She reached for the phone.

  “Robin?”

  She was instantly awake.

  “Sandy?”

  “Is it true that reporters won’t give up their sources?” There were no preliminaries, and she heard the strain in his voice. He’d asked the question before, but now there was new urgency, a frantic need for reassurance.

  She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “No matter what?”

  She paused then, trying to think of a scenario where she couldn’t keep that promise. “If someone told me they were going to commit a crime …”

  “No other reason?”

  “Not if I promise …” She was wide awake now, looking at the clock. She thought she’d just dozed off, but it was three in the morning.

  “You’ll swear to it.”

  “Yes,” she said again.

  “Can you meet me tomorrow morning? Not here in Meredith County.”

  “A coffee shop?”

  “No. Someplace where no one can listen.”

  “My house?”

  A silence, then, “No.”

  She tried to think of a place on his side of Atlanta. “Kennesaw Park. The battlefield. The picnic area outside the visitors’ center. I’ll bring coffee.”

  “I won’t be able to get there until eight, maybe later.”

  “I’ll be there,” she promised.

  The phone went dead in her hand.

  She stared at it for several moments.

  She’d been right about him wanting to tell someone something. A mixture of uncertainty and exhilaration surged through her. She couldn’t forget the stark fear that had been in Sandy’s voice.

  And despite her words, she didn’t know legally how far she could go to protect a source. She did know there was a state shield law. But she wasn’t sure how much protection it gave her.

  She did know, though, that when she made a promise she would keep it. Whatever Sandy said would stay with her unless he gave her permission to share it.

  I’m getting ahead of myself. He might not have anything of real importance.

  It could also be the biggest story of her career. One that would be a ticket to the best newspapers in the country.

  She turned the light off.

  But she couldn’t turn off the chill of apprehension that snaked up her spine.

  chapter eight

  “I want your word that you won’t say you talked to me.” Sandy’s fists clenched. “I want to be sure I can trust you.”

  No breeze ruffled the leaves of the oaks around them. Nothing broke the stillness of the hot summer morning except his ragged voice.

  “I might have to tell my editor, but I won’t do it unless he agrees to keep it confidential.”

  He turned to go.

  “Sandy, I won’t say anything to anyone until you tell me I can. I promise you that. Tell me what’s bothering you, and we’ll go from there.”

  He walked over to a cannon and put his hand on it. “I should have gone into the army. I’d planned to. But then Pop got shot and I stayed home.”

  She waited.

  “The sheriff has been good to me. Me and my family.”

  She didn’t try to force whatever he was reluctant to say. Reluctant, but obviously he had to say it or he wouldn’t be here.

  “I knew those guys,” he said. “Not well, but I knew them. They didn’t deserve that.”

  “You know something about it?” she finally asked after another long pause.

  “I don’t know who,” he said.

  She waited again.

  “The patrol guys had orders to avoid that spot the night of the murders,” he finally said. “I overheard several of them talking about it.”

  “Who ordered it?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t ask. No one knows I heard anything.”

  “There’s no one you trust?”

  The silence was deafening.

  “The FBI?”

  “Proof? I have none. Just what I overheard. And if anyone knew I did …”

  His words trailed off.

  “Someone in the sheriff’s department killed those officers?”

  “Or knew something was going down. Those guys must have wandered into something they shouldn’t have. Maybe they saw some lights. But someone didn’t want to be seen there.”

  She was stunned. But she wanted him to put into words what she had to hear. “What do you want me to do?” she prompted.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you could write something that might get the Feebies involved. They can do it with official corruption. Someone needs to know where to start looking.”

  “Why me? Can’t you give an anonymous tip?”

  “My voice would be on tape. A letter? I thought about that, but … that could lead back to me, too. You’ve been talking to a lot of people. It could have come from anyone.”

  Stunned, Robin stood there. Nine years as a journalist, and she’d always been an onlooker, an observer. A role she took pride in. Now she was being asked to become a participant. And it could be one of the biggest stories in her life. Excitement exploded inside her until it was tamed slightly by the fear in his eyes.

  If he was afraid, shouldn’t she be?

  “Why would your guys kill their counterparts?”

  “Something big would be involved. Bigger than I know how to handle.”

  “Any ideas as to who?”

