I nodded. “Like someone wanted to make sure I got it.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t just a coincidence?” Erin held my gaze. “I hear drones buzzing by every time I’m in the park.”
”Maybe,” I agreed. It was just the timing of picking up the suspicious envelope and seeing the drone that gave me pause.
Erin rubbed her brow. “What is it they’re referring to, anyway? Megan Hines?”
That was my initial reaction, but then I remembered what Mayor Noah Goldberg’s spokesperson said to me recently. I reminded Erin. “Stay in your lane, Mrs. Bell. Death is closer than you think.”
Erin’s brows pulled together. “You think this is a threat?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Or just a bad prank before tonight’s award ceremony.”
Erin looked at the message again. “Like, disappear with the other out of work journalists?”
I nodded, taking the note back into my possession.
“Who would do that?” Erin’s face soured when a car horn honked behind us. She waved her hand to the driver impatiently waiting for us to move and eased her foot off the brake.
I could think of plenty of people wanting to ruin my day, especially since we began reporting on the inaccuracies about the current crime statistics coming out of the mayor’s office. Our inboxes were flooded daily with hundreds of tips. Tips of petty crimes, domestic assault, theft, and even murder. Everyone wanted to tally up the crimes—both witnessed and experienced—and have them acknowledged by those in power. What started as a snowflake had snowballed into something larger than either of us could have imagined. It had quickly become impossible for just the two of us to keep up with, and even more impossible to not have the credible tips—which I knew were buried somewhere in the pile—get drowned out by the fictitious stories made up by people not wanting to be left out. Either way, this message—threat—was the first of its kind. Which was why it got my attention.
A couple minutes later Erin stopped at a light and said, “Does it concern you someone you might not know could know where you live?”
“I live in the city.” I rolled my eyes in her direction. “It’s not like I’m hiding out in a cave.”
“It worries me sometimes,” Erin admitted.
My routine was predictable. I came and went. The same as anybody else—including Erin. Anybody with enough sense could track me down. It wasn’t that hard. Besides, Erin and I were quickly taking on a form of celebrity, which had its benefits, but also its downsides. This being one of them.
“We signed up to have targets on our backs,” I said.
With one hand on the wheel, Erin flashed a wide, toothy grin. “Damn right we did.”
“Then let’s not forget about Megan Hines like it seems the rest of the world is doing.”
Erin frowned and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Tell me, honestly, do you think she’s still alive?”
I kept silent, not wanting the truth of that question to somehow jinx Megan’s life. Erin didn’t press for an answer, and we drove the rest of the way in silence. By the time we arrived to the Marriott in Cherry Creek, I tucked the clipping into the glove box, promising myself to let it rest until morning. But as soon as my heel hit the pavement, I found myself being greeted by Mayor Goldberg. He waved his pompous hand at me and pretended to be happy about seeing his two favorite reporters who knew his lies.
Chapter Four
Three hours and one Percy Goodwin State Journalism Award ceremony later, Erin and I stepped into the ballroom where the after party was already in full swing. Despite walking away from tonight’s ceremony empty handed, we held our heads high as we moved through the knots of murmurs and jovial laughter.
Neither of us was surprised to not receive a single award for our work on Real Crime News. It wasn’t viewed as a legit news source by the Association, plus we were two women striking out on our own in a male-dominated industry. The mountain we were climbing was steep. We had to work twice as hard as our male colleagues—fighting daily to earn the recognition we achieved. One slip for us and it would be back to the bottom of the hill. But my competitive side had me gritting my teeth at the entire charade, knowing what a simple award could do for our careers.
“There you two are.” Susan approached in her flowing red gown. “There are not two more deserving people who should be recognized for their hard work than the two of you.”
Susan looked beautiful and had done a tremendous job of putting together tonight’s party. I told her as much before dangling the rabbit’s foot she’d given me.
“Hang on to it, Sam.” We hugged. “You never know when it will bring its luck.”
Susan knew the fight Erin and I were up against. She’d started her own event planning business, Extraordinary Events, several years back and had since grown it into one of Denver’s leading event planning businesses.
“There is food being passed and champagne flowing.” Susan smiled. “And don’t forget the beer on tap at the bar.” She winked at me, knowing I preferred a craft beer over anything else before excusing herself to mingle with the guests.
We watched Susan glide across the wood floor and settle up against executive producer Owen Daniels. Neither of us was surprised to see him chatting up the mayor. Everyone wanted to win over Owen’s influence, and I was certain he also had some pull in TV news anchor Heidi Mitchell’s career.
I heard my name being called when I spotted my editor at the Times, Ryan Dawson, at the bar. “Want to get a beer?” I asked Erin.
“I’m going to work the room for a bit.”
Erin had her eye set on something, or someone, I couldn’t see and I turned to congratulate Dawson on our paper’s success. The Times swept all the column categories and won top breaking news award for coverage of the damaging hailstorm that ripped across the city in early June of this year. It was a nice achievement, and great to know I was part of that winning team.
“Sam,” he said, “you deserved to be recognized tonight.”
“I’ll take front page above the fold over one of those silly awards any day of the week.”
