Annie Seymour 01-Sacred Cows (19 page)

“I don’t know where you heard that, but if I ever see it in print, in our paper or another publication, you’re fired.”

He couldn’t get more direct than that.

“And what happened to your face?”

I sighed. “Someone decided to use me as a punching bag last night.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Sure.”

“Does your mother know?”

I snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I’m going to tell her this. I would appreciate some discretion on your part, too.”

He straightened up and put his elbows on his desk. “Is this connected in some way to the story?”

I told him about the note.

“That does it. You’re not to write another word about this.”

I bit my lip to keep my mouth from opening. He was pushing me toward updating my résumé. “The community should know if a city lawyer is embezzling money from people. This is our job, isn’t it?”

Bill Bennett nodded, but he was no Ben Bradlee, that was for sure. “I can’t have my reporters being threatened, being beat up because of a story.”

“It means I’m getting close.”

“But I just told you to stop. Now.” He stood up. “Considering what’s happened, too, I think you should have a lighter load for a while. With your connections, I think you’d do a fine job covering the cows. I talked to Marty Thompson about this earlier.”

I froze, even though he was walking next to me, trying to get me out his door so he could move on to whatever else it was he did during the day. He frowned when I stopped.

“Is that a problem?”

I should’ve said no. But I heard myself before I could think about it. “I don’t exactly believe in the cows, Mr. Bennett.”

Incredulity moved across his face. Not believe in the cows? What sort of New Havener was I? Didn’t I want the economy to prosper from a bunch of silly fiberglass bovines? He shook his head. “Your mother told me you could be difficult. I’m going to ignore that. If you want to continue working here, you’ll do as I say.”

The door shut behind me.

I didn’t care anymore who saw me. I strolled into the newsroom and ignored the shocked faces staring at me. Marty dropped his pen when he saw me.

“Christ, you look awful.”

“Thanks. We need to talk.”

Dick’s eyes followed us to the conference room and I shut the door on him, turning to Marty.

“Bennett wants me to cover the fucking cows. I have to stop work on the Torrey story. I know why, too. I think he invested pension money and he doesn’t want anyone to find out.”

“Where did you get that one from?”

“Something I deduced from something someone told me off the record.”

“We’re not the story here.”

“Maybe we are. Maybe Bennett really fucked up and lost a lot of our money.”

“You’re not exactly in a position to be making statements like that.”

It was his tone that made me sink into one of the chairs. “I’m in deep shit and all I did was my job.”

He pulled a chair up next to me. “I understand. It pisses me off, too. But there’s nothing I can do. It’s out of my hands.”

“Stupid cows.”

“I need a story about the cow hospital.” He said it so matter-of-factly and without a trace of a smile.

“What?”

“The place the cows will go when they’re vandalized.”

“So I’m not the only one anticipating major graffiti and demolition.”

“It’s in an old warehouse off Hamilton Street.”

“You’re serious. I have to cover the cows.”

He nodded. “Just for a week or so.”

“What if Torrey contacts me again?”

“Call the police.” Everyone had the same answer.

“What about Dick? Isn’t he going to be the slightest bit curious as to why we’re not covering this anymore?”

“I’ll have him make the daily phone calls and get him on something else.”

“That might work for a while, but in the long run . . .”

“Let me worry about that.”

For the first time I wanted Dick Whitfield to put up a stink, to be his obnoxious self so everyone in the newsroom would know what was going on. I couldn’t tell anyone else; Bennett would know it came from me or Marty and I couldn’t risk that. But Dick, well, I could risk Dick’s job with absolutely no conscience.

“Like I said, the cow hospital is off Hamilton. I understand there’s already a couple of casualties.”

“Graffiti?” I hoped.

He shook his head. “One artist was a little ambitious. Tried to attach the cow to the side of the Yale Rep and it fell right into that restaurant, you know the one I’m talking about, the one with the outside tables.”

I nodded. Marty’s senior moments were only a tad worse than mine these days. “So is there some sort of cow doctor at this place?” I knew my tone was more than sarcastic, and I didn’t even try to disguise it.

He ignored me and handed me a card. “The guy’s name and number are on that. You’ll have to make an appointment.”

So I’d even have to schedule this, organize my day around the cows. This was too much. “I’m going home, Marty. I called in sick. I’m tired and I feel like crap. I’ll set something up for tomorrow, maybe the next day. I don’t get the impression this is something that’s breaking news.”

“We already covered the incident with the falling cow. Dick’s on top of that. Minor damage. No one was eating outside at the time.”

He said it all with a straight face, like it was real news. I walked out without another word.

Dick caught up with me in the parking lot.

“What happened to you?”

“I had a little accident.”

“Does it have anything to do with Torrey?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. But we may never know. Bennett put the kibosh on the story. And you didn’t hear that from me. I’m not even officially here.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” I opened my car door, but Dick put out his hand to keep me from getting inside.

“The story’s off? Why?”

I shook my head. “You’re a reporter, Dick. Find out. But if I hear you used my name in vain I’ll send the same guys who did this to me after you.”

His mouth was still hanging open when I drove off.

