Dead of the Day (2007)

by Karen E. Olson

  I closed my phone and stared at it a second. The one thing Charlie Simmons had done was to mandate that no one could put in more than 37.5 hours each week. The company wouldn't pay overtime. I'd worked more hours than that at times in the past and never asked for overtime, but we'd heard there had been a labor dispute over just this very issue at one of the chain's other papers that prompted this new rule. One of the problems was that it meant stories got left hanging for too long and the papers in Bridgeport and Hartford ended up beating us in our own backyard.

  I told Dick what Marty had said, and when he started to protest, I shook my head. ''I don't want to hear it. Marty doesn't want to hear it. Just go home and wait for Little Miss TV Reporter to finish up.''

  I didn't even wait to hear his whining.

  I woke up to rain slamming against the window. April showers and all that shit. It was dark enough so that when I looked at the clock and saw it was nine a.m., I was surprised. I had fallen asleep almost immediately when I went to bed.

  As I showered and then pulled on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, it dawned on me that I didn't have to work today if I didn't want to. But there were still so many questions left hanging that I knew I'd end up doing something on the story even if Marty didn't want me in the newsroom.

  The slim pickings in my refrigerator stared out at me again. The pizza was hours ago, and I wanted eggs for breakfast. I glanced out the window and saw the rain hadn't let up, was maybe coming down even harder now. I regretted not going shopping. Because I was going to have to go out.

  My umbrella was in the car, so I had to find something waterproof to wear between here and there. The bright yellow rain slicker was stuck in the back of my closet. It was there for a reason: I could be seen for miles in that thing, and sometimes I just liked being invisible.

  Well, today I would be a goddamn beacon, the hell with it. I wrapped the slicker around myself and went down the stairs and out into the rain.

  Water dripped into my eyes from the curls that hadn't been secured under the hood. It was also damn chilly, and I cranked the heat on in the car, waiting for it to kick in.

  Now, where to go for breakfast? Without even really thinking about it, I headed toward Whitney Avenue, where I knew I could get a bacon, egg, and cheese on a hard roll. No one else made a better breakfast sandwich than George over at Clark's Dairy. He knew just how I liked it, with crispy bacon and a runny egg.

  I managed to find a parking space across the street, said screw the umbrella, and made sure I was all covered up in the slicker as I bounded toward the door.

  I slid into a plastic booth, but before I could order George spotted me. ''Your usual?''

  I didn't come here that often, but George and I had struck up a sort of peripheral friendship and he always remembered what I liked.

  ''Yeah,'' I said as he poured me a cup of coffee.

  I was leafing through a copy of the Herald that had been left on the table when I heard the door open and turned to see Vinny come in. His office on Trumbull was just a block up, so I wasn't really surprised to see him, even though it was Sunday, but I was surprised to see Rocco walk in behind him. I slumped down in my seat, uncertain whether to advertise my presence. I wanted to see both of them, but for very different reasons.

  Before I could make a decision on what to do, however, George made it for me.

  ''Here's your breakfast, Annie,'' he announced in a booming voice, causing every head in the place to swivel in my direction.

  I mumbled a ''thanks'' just as Vinny and Rocco slid into the booth across from me, shaking out their own slickers. Vinny eyed my plate as George hovered.

  ''I'll have the same,'' he said, and Rocco nodded. ''Me, too,'' he said.

  George grinned knowingly, like there was some sort of weird me´ nage a` trois going on with egg sandwiches, and moved back toward the grill. I scowled at my new breakfast companions.

  ''Who said you could sit there?'' I said, trying to sound pissed off, but Vinny was smiling at me with a twinkle in his eye. It reminded me that I'd kissed two men yesterday, and I felt like a heel for leading Tom on the way I had. I forced myself to concentrate on my sandwich, but it felt like I was chewing sawdust and my stomach churned. I wasn't hungry anymore, but if I stopped eating it would seem too unnatural, so I took a quick drink of coffee.

  ''Glad we ran into you,'' Rocco said in a conspiratorial whisper. ''We've got something for you.''

  Vinny scowled at him, but I couldn't tell whether Rocco was telling secrets out of school or Vinny was just pissed that Rocco was telling me first. I hadn't seen the two of them together before, so I wasn't familiar with their sibling dynamics.

  ''The police chief didn't have a lot of friends in the department,'' Rocco continued.

  I shrugged. ''None of the guys ever like the chief. That's a given.''

  ''No, really, Annie. I've got some friends on the force and they said the chief was into something with the feds, but they didn't know what.''

  I took another bite of my sandwich casually, like I wasn't curious. After I swallowed, I took another sip of coffee and asked, ''The feds? Who exactly?''

  Rocco shook his head and leaned forward. ''I don't know. That's all anyone would say, except that the chief had a meeting with someone from Homeland Security a few weeks ago.''

  I chuckled. ''Rocco, he was beefing up security down at the harbor. He told me that in my interview last week. Of course he'd have a meeting like that.''

