“They torched it for the money,” Mitch speculated as he took the right turn doing fifty.
“That was a red light,” she pointed out as he stabilized the car and kept it straight. “Won’t make much difference if you’re right if you die before you get there.”
He just laughed at her and pushed the peddle to the floor even more.
“Mitch, seriously, how many stories are we working here? A home fire isn’t part of your plan for a great story.” It had nothing to do with either of the stories they were working on.
“Never ignore a story, kid. That’s rule number one.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“You are until you…never mind. You’re right; you’re definitely not a kid.” He looked her over, his eyes lingering at her small breasts.
“Put your eyes back on the road.”
He complied. “You know, this could be our guy.”
“You just said they torched their home for the insurance money.”
He shrugged. “Could be either one of those things, and we’re going to be there.” He ignored the red light once again and made a quick left turn.”
“Photo camera,” she reminded him as the flash went off.
“I’m covered,” he grinned.
“I bet.” She retorted with sarcasm. If ever she thought of getting in the car with him again she should slap herself—literally. She just didn’t think they would have a story coming at them, but she should have. One thing Mitch had always said is you never know when a story will find you, or you’ll find it. She always carried her camera with her. Even when she was younger she carried her camera everywhere. When she went for walks it was hanging around her neck simply because she never knew when something picture worthy might happen and she didn’t want to miss it. She had missed a beautiful rainbow once. They were on the highway, stuck in traffic and the rainbow was sitting in the sky so bright and beautiful. The dark clouds were giving way to sunshine and the mountains in the background beckoned her to capture them. She, however, didn’t have her camera so she couldn’t take a picture. After that day, she didn’t go anywhere without at least one camera. Perhaps that’s why she understood Mitch’s obsession with the “story.” Perhaps that’s why his need to have the police scanner on at all times just made sense to her. Maybe they were more alike than she wanted to admit.
When they came to a stop behind the emergency line he secured the parking brake and hurried out of the car, all the while telling her to get her butt in gear. He didn’t have to tell her, she was already shooting the blaze. The flames were arching upward toward the sky, bellowing thick black smoke.
They had to stay behind the police line. She wasn’t complaining about it. She didn’t need to get closer to get a good shot. Her camera was fitted with a zoom lens that could get as close as she wanted it to, and she utilized it. All the while Mitch was reminding her to shoot everything. She stopped, briefly to tell him to shut up because she didn’t need his help doing her job. “You just worry about the story,” she said.
She focused in on the front door, where a fireman was running out carrying a small child. She imagined that child was two, maybe three at the most. She snapped the photo, and then zoomed in to get another. The little boy was crying, wailing would be more accurate, and she still snapped the photo. She kept shooting even after the firefighter got the kid over to one of the medics. She just kept clicking. There was a story in this and she wanted to tell it. It wasn’t until the fireman removed his mask, until she zoomed in for another shot that she saw him—“Adam,” she whispered before taking the picture again. He had gone in that house, with that fire! Well of course he had. That was his job. She knew that; but seeing it, seeing him running out when the entire place looked as if it was going to fall down…her heart nearly missed a beat just thinking about the fact that he could have died.
He was kneeling before the child, probably telling him everything would be okay. She took a few more shots of him before he turned and looked in her direction, as if he could feel her presence there. Before she could process the significance of that action she snapped the photo. Right now she was photographer first—photojournalist first, girlfriend second.
The sound of the structure caving in drew her attention back to the house and she began clicking the shutter repeatedly. She and Mitch were the only news people on the scene so far. The rest of the crowd was neighbors standing around watching in horror. She remembered what the mayor had said about shooting the crowd, and while she didn’t think any of these people had anything to do with the fire, she figured she should get the shots anyway. If nothing else, Mitch might be able to use it to help tell his story. So she distanced herself from him and the others, all the while being sure to stay out of the way of the police as she positioned herself across the street and started shooting. She took pictures of the crowd, and in some of the photos she went wide to encompass what was left of the burning structure in the background.
This was more than just her job. This was the zenith of her talent and her skill. When she had a camera in her hands taking, not just pictures, but still shots of life around her, she felt complete. She was good at this. For once in her life, despite her academic accomplishments, this, being a photographer, a photojournalist, was the one thing she truly felt she excelled in.
“I was just over there helping them paint last night,” an older man came and stood beside her. She turned and distanced herself enough to snap his photo. His silver hair was held perfectly in place by a heavy amount of gel. His cologne almost surpassed the smell of smoke. Both smells were starting to make her sick. She knew she shouldn’t be out there smelling anything burning, but as a photojournalist the story always came first, safety second. Although she tried to find a way to make sure both could take equal importance. The story meant nothing to her if she died because of it.
“You were there last night?”
“Yes, they were remodeling. The kids played out in the back while we adults worked inside. We put a fresh coat of paint on the living room and kitchen walls yesterday. They said I could stay over since it went well into the night, but I had to get home. My bed is more comfortable than the floor,” he nodded. “Sad. Those people are real nice. They didn’t deserve this.”