  He hesitated. “Rumors. There’s been rumors the Hydra Network been inching in.”

  “Hydra Network?”

  “Ever heard of the Southern Mafia?”

  She nodded.

  “What was left of it was gobbled up by a bigger group that operates in a bunch of southern states. Hot cars. Drugs. Prostitution. They’re crowding out all the local dealers. Two locals have been killed in Meredith County. No big deal made of it. They were dung.”

  She tried to make sense of it. Mainly why she’d never heard of it before, though she’d heard tales of the ol
d Southern Mafia. “No one was arrested?”

  “Not a trace of evidence. Just like at the crime scene here.”

  “You mean this … Hydra is in Meredith County?”

  “I didn’t put much stock in the rumors. But I can’t get that warning out of my head.”

  “Did the deputies mention this Hydra?”

  He shook his head. “But I can’t think of anything else big enough that they would bring this much heat here.”

  “What deputies were they?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “You don’t know—or won’t tell me?”

  Silence.

  “How can I do anything if you don’t want to get involved?”

  “You guys always use anonymous sources.”

  “What would this anonymous source say?”

  “That patrol officers were told to avoid the area at the time of the … murders.”

  “Then why did the county police go there?”

  “We don’t share information,” he replied bluntly. “We have our territory. They have theirs. Those guys never should have been there.”

  “Why do you think they were?”

  He shook his head. “Everyone’s been asking that.”

  “Could they have been involved in some way as well?”

  He shook his head. “They would have been more careful.” His eyes met hers. “I just want to send the Feebies on the right trail.” He paused. “I really hate their arrogant guts but it’s the only way the truth might come out.”

  “What about the state investigators?”

  He just shook his head. “Everyone knows everyone.”

  “I can’t promise anything until I talk to my editor. He might have to tell the attorney. Otherwise the paper can’t afford to go with it.”

  He hesitated.

  “I won’t give him your name unless he swears not to use it.”

  “I trust you. You’ve haven’t let me down. I don’t know him.”

  “I do. If he gives me his word …”

  He stared at her. “The Feebies will want to know where you got it.”

  “They can want.”

  “They will pressure you. They’re damn good at that.” He paused. “You swear on your sisters’ lives?” He had asked about her family, as well as her nonexistent romantic life.

  “I swear that I won’t tell my editor unless he gives me the assurances I need. If you like, I’ll call you and tell you what he says about withholding it, before I give him your name.”

  “I don’t like someone else having it.”

  “They won’t go with an anonymous source unless they know who it is.”

  “What will you write?”

  “I’ll read it to you before it goes to press.”

  “You can’t call me.”

  “Then you call me.”

  He ran his hand over the cannon again. “I don’t like doing this.”

  “I know.”

  “They can’t kill cops and get away with it.” His voice was fierce. Scared yet fierce.

  “No,” she agreed softly.

  “My … the people I work with. They know. Several of them know.” His eyes glazed with tears.

  She knew she should look away, but she couldn’t. Sandy was one of the most macho guys she’d ever met. For the first time, she saw the demons eating at him these past few days.

  “What would the anonymous source say?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “You can say it better than me. Something about patrols being told not to go to the area that day.”

  “I’ll talk to my editor today. Call me on my cell phone from a pay phone.”

  “I’m betraying them,” he said.

  “If anyone from your office was involved, they betrayed themselves. You’re the good guy here.”

  “The hell I am. I don’t have the guts to do what should be done. But I’ve heard …”

  “Heard what?”

  “They don’t just go after people they don’t like, they go after the families.”

  “There’s witness protection.

  “For the immediate family. Not sisters and aunts and grandmothers. My wife’s life revolves around her family.”

  Fear stabbed through her then. The story meant everything to her. Justice as well. But did she really know what she was getting into? If they killed three police officers …

  His eyes were intent on her.

  “I’ll talk to my editor,” she said again, her voice more unsteady than she would have liked.

  “When should I call you?”

  “This afternoon.”

  He turned then and left, his steps dragging, his normally straight shoulders slumped.

  She felt sympathy and something else. Pity. Even a slight contempt.

  He had just dropped a bomb in her lap, a bomb he’d refused to defuse and was handing to her.