  Rocco's face fell like a deflated balloon. I'd stuck a pin in it, all right.

  ''I told you it wasn't a big deal,'' Vinny scolded, speaking for the first time.

  George appeared out of nowhere and put plates down in front of Rocco and Vinny. He gave me a sidelong glance, winked, and went back to the kitchen. I'd have to stay out of here for a while; I didn't want to face his inevitable questions. Vinny and I had come here a few times for breakfast during our three-week affair. George had a long memory.

  ''No, no,'' Rocco insisted after taking a bite out of his sandwich. ''It was more than that, I know.''

  Vinny and I exchanged a look that told me we were both on the same page on this one. Rocco was looking for a plot for his book.

  ''You're going to have to make shit up,'' I said. ''There's no story there.'' I paused. ''Not that it wouldn't make for a good crime novel. It really would. Sort of like Tom Clancy, maybe.''

  I wanted to ask him about Marisol Gomez; he hadn't indicated whether he'd gotten my e-mail, so he probably hadn't. But I couldn't say anything with Vinny here, since Vinny had put his own pin in my idea that there was something going on with Rocco and Marisol.

  ''So who exactly do you know at the police department?'' I asked. ''Why would anyone tell you anything?''

  Rocco chuckled. ''Annie, I've seen parts of the po lice station that you've never seen. As a novelist, I have a lot more access than reporters do.''

  What the fuck was that all about? I made a mental note to talk to Tom about it.

  We finished our sandwiches in silence. I stole a few glances at Vinny and caught him looking at me more than once.

  George had left the check on the table, but when I reached for it, Vinny snatched it up quickly. ''I've got it,'' he said, pulling some bills out of his wallet. Rocco didn't even argue; I thought that was pretty piss-poor, since obviously Rocco was the rich and famous one here.

  We found ourselves on the sidewalk, huddled under the overhang, trying not to get too wet and awkwardly looking at each other. I pointed across the street. ''My car's over there,'' I said.

  ''I'm going to my office,'' Vinny said. He looked at his brother. ''Coming, bro?''

  Rocco shook his head. ''I'll see you later.''

  Vinny looked from Rocco to me and back to Rocco. He nodded. ''Okay, sure.'' He took a step toward me, cupped my cheek in his hand, and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. For a second I felt his tongue, but then it was gone, and he was gone, walking away from me.

  I took a deep breath and not
iced Rocco was staring. ''Are you guys back together?'' he asked. ''Why am I the last to know this?''

  I shrugged. ''Shit, Rocco, beats me, I don't think so, we haven't even talked about it.'' My run-on sentence was about all I could spit out, so I started toward my car, Rocco on my heels.

  ''Did you get my e-mail?'' I asked as we stood next to the Honda.

  Rocco nodded. ''Yeah. I was going to call you later.''

  ''So what's up with you and Marisol?'' I looked at him, ignoring the rain. ''She said she told you she saw someone dumping a body into the river.''

  His expression changed slightly, but I couldn't read it. ''What did she tell you exactly?''

  ''She said you gave her a ride home and told her to call the cops. Which she didn't.'' I paused. ''What's going on, Rocco? Did you tell Vinny?''

  Rocco bit his lip, his eyes narrowing as he studied my face. I don't know what he was looking for, but finally he said, ''No, and I don't want you to say anything, okay?''

  That didn't seem like a promise that would be too hard to keep so I nodded. ''Sure. But did you call the cops? To tell them what she saw?''

  He shook his head. ''No.''

  ''You know, you should have—'' I started, but he interrupted me.

  ''It's complicated,'' he said, stepping around the car and onto the sidewalk as I unlocked the door. ''I'll see you later,'' he added, turning and jogging down the block, making a quick escape.

  Chapter 15

  There was some weird shit going on with Rocco and Marisol, and I wanted to know what it was. With all the stuff about the police chief and his wife, I had pushed that dead Hispanic man to the back of my mind, but now he was forcing his way to the front. I wondered again about the bee stings, but knew the medical examiner's office wasn't going to have anything for me until tomorrow, at least.

  But the bee reminded me of Lin Rodriguez's project. I wondered what she might be involved in. Her sister said she'd been secretive. Why? What could be so secret about bee research? Maybe I could find someone to tell me.

  That meant I had to infiltrate the Yale community in some way. The public relations guy hated the press; he never told us shit.

  I thought about our science reporter, a quiet guy who wrote myriad stories about the weather, but in a very clever way. He had lots of sources in the science world, especially at the local universities. Maybe he knew something about this. But to get in touch with him, I'd have to go to the paper and get his phone number.

  The newsroom was dark at this time of the morning; I actually had to turn the lights on. I could hear the rain crashing into the roof, and I just hoped that this storm's leak would be somewhere other than over my desk.

  As I dialed the number, I spotted a dark spot on the ceiling tile over Marty's desk. Not good.