“Is there a chance this was just an accident?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, they weren’t cooking or anything. There wasn’t any lightening last night. So why the fire? I think it was something to do with his ex. That woman is crazy. She used to drive by here all times of day and just sit there,” he pointed to the curb, “watching the house. I saw a car down the road last night and I thought it might be her again. I think she set that fire. The paint and paint thinner we had stored in the washroom, just off from the garage, I don’t think that helped any.”
“Have you told the police?”
“They didn’t have time for me,” he snarled. “I’m trying to tell them to go get that crazy woman and they…well, maybe they’ll get to me later.”
She looked down the street. “This car; did you get a good look at it?”
“No. It was too far down and it was dark, but I know it was her.”
“Was the car dark?”
“I don’t see that well at night, young lady. I’m sorry I can’t be of much more help. That street light down there has been out for three days. I complained, but they still haven’t fixed it yet. The car was parked under there, so I don’t know. It may have been a dark color. It wasn’t white. I would have seen that better; wouldn’t I?”
She smiled at him. “I guess.” Although she wasn’t sure either way. He could speculate that it was the ex girlfriend, but without better proof she doubted the cops would be able to do much more than question her for an alibi.
“Did they get everybody out?”
“I just saw them bring the little boy out. I guess that’s his father over there.” She pointed to the man who was hovering around the ambulance.
“Yes. But I don’t see his w
ife and sister.” He looked around the crowd. “I sure hope they got out of that.”
She looked at the mess in front of them. The fire crew was still trying to put the blaze out. “Me too,” she whispered as she started to take pictures of the men working.
They say love is a battlefield, she thought. But this, if this were the ex girlfriend’s work, then this was just crazy. Forget the battlefield, bring out the straightjackets. No man could possibly be worth prison.
“How long had they been married?”
“About six months. He had been with Andrea, his ex, for two years before they broke up. It wasn’t like he left her for Gigi, but she didn’t see it that way. Somehow she thought he shouldn’t have married Gigi.”
She nodded. “How long after he broke up with Andrea before he married Gigi?”
“Just a few months.”
“I see.” She could see why Andrea may have had the impression that Gigi was the problem in their relationship. She didn’t agree with her, but at least now she had an idea of what the woman may have been thinking. “And the little boy?”
“Gigi’s from her previous marriage. She’s divorced. She was going through a divorce while Kevin was dealing with the end of his own relationship, and I guess they just clung to each other. That little boy needed a father figure in his life. From what I hear, her ex just walked away from that responsibility too.” He shook his head. “Marriage just doesn’t seem to mean anything to anybody these days.”
She wouldn’t agree completely on that, but now was not the time to debate the institution of marriage. “What’s the little boy’s name?”
“Henry,” he looked at him. “He’s a cute little kid, but very noisy,” he frowned. “Back in my day, parents would have never stood for that.”
She almost laughed. Back in her day they wouldn’t have either. She wasn’t old; she just had a mother who demanded respect. There was a time and a place for everything. She wasn’t super strict, but they didn’t get away with running around screaming like banshees either.
“Well,” he exhaled slowly. “I’m going to see if any of those cops are ready to talk to me yet.”
“Okay. Thanks for talking to me, Mister...what was your name?”
“Duke Anderson,” he smiled warmly before leaving her standing alone. It didn’t take long for Mitch to leave the crowd and come to her side. He had that glint in his eyes, the one that told her he knew there was a story and he wanted it. She told him what she had just heard, being sure to remind him it was circumstantial speculation and not to go accusing the ex just yet. After all, if he did and she sued, Eve was sure Mitch would throw her to the wolves first.
“See,” he rubbed her shoulder. “I told you; you should be a reporter. You got a lot of information and you remembered it.”
She always did have a good memory for details. She didn’t need to write things down too often. Names, faces, and dates stuck in her mind as if they all belonged there. She could still remember the exact outfit she was wearing when she got her first period. It was summer, June to be exact, and she was out riding her bike. She had been wearing her light pink shorts jumper. It was cute and fun and breathable. It had been so hot outside that day. She remembered being afraid when she saw the blood, thinking she had hurt herself on her bike and so, instead of telling her mother she was bleeding down there she changed her panties and stuffed them with tissue thinking the blood would go away. It didn’t go away. Later that night she awoke to a bed full of blood. She didn’t laugh about it then, but she could now. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know what a period was. Her mother had told her about sex and her body changes when she was five. Every year after that they seemed to have the same conversations about what the body would do when it changed and what sexual relations actually meant. Back then she didn’t really care to know, but her mother made sure she did. She tried to prepare her. Eve figured her mom had gotten enough practice with Gavin, Thomas and Alyssa that she was a pro at explaining things by the time it became her turn to hear “the talk.” Knowing what would happen still didn’t make her think it was happening when it did. She smiled, thinking about her mother and her childhood. Her mother was a rock. She never felt so abashed that she sugar coated words. A penis was a penis; a vagina a vagina. She didn’t use cutesy words like wee wee, or cower shell. At least she knew about sex before she reached junior high school. All the girls were talking then and some of the things they were saying were so outlandish that she was glad her mother had explained certain life facts to her years ago.
