Ted nodded. “But if you’re wrong…”
“If I’m wrong, I have another job sniffing panties.”
Ted’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
“Nothing. What do you think?”
He shrugged. “Let’s do it.”
After a minute spent attaching my ISB and setting up the shot, I heard Jane’s voice in the earpiece. “Isabel McNeil is at the Criminal Courts Building in Chicago, where the verdict of mob lawyer, Tony Pitello, is about to be announced. Isabel, what’s the latest?”
I looked into the camera, the way Ted had told me, and just as he’d told me, I talked to Jane as if she were right in front of me.
“Jane, just minutes ago, the jury in Tony Pitello’s case filed into the courtroom, ready to read their verdict. But Pitello fainted, apparently due to the stress of the situation. His head hit the table in front of him, making a small wound on his forehead. Judge Kevin Glenn recessed the court for ten minutes.”
“Interesting turn of events,” Jane said. “Any idea what’s going to happen, Isabel?”
“Yes,” I said with authority, peering into the large, reflective eye of the camera. “The jury is going to find him guilty.”
21
W hen I got back to the station, an intern was waiting for me inside the front door. He was the one who had gotten screamed at by Tommy Daley earlier. And he looked even more scared now.
“Tommy wants to see you.”
I found Tommy in the studio, standing in front of the interview area with the blue leather chairs. He was waving a clipboard and yelling about getting people miked. Two people sat on the chairs. One was a woman in a brown tweed suit, who looked overwhelmed by her surroundings. “Don’t look at the cameras,” a floor director was saying to her. “Only look at Jane.”
The other person in the interview area was an elegant man in his midsixties with a mass of artfully arranged silver hair. I immediately recognized him as Jackson Prince, Chicago’s litigation ruler. He was a multimillionaire lawyer who got all the huge personal injury cases in the city and had now moved on to bigger fish, like the drug companies. Prince didn’t seem to notice Tommy’s frenetic preparations for what was obviously going to be a guest segment of the show. Instead, he scrolled through his BlackBerry, then when he was done, crossed his legs, sighed a bit and glanced around him, as if he was waiting patiently for someone to deliver him a cup of tea.
Tommy stopped in midrant when he saw me. He stepped off the set and walked toward me. I smiled a wide, fake grin as I waited.
His face was even ruddier than that morning, his hair electric-looking. “I cannot believe you made a verdict prediction on national TV,” he said.
“Isn’t that what you said you wanted?”
A snarl formed on his face, and Tommy opened his mouth, but I jumped in before he could respond.
“I mean, what you said they wanted,” I corrected. “The network wanted me to filter the story through my experience in the law, right? I did that. And I backed it up.” On air, I’d explained my reasoning for the opinion-the lack of eye contact from the jurors.
“I was right,” I added. I had run back inside the courtroom, found that Pitello had indeed been found guilty, and scuttled back outside to report that the verdict was official.
Tommy Daley shook his head. His features slackened. “I can’t believe I still work in this business. I can’t believe this is how it works now.”
I didn’t know how to respond.
“One minute,” a voice called out.
A makeup person scampered onto the set and began to dab powder onto Jackson Prince’s cheeks.
“Look, let me give you some pointers,” Tommy said. “Your cadence is stilted, and you’re too tight. You don’t have to hold your shoulders like you’re facing a firing squad, okay? But yeah, I guess you’re right. You did give them what they wanted.”
Although it wasn’t the highest of praise, I nodded. “Thanks.”
“Give me a second, and I’ll show you how to write it up so we can use the story on a later broadcast.”
Tommy stopped and turned as Jane trotted onto the set and settled herself between Prince and the woman in the tweed suit.
The screens around the interview area came to life, showing two lawyers, one in L.A. and one in New York, both of whom had been placed in front of official-looking bookshelves.
“Three, two…” a voice called out. The lights blazed brighter.
“This is Jane Augustine,” Jane said, smiling into the semicircle of cameras surrounding the set. “Welcome back to Trial TV. During our morning Coffee Break today we’ll be talking about runaway class action lawsuits.”
She quickly introduced her guests, in a way that made it seem like Trial TV had been having a “coffee break” every day for years, and then turned to the woman in tweed. “Professor Carleton, you believe class action suits are abused by overeager lawyers looking to make money, is that right?”
The professor nodded. “Absolutely, Jane. Class actions are supposed to provide closure for victims and pool together resources. But the system is being abused, and packs of lawyers are making off with the cash.” She sat up straighter, her face growing animated. “The plaintiffs in these classes usually get very little money, but the lawyers…” She nodded in the direction of Prince. “The lawyers are the victors who make millions and millions in fees.”
Jane went next for an opinion from the lawyer in L.A.
When he was finished, she turned away from the professor. “Now to Jackson Prince,” Jane said, “one of Chicago’s most influential attorneys who currently has liaison-counsel status in a suit against King Pharmaceuticals, the company that makes the arthritis drug, Ladera.”