“That’s why you’re still my favorite.” Dawson smiled and raised his glass. “Find Megan Hines and everyone in this room will want your celebrity.”
Megan Hines had haunted my dreams since her disappearance and I wanted to find her more than anything, but I wasn’t after celebrity.
Dawson asked, “Nothing from King?”
“You know I can’t reveal my sources.”
“Touché.”
Detective Alex King wasn’t only a great resource into the Denver Police Department’s activities, but he was also my boyfriend who I wished was here with me tonight. Events like these were so much better with him to hold my hand, but instead he’d been called to work.
Dawson raised his glass at a colleague across the room. He turned to me and said, “Don’t give up, Sam. Megan’s out there somewhere. The police will find her.”
I stood with drink in hand, taking in the many faces swirling around me as Dawson left me with my thoughts. Erin was sharing a laugh with someone from a small-town newspaper while Owen was working his charm on Susan.
“Someone should tell them to get a room.”
I rolled my neck and found Archie Smith, a reporter from the Bay Area, fill the empty void next to me. Susan now had one hand on Owen’s arm as he continued to make her laugh. I knew it was trouble the moment I saw them together. Susan had a weakness for handsome men like Owen Daniels.
“That’s my friend you’re talking about,” I said, giving Archie a sideways glance.
“Between you and me,” Archie grinned, “I heard rumors that he sexually assaulted a coworker.”
“We can’t report on rumors,” I said, turning on a heel to direct my focus elsewhere.
Instead of Archie giving me my space, he took more of it. Archie had made a name for himself by reporting on the elusive murders of what he called the Prom Queen Killer. PQK was a serial killer who terrorized the
west coast for nearly a decade before finally getting caught. Archie wrote a book about it and I assumed he was now looking for ways to extend his brief moment of fame. Young reporters like him were so predictable, especially on nights like tonight.
“But we can investigate them to see if they’re true,” Archie said as Heidi Mitchell took Susan’s place next to Daniels. It didn’t take long for Daniels’s hand to travel a little too far south on Heidi’s body. Archie laughed. “Want to bet she was the victim?”
Heidi quickly pushed Daniels’s hand away and begin searching the room for eyes that might have seen what he had done. Archie’s rumor may have been true with the way Heidi was reacting, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
“Talk to me when you have actual evidence to back your accusation.” I turned to the bar and asked for another beer.
Archie followed. “Wait, this isn’t about my Prom Queen Killer story, is it?”
I rolled my eyes to Archie’s browns and sipped my beer. This was exactly about his reporting. I didn’t particularly like his tactics, or how he often embellished a story to make it sound bigger than it actually was. I questioned whether or not he was just trying to get a rise out of me. The imbalance of power between Daniels and Heidi was as clear as his insinuation—and anyone with eyes could read the writing on the wall—but what was the real reason Archie sought me out tonight?
“Everyone has to have a career, Samantha.” He laughed. “And some of us would prefer not to wait around for it to arrive.”
What Archie achieved by age twenty-four was more than I had by thirty. “I don’t mean to discredit your success,” I said, “but what you did was wrong.”
“Wrong?” Archie nearly spit out his drink.
“You sensationalized a serial killer.”
“And look where it landed me? I’m here. Alongside the likes of you.”
“It was irresponsible,” I said. “And dangerous, too. You glorified PQK’s work and turned a villain into a hero.” I couldn’t believe I was wasting my breath.
“If you’re worried about copycats, then should we also stop covering mass shootings as well?”
I rolled my eyes and turned to face him. The murmurs circling us grew louder and I saw people begin filing toward the exit. It wasn’t a panic luring them outside, but definitely attention-grabbing. I asked Archie, “Why are you here?”
With a glimmer in his eye, he said, “I’m writing a book.”
I knew it. “Did your first one stop selling already?”
Archie’s eyes glimmered. “A true crime novel about active serial killers who are able to avoid getting caught.”
His brief moment of celebrity must have been good to him. “And you expect to find one here, actively working the city of Denver?”
Archie’s smirk deepened as he nodded. “Tell me about that missing girl no one but you gives a shit about.”
“Oh brother.” I set my beer glass down on the counter and prepared to follow the crowd outside to see what was happening. Looking Archie in the eye, I said, “Megan disappeared. There’s no proof she’s been murdered.”
Archie grinned from behind his glass. “Not yet there isn’t.”
Chapter Five
Homicide detective Alex King ducked under the crime scene tape in the Park Hill neighborhood. His partner John Alvarez followed close behind. A call had come in about a body found, possibly murdered, and now a group of onlookers made up of mostly young men barked their hatred of the police from behind the two squad cars blocking the entrance to the alleyway where the victim lay.
Alvarez glanced at the hecklers and said in a low voice, “Why are the people who assume to have all the answers the same people who have nothing to offer?”
“What, John? Afraid of a little critique?”
Night was on the horizon and their shift was just beginning. The community distress was growing, thanks to the ongoing war between the press and mayor’s office with no end in sight. Unlike his partner, King ignored his mostly male audience and approached the uniformed officer who’d been tasked with guarding the victim. King introduced himself by name and rank and asked, “What do we have?”