“I’m going to see what I can get from the cops and then we’re going to get back to the paper and get this story done. We’ll get the first edition on the Web, and then we’ll have a more detailed story for tomorrow’s print edition.” He was rather pleasant when on a happy high, she would say. Mitch, when his adrenalin was pumping, was always on the fast track to getting the scoop.
He had been thrilled when the Web version of the paper surfaced. They had implemented it the same year she interned. Smart move on their part because the print circulation was slowly dying, but the online subscriptions had been increasing exponentially over the years. She wondered if there would come a point where Beyond Flagler would completely eradicate the print version and go strictly Cyber.
She didn’t get a chance to talk with Adam before they left. He was still there with one of the fire trucks that had been left behind, while the other three responding vehicles pulled out and went back to the station. He was working, she was working…she would have to talk to him later.
Mitch put out his online story within twenty minutes of being back at the office. Fortunately there wasn’t any loss of life. The wife had been taken to the hospital in the first ambulance, the one that left before they arrived on the scene themselves, and the sister was actually sitting inside the ambulance where she had taken the picture of Adam with the kid. Fortunately all they had lost was material possessions that, while devastating, could at least be replaced on some level. Human life was never replaceable.
“You like my photo selection?” He wiggled his eyebrows. He picked three of her photos. The lead photo was that of the house when it was still standing. The flames that had engulfed it were shining brightly and the picture really captivated the destruction of the blaze. The second two pictures were that of the crowd, and the men working.
She was thrilled with his selection because it meant he wasn’t going to focus on Adam. At least she thought he wasn’t. He had the print version ready to go just before deadline, and this time, his photo selection wasn’t that of just the fire. He picked the lead photo to be the one of Adam running with the kid in his arms. She understood. If she were telling the story with her own art exhibit then she would have picked that one too. But the other three photos he chose were all of Adam. One was Adam kneeling in front of the child, and the other—and she was sure she was going to catch trouble for this, was the one where Adam looked right into the lens and she snapped the photo anyway. She was just so amazed by him that she couldn’t resist shooting him. What she should have thought about was that she was shooting on company time, which meant the photos were their photos to do what they pleased, with and Mitch, despite her protest, believed those were the best photos to use for “his” story.
She sighed. At least Adam was working forty-eight hours which meant he would have time to cool off before he saw her. She was sure, just like the last photo, this was going to cause some trouble for him. She had to give him warning, a heads up as it may be, because it wasn’t right for him to get blindsided with the morning presses.
She made a mental note to call him later. Or maybe she would just email him. She had a copy of all the photos for herself so she could email him the three that were going to be used. Email was so much better than by phone because it would give him time to be angry before actually having to confront her about his anger. Yes, email, she agreed, would be the best. Of course if he didn’t get the email then her attempt to warn him would be futile.
She sighed in desperation. She was really going to have to learn how not to tell some stories. She just lost control when shooting and she shot what she saw, the best way she could. If this were any other man she wouldn’t care what he thought. She would take the shots and lead with the same photos Mitch was leading with. The problem was this wasn’t just any other man. She already knew the last photo caused trouble for his station and these might cause more. She felt guilty about it.
“Toughen up,” Mitch patted her on her shoulder. “These are great pictures. Prize winning pictures—and they’ll go great with my prize winning story.” He grinned big. “Well, the bigger story,” he laughed. “This house fire might not matter much. The investigation is going to take a while, but I have assurance from a friend that we’ll be the first to know on the progress.
“A friend, huh?”
“Well, maybe not a friend. Actually, we’re getting preferential treatment because of the mayor. His office called in and ordered we be given preferential treatment on every fire related story.” He slapped his hands together and rubbed them feverishly. “We are on our way, Eve.” He knelt before her on one knee.
“What are you doing?” She felt the apprehension rising in her own body.
“Eve,” he placed his hands on her outer thighs.”
“Mitch?”
“I need to know, when I head back to New York. When I go back to the big times full-time, that you’ll be there, by my side. You and me—a team, connected in every way.”
She nearly knocked over the trash can as she pushed the rolling computer chair back just enough to give her some space. “Are you crazy?!” She half whispered, half screamed.
“No. I want you there. We’re a great team. My stories, your pictures. I’m not staying down here forever, Eve. This is my last year. This story is going to put me back on top.” He shrugged. “Not this story, but the arsonist…you know…I’m going back to the world I belong in and I’d like to take you with me. You deserve more than this.”
Fahrenheit Page 10