I knew that Jane had interviewed Prince numerous times over the years, and as if there were a secret language between them, she looked at him and raised her eyebrows, as if to say, What do you think?
Prince smiled benevolently. “Jane, let me say that billions-literally billions-of dollars are ultimately awarded to consumers for restitution. Our class action system is the ultimate watchdog today.”
“Mr. Prince,” Jane said, putting her notes down, “let’s discuss the suit against King Pharmaceuticals.”
Prince gave a pleased nod. “We’re trying to get reparations from King Pharmaceuticals for injuries caused to millions who took Ladera.”
“Let me ask a question about getting into the suit. How do you confirm that people opting into the lawsuit have taken the drug?”
“It’s quite simple, actually. Patients provide pharmacy records showing they purchased it.”
Jane paused, seemingly very intrigued by something. “How do the patients know to contact you? In this case, for example, do you obtain medical records showing what patients were prescribed Ladera?”
Prince’s eyes narrowed, but only for a second. “Of course not. Medical records are confidential. Marketing campaigns are launched to inform patients of their potential case.”
“And what about those people who have taken the drug but didn’t have any side effects?”
“Generally, they won’t become a member of the class.”
“Unless they’re convinced to testify that they did have such side effects, right?”
Now Prince’s eyes squinted and stayed that way. There was a pause during which he and Jane stared at each other. What was going on?
“No dead air, no dead air,” Tommy muttered under his breath.
The lawyer from New York, who seemed itching to speak, jumped in. “Jane, if I could say one thing…”
“Of course.” Jane introduced the lawyer. The monitors focused on his face. He began to rattle on about pharmaceutical companies pushing these drugs without proper testing. Meanwhile, Prince and Jane continued to stare at each other, as if involved in a silent showdown.
“What’s happening?” I whispered to Tommy.
“No fucking idea.”
Suddenly, Prince pulled out his BlackBerry and looked at it.
Then he pulled off his mike and gestured to a producer. The producer, looking mortified, scampered onto the stage, while the cameras pulled in closer on the New York attorney. Prince and the producer whispered a few words back and forth. Jane asked another question of the remote guest, but continued to stare at Prince.
Tommy cupped his earpiece, listening. “Prince says he’s got an emergency in court.”
And then Jackson Prince stood and left the set.
22
I t’s usually only later, after something truly awful happens, that we look back at a certain moment and see that while that moment appeared mundane at the time, it was actually a turning point, the last such moment we would ever have in exactly the same way, with those same people. After we’ve caught a glimpse of that moment in our life’s rearview mirror, it takes on certain crystalline qualities. We view it more clearly than we actually saw it at the time. We give weight to each uttered syllable, to each brief touch.
For me, that moment was when Jane strode up to my desk. The newscasters and production crew who would handle the afternoon and evening broadcasts were coming in now. This was the lull before the next, soon-to-be-arriving storm.
“You were amazing,” Jane said. “I knew you would be. You blew it out of the park with that report on Pitello.”
I filled with satisfaction at her words. My professional life had been in such a downslide that it was great, even momentarily, to halt that fall.
“You were great,” I told her. “This is exactly what you’re supposed to be doing with your career.”
She smiled-a genuine grin, full of pride. “Thanks for saying that. I do feel like this is where I’m supposed to be. Did you see the segment with Jackson Prince?”
“Yeah, what happened there?”
Jane smiled. “Tommy wants to kill me, because I won’t tell him what’s going on, but I’m going to nail Prince to the wall.”
“With what?”
“I’m working on a story that will rock him. But I’m still putting the pieces together, and since I’m doing all the writing myself now, it’s taking a little longer. I want to make sure I don’t run with it before I’ve got everything nailed down. But Prince knows I’m circling.”
I looked at her face. She was clearly excited. “You love this business, don’t you?”
“Love it,” she said without hesitation.
But then her smile faltered. She looked over her shoulder. “Mick was here this morning.”
“That writer?”
She nodded, her face stern.
“I saw him. You looked kind of freaked. What was he doing?”
“Interviewing the network president and then some of the other guys. Some book he’s writing about the news business.”
“You didn’t know he’d be here?”
“Hell, no,” she said with vehemence. “I don’t ever want to see that guy again.”
“Why? You two looked like you were having fun the other night.”
She peered around, as if to see if anyone was listening. When she turned back to me her face was filled with distaste. “I didn’t tell you the other morning, because I was still trying to sort it out in my head, but I think he’s been following me.”
I stood. “What do you mean?”
Another glance around. “I found some stuff in his apartment, all this information on me-notes, pictures, articles, things like that. He had what grocery store I go to, where I get my hair cut, everything.”
“Was it information he could have learned by asking around?”
“He knew my gynecologist.”
“Wow. Bizarre.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to call the cops on him?”
“I do, but like I said when you were at my house, I cannot afford bad publicity right now, not with Trial TV just starting. And there’s no way the cops would keep this quiet.”
“Wait. Jane, why didn’t you tell me this when we found the noose? If he was following you, maybe it was him.”