The officer stepped into the soft glow of the overhead street lamp and showed his face. He appeared shaken up. “It’s the worst I’ve ever seen.”
“Who called it in?”
The uniform shrugged. “Called in anonymously.”
King shared a look with his partner and let his gaze bounce between the rows of faces staring, watching the police work as if hoping they’d see their declared enemy make a mistake. King wasn’t surprised by the anonymous call in this neighborhood. The last thing these people wanted was to be seen cooperating with cops.
Pushing his fingers into latex gloves, King said, “Show me what we got.”
The uniform put a hand over his mouth and nodded his head. Stepping into the shadows, King caught his first glimpse of the body. The uniform couldn’t go any further, and even King had to look away before he could stomach the gruesome sight himself. It was as bad as the young officer made it out to be—perhaps one of King’s worst sightings in all his years on the job.
“Christ,” Alvarez muttered. “This kind of shit is what convinces me the devil is real.”
King took a deep breath and kneeled next to the victim. It was a girl of about fourteen and she was badly beaten. Her face was swollen like an eggplant—her thin naked body contorted like origami. King tilted his head and met her dull gaze, staring up into the sky—dried blood squeezed out from the corners of her eyes. Pieces of King’s heart slowly chipped away as he wondered who she was and why she’d been murdered, left to rot in a desolate city alley.
Alvarez kneeled beside King, tilted his head back and forth as he inspected the scene. “Pavement is dry. There’s no blood anywhere besides on the victim.”
King lifted his head and glanced in the direction of the squad cars. Where was everyone, and why hadn’t anyone from the medical examiner’s office arrived yet? Something wasn’t right.
“She wasn’t murdered here.” King turned back to face his Jane Doe. “She was dumped.”
Alvarez sighed and pointed between her legs. A broken bottle penetrated the girl—more blood oozed out. “She pissed off somebody.”
King flitted his gaze over the surrounding alleyway pavement until it backed up against the grimy wall not more than ten feet away. Looking for clues to who might have left her here, there was little information to go on except for the contusions around each of her wrists.
“Perhaps we can pull some fibers from her skin,” King said, still waiting on forensics to arrive.
“I’m going to go see if one of our fans nearby saw anything.” Alvarez stood and walked off.
King remained kneeling next to Jane Doe, making mental notes when finally an EMS caravan arrived. A team of paramedics pushed a gurney as close to the body as they were allowed before King stood and told them to stop. He wanted this done right—couldn’t afford any mistakes. The victim deserved their best police work, even if King believed he was the only one to give a shit about what happened.
“The body isn’t ready to be released.” King held up his hand and widened his stance. Not until someone from the coroner’s office gave a damn. Then he looked to the uniformed officer. “Where the hell is the ME?”
“Tonight, you’ll have to settle for me.” A sergeant from CSI stepped up with his work bag slung over his shoulder.
King sized the sergeant up. You’ve got to be kidding? Just one person?
“Alex,” Alvarez called to King. “Let’s go. A call just came in. We might have a connection to our Jane Doe.”
“Document everything. Pictures. Videos. I mean everything.” King rushed past the sergeant making himself clear, even if a bit redundant when telling him how to do his job. “I don’t want anything lost. The press is already on our asses for failure to properly report our work. We can’t afford to mess this up.”
Chapter Six
A
llison Doyle perched on a stool in a high school classroom, tucked behind her laptop computer helping Coach Nicholas Bennett organize his girls’ volleyball team inventory.
There were jerseys, pads, and shorts piled high on desks as Coach Bennett handed them out to each of his players. Allison recorded what was checked out and smiled at the excited buzz filling the room. The girls were enthusiastic for a new season, returning with hopes of a repeat of last year’s State Championship. They’d been at it for the last half-hour and, when the last of the uniforms was issued, Coach Bennett turned to Allison and smiled.
Allison returned his smile and tapped ‘Enter’ on her keyboard. “Recorded and saved.”
Coach Bennett came around the desk and took a look. “Thanks again for doing this.”
“Not a problem,” Allison said, explaining her Excel spreadsheet. “Anything to help you take your team back to State.”
“I prefer to be with the girls instead of having to keep up with the latest software update.”
“We do what we do best.”
Their eyes met and they shared a smile when one of the girls, Jenny Booth, came rushing to the door.
“Coach,” she said. “These shorts are too big.” The girl looked down. Her thin legs were swimming in the elastic. “I’m going to need something smaller.”
Coach Bennett looked to Allison and they laughed. Bennett said, “Take what you need from the pile and make sure to return the ones you’re wearing.”
As Jenny did what she was told, Allison kept stealing glances at Bennett. A warm feeling spread across her chest, hoping her attraction wasn’t as obvious as it felt.
They’d met two weeks ago at a local coffee shop when she embarrassingly forgot her wallet and couldn’t pay for the drink she ordered. Bennett stepped in and paid for her, which led to them sharing the same table. It was that chance meeting where they learned they had a lot more in common than liking their coffee black, and was the reason Allison was here now.
MAD AS BELL Page 2