  ''Hello?'' The voice on the other end of the line startled me even though I'd been expecting it. But the leak had distracted me.

  Now I'd never really talked to David Welden before; we traveled in very different circles. So I had to identify myself twice before he put two and two together.

  ''What do you want?'' he asked. ''You know, it's Sunday morning.''

  No shit, Sherlock. But I forced myself to stay pleasant. ''Quick question, Dave—''

  ''David.''

  ''What?''

  ''My name is David.''

  ''Okay, sure, fine. Anyway, you heard about Lin Rodriguez?''

  ''Just saw it now, in the paper. Too bad.''

  ''Did you know about this bee project she's working on?''

  I didn't miss the second of hesitation. ''Did that have anything to do with this?'' he asked.

  ''Do you know about it?''

  ''I can't talk about it.''

  ''What?''

  ''I can't talk about it. Sorry.''

  ''That's bullshit, Dave, David, whatever. We're colleagues.''

  ''You don't even know my name,'' he said flatly.

  Okay, he had a point there. But it wasn't going to deter me. ''Touche´ . But it might have something to do with her suicide attempt.'' I had no clue whether it did or not, but that got David's attention.

  ''They're not ready to announce it yet. I promised to sit on it until next week.''

  ''Announce what?''

  ''I really can't say.'' His monotone was pissing me off. I hated talking to people on the phone; I couldn't see his expressions.

  ''A hint?'' I was this close to begging, since he did know something.

  ''You know, Annie, that if I tell you and you let it out of the bag early, they'll make me write it now. And I promised I wouldn't. It's not a big deal, really. It's not breaking news or anything.''

  I thought fast. ''Okay, David, how's this? I won't tell Marty or Charlie, but I'll keep it to myself. I really don't need it for a story, just background.''

  ''So you really don't think it had to do with her suicide attempt? I mean, I don't see how it could've, really. She was doing something amazing, something that will get her national attention if it works. And I want to be the first one to write about it.''

  ''I promise I'll keep a lid on it, David. Really.''

  More hesitation, then, ''Okay. But you better not be screwing with me.''

  ''I'm not.'' And I wasn't. What the hell could it have to do with anything? I was just curious.

  But David's next words hit me in the gut like a brick.

  ''She's working with Homeland Security on training bees to sniff out bombs at the harbor.''

  Chapter 16

  Despite David Welden's protestations, this was big fucking news. Bees sniffing out bombs? Can't get much better than that. But I'd promised I wouldn't step on his toes, so I couldn't say anything. I had to keep reminding myself that this was his story, not mine.

  But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if his story hadn't intersected with mine at some point, especially since Rocco's comment this morning about Tony Rodriguez working with Homeland Security on something. It must be his wife's project. What the hell else could it be?

  My hands were tied. My only hope was to get someone to tell me about it, but I couldn't even ask about it or David would know I'd broken my promise.

  I was between a goddamn rock and a hard place.

  ''So how do they do it?'' I asked David. ''How can they train bees to sniff out bombs?''

  A long, drawn-out sigh indicated I was an idiot. ''They use sugar water as a reward to condition them,'' David said. ''One bee can train the entire hive to forget about looking for flowers and look for TNT or anthrax instead.'' He paused. ''It's ninety-nine percent reliable, but today they couldn't do it.''

  ''Today? Why not?''

  ''They can't do it in stormy weather. Or nighttime or in the cold. They're apparently planning to start this up sometime next month, when the weather gets even warmer.'' He paused. ''The University of Montana has been working on bees sniffing out land mines for a few years now. This will take the concept to a new venue.''

  ''But does it really work?'' I had my doubts.

  ''That's what they're trying to find out.'' Again with the condescending attitude. No wonder I hadn't included David Welden in my circle of few friends.

  ''Listen, Annie, it's Sunday morning. I have to go. But you won't forget that you won't do anything with this?''

  ''No, I won't—'' The dial tone cut me off.

  I hung up, trying to put the pieces together: this new bee information, Marisol seeing a body getting dumped in the water, that alleged same body with the possible bee stings. Maybe the Hispanic guy had stumbled onto the bees. But why would someone throw him in the water?

  A muffled ringing interrupted my thoughts. I dug through my bag until I found my cell phone. I didn't recognize the caller's number.

  ''Hello?''

  ''Miss Seymour?''

  ''Yes?''

  ''This is Marisol Gomez.'' I heard the tenseness in her voice.

  ''What's wrong?''

  ''I need to talk to your friend. Right away.''

  ''Are you in trouble
?''

  ''Do you have his number, so I can call him?''

  ''No, I don't. But I could probably find him.'' I paused, then, ''Marisol, are you in trouble?'' I asked again, but I heard a voice in the background. ''Who's that?''

  ''Hold on, okay?'' She obviously covered the phone, but I could still hear her. ''I'm on the phone, Hector. I'll be off in a minute.''