  Wade Carlton read the transcript of the conversation Robin gave him.

  “My God,” he said when he finished.

  She merely nodded.

  “Who is he?”

  “I promised I wouldn’t tell you unless you promised to protect his identity.”

  “You have the tape?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll need it.”

  “I promised him I wouldn’t give you any information until he has assurances, and the tape is mine. If I have assurances, I’ll let the attorney hear it.”

  “The investigators will come after you.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you? It sounds noble to protect your source until you get squeezed. Believe me, it’s not when they come after you.” He paused. “And you said this source is afraid. Have you considered that whoever murdered those officers might want to know who gave you this?”

  She took a deep breath, then nodded. She wasn’t going to let fear kill this chance.

  “Write your story. I’ll take it to the attorney, along with the transcript.”

  “We can protect him?”

  “We have a shield law in Georgia,” he agreed. “They can’t compel you to testify if they can get the information some other way. And they can do that by interviewing all the sheriff’s deputies. Until they’ve exhausted that …”

  She just nodded.

  “Go write the story.”

  “Hey, Ben, you seen the Observer yet?”

  Ben cradled his cell phone against his ear as he navigated an intersection. “No. Why?”

  “Get it.”

  He’d spent a late night trying to crack the mire of companies sprouting from the one owning the property where the officers were killed. One led to another to another until he reached an office in the Seychelles, an island group off Africa. He knew what he would find then. A dead end.

  Frustrated, he’d finally gone to bed, mentally seeking his next step. It didn’t come.

  “Don’t play games,” he told his partner. “I’m not in the mood. What is it?”

  “Ah, grumpy this morning. Late night?”

  “Spit it out, Mahoney.”

  “You have to read it for yourself. But basically she’s claiming the Meredith County Sheriff’s Office was involved in the murders of its sister agency’s people.”

  He nearly choked on the coffee. “Say that again.”

  “Get the paper.” Mahoney hung up.

  Ben stopped at the first convenience store. The story was at the bottom of page one. It started benignly enough.

  The investigation into the murders of three Meredith County police officers resumed after emotion-filled funerals.

  While official sources say there is no new information, a source close to the events suggested that officials look specifically at the Meredith County Sheriff’s Office. The source said that patrols in the area were warned away from the murder site the night of the murders.

  The source also said there could be a connection to the Hydra, a criminal network that has allegedly engaged in drugs, car theft, and prostitution throughout the Southeast.

&n
bsp; Sheriff Will Sammons labeled the charges “pure fiction” and categorically denied any connection to his department.

  The byline said Robin Stuart.

  He took another sip of coffee. He remembered her face. Expressive. Pretty. A smile to kill for. A natural warmth that was hard to rebuff.

  What in the hell was she thinking?

  An oxymoron. Reporters didn’t think. He’d almost let himself think otherwise. He stared at the headline again. She knew something he needed to know. She also knew something that others with less than good motives needed to know.

  He uttered an oath under his breath, then called his boss. He was turned over to Holland immediately.

  “I saw the article,” Holland said. “I think it’s enough to bring us in, or at least interview that reporter. You want it?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  “Take Mahoney with you. And I want everything on tape.”

  “If she doesn’t cooperate …”

  “I’ll ask the attorney general to call her in to a grand jury. She’ll be forced to give up the name.”

  “I’ll pick up Mahoney at the office.”

  “Let me know what she says immediately after you leave her.”

  “Do I have the authority to get a search warrant for her home?”

  “Not yet. Play it by ear. If she refuses to cooperate, then we’ll go to a friendly judge.”

  “I have the feeling we’ll need that search warrant.”

  “You know her?”

  “Met her at one of the funerals.”

  “Well, sweet-talk her. Duty. Responsibility.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ll get people working on the search warrant.”

  Robin read the story over her coffee. Sandy had called yesterday afternoon and she’d given him the editor’s promise and her own. She’d also read the story to him.

  He’d paused, and she knew he was second-guessing himself yet again. But at the end he told her to go ahead.

  But as she read it in black ink, she wondered whether she’d done the right thing. He couldn’t be identified from the story, not if no one realized he’d overheard the conversation. And she’d talked to enough deputies and other people to make it difficult for anyone to narrow in on one specific person.