She shook her head. “I thought about that, but…” She shrugged. “I don’t know how to say this, but I just don’t think he would do something like that. He’s not the type.”
“He was following you.”
“Yeah, but I think the following thing might have to do with his book. When I found those notes he made about me, he also had stories about other newscasters.”
“So? All that says is he’s a freak who gets his rocks off stalking newscasters.”
“He doesn’t know where I keep the key.”
“If he really was following you, he might have seen you use it at some point.”
She gave a brief nod. “I guess. And I guess I was just hoping the whole thing would blow over, and I’d never see him again. Things have been so rocky with Zac, I haven’t wanted to add anything to the mix.” She smiled wistfully. “I wish Zac could have been here today.”
“Does Zac usually watch your broadcasts in person?”
“No, but today was special, you know? He was supposed to come by this morning, but he’s still in Long Beach.”
She blinked a few times. Her eyes became tear-filled. “We’ve got problems.”
“What can I do?”
She forced a smile and batted a tear away. “You can go with me to the launch party tonight. You’re invited because you’re an employee now, and I hate going to these things alone. Zac usually goes with me.”
“Of course. I’d love to.”
She told me the address for the party and asked me to meet her at a bar down the street beforehand.
I sat down and jotted the name of the place then looked up at Jane. “You sure you don’t want to do anything about this Mick guy? I mean, he did show up here today.”
“Yeah, but he had an excuse, and he left. He didn’t even talk to me. And I haven’t heard anything from him since I spent the night there. It’s a situation that will go away.”
I raised one of my eyebrows and gave her a dubious look.
“And if it doesn’t, I’ll go to the cops.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Now make sure you wear something fabulous tonight. That’s an order from a higher-up at Trial TV.”
“Got it. What are you going to do until then?”
“See a friend of mine. I need someone to get my head straight, you know?”
“I know. My friend Maggie does that for me.”
“The tough part will be that I have to tell this friend I won’t be around much anymore. I need to focus on my marriage.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
She put her hand on my shoulder. “And hey, you’ve been a good friend to me, too. Thank you for that. Really.”
I stood and hugged her. “Anytime, Jane.”
She squeezed me back. The embrace lasted only for the briefest second. It seemed a mundane moment. But it was one I would return to again and again.
23
W hen I arrived at the bar at six, there was no sign of Jane.
The place she’d chosen was a Latin bar/restaurant on Illinois Street. Jane said she loved the place, and I could see why. It was a sexy, splashy lounge with sensual drum-based music.
The bar was packed so I stood at the back, behind the crowd. After a while, I checked my watch. Jane was definitely late, which was curious, since her newscaster background usually made her exceptionally punctual. But then again, the day had been a hectic one.
I texted her-I’m here. Want me to order something for you?
I shifted back and forth and looked around. Still no Jane. I checked my watch a few times. Had I misunderstood her somehow? I called, but her phone rang and then went to voice mail.
The River East Arts Center, where the party was being held, was on the same block as the bar. Maybe she was already there?
I hustled down Illinois Street, where the Arts Center was lit up and glowing. Located not far from Navy Pier, the gallery was an elegant two-story loft space, which overlooked the river and was decorated
with everything from sculptures to oil paintings to pop art. As I walked around, searching for Jane, I peered at some of the discreet stickers at the bottom of the art. Most of the pieces cost as much as I could make in a year at the Fig Leaf.
But Trial TV had spared no expense for their opening party. A band stood in front of the glass wall and belted out jazz numbers. Waiters circled with glasses of sparkling wine. The place was full of elegant people laughing, toasting.
All they needed was a lead newscaster.
I went back to the bar to find it was still packed. I couldn’t even make my way to the front. And still no sign of Jane.
By now, she was half an hour late. I called and got her voice mail again. I texted once more-Are you on your way?
When she was forty-five minutes late, I went back to the gallery.
Tommy Daley came up to me. He wore the same gray shirt and yellow tie he’d worn to work, but he’d put a shabby tan blazer over it. “Have you seen Jane?”
“I’m looking for her, too. We were supposed to meet up the street, but she didn’t show.”
“Goddamn it. Ari Adler arrives in five minutes, and Jane was supposed to greet him. Find her, will ya? Find her now.”
I called Jane three times, texted her twice and checked the restaurant again. Still no sign.
I thought of her words earlier this afternoon. She was going to see a friend. I need someone to get my head straight, she said.
Who was the friend she was meeting? Was it really a friend or one of her flings? Jane said that Zac was gone. Would she have met the person at her place?
Jane’s town house wasn’t far-just a few minutes by cab ride. I went out front, where a row of cabs waited. A couple minutes later, I was in front of her house. The lights were on, just like the other night. Was Jane still here getting ready? Maybe running late?
I gave the cab cash and asked if he could wait. If Jane was simply late and was ready now, we’d be back in time to greet Ari Adler.
I hurried up the front steps and rang the doorbell. I could hear the sound echoing inside, a vacant sound.
Red Blooded Murder Page 13