I knew it would be all over the newsroom in less than half an hour. But I didn’t expect to have three messages from my colleagues on my answering machine by the time I got home. Yeah, I stopped off for a loaf of bread and some tunafish, but it didn’t take
that
long.

“Heard what happened with the story, Annie. That sucks.”

“Maybe we should just cover the story and when it breaks, give it to the
SunDial.
”

I liked that one. The
SunDial
scared the shit out of the
Herald
editors, God knows why. It was your basic alternative, go-against-Corporate-America little rag that had great restaurant reviews and very unique personal ads. Every once in a while, the
SunDial
got a good story, something we should’ve had but didn’t for a gazillion reasons, some of which having to do with the fact that most of our reporting staff was inexperienced and underpaid.

The third message was simple, straight to the point:

“U-N-I-O-N.” It was whispered, probably from the pay phone in the cafeteria. It could’ve been anyone, but I suspected it was Fred Wheeler, who’d been at the paper longer than I had and who was even more cynical. Whoever it was, he made me smile.

I stripped off my clothes and pulled on my fleece bathrobe. I liked the way it felt on my skin, and I wondered how I could be horny after being beaten up, but I was. I thought about calling Tom but opted against it, it was late in the day and he’d be working. Instead, I pulled a beer out of the refrigerator to have with my tunafish sandwich. It wasn’t much of a supper, but I didn’t have much of an appetite.

I dialed the number on the card Marty gave me but it just rang and rang. I guess there weren’t any sick cows today. I’d try again in the morning.

I plugged my cell phone into its charger and started channel-surfing. I fell asleep watching Donald Trump belittle a group of wannabe Donald Trumps. It was pathetic.

I was having a dream that a cow was in my living room and I couldn’t get it to leave. Just as I opened the door to push it out, I heard the doorbell. And then I heard it again. I struggled to wake up, realizing the doorbell wasn’t in the dream but it really was ringing. I glanced at the clock. Midnight.

“Yeah?” I asked the door, vaguely aware I was wearing nothing under my robe.

“Let me in.” It was Vinny. I pulled my robe closer, checking to make sure there weren’t any cheap thrills, and opened the door.

“How’d you get in downstairs?”

He ignored me and went right to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“Make yourself at home,” I said sarcastically and slumped down on to the couch. The phone was off the hook at my feet. “So I didn’t want to talk to anyone, sue me. Anyway, I’m off the story. I’m on to a better one. I get to cover the cows.”

Vinny was frowning at me, uncertain whether I was joking.

“I’m off the story,” I said again. “Even if Torrey contacts me, I can’t do a fucking thing about it.”

“I have copies of legal affidavits filed by Torrey’s victims, along with some other damning evidence.”

I was fiddling with the collar on my robe and stopped. “What?”

“Do you want it or not?”

I took a deep breath as I struggled with myself. Of course I wanted it, but what could I do with it? Give it to the
SunDial,
like my colleague had suggested? Give it to the
Courant
? Give it to Richard Wells? Or write it myself and sell it somewhere else, thus quitting my job and going freelance? But first there was a more important question.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to give it to me now? I know you’ve had this all along, and you didn’t offer it. Now, when I’m off the story and I’ve been forbidden to write another word about it, you suddenly become very generous. Why?”

“You’ve been forbidden to write about it?” He seemed amused with my choice of words, but they were accurate.

“Damned straight. I could lose my job, straight from the horse’s ass himself, my mother’s boyfriend.”

“He’s not officially one of the victims named in the complaints, but I do know he invested.”

“Why?” I asked again.

“He wanted to make money.”

“No kidding. Why do you want to give me this stuff now?”

“It needs to be made public. Torrey needs to be forced out.”

“Wouldn’t that just push him underground even further?”

“It would make everyone aware of what’s going on. So if someone sees him, or if he contacts someone, he could be traced.”

It made sense. It also told me Vinny was having no luck in finding Torrey himself.

“How much is my mother paying you to find him?”

Vinny smiled. “That’s none of your business.”

“But if I help you find him, then I should get a cut, right?”

“It’s your job.”

“Not anymore.” The words hung in the air between us like a smelly fart.

After a couple of minutes, I finally gave in. “Okay, let me see it.”

“You think I have it with me? It’s at my office. Come by in the morning and I’ll show it to you.”

“And your etchings, too, will you show me those?” I felt like an idiot.

“No, really, Annie. It’s safe at the office. But you’ll have to come early, I have to be at Bradley at ten
A.M.
”

The airport. “You do know where he is.”

“I’m not sure.”

“But you have an idea.”

“Maybe.”

“Then why do you need me?” We were going in circles.

He stood up. “I’ll be in my office at seven.”

“Seven
A.M.
?”

He didn’t even turn around as he let himself out. I locked the door behind him and put the chain on. It wouldn’t hurt just to look at it, I told myself as I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. If Bill Bennett wasn’t named specifically, maybe he’d let me write something. Maybe pigs fly, too. I took off my robe and slid between the sheets, cold against my skin. Just before I fell asleep, I realized I hadn’t heard from Tom all day.

CHAPTER 16

As I blinked into the mirror in the morning, I thought my face looked a little better. Or maybe it was just the goop in my eyes. I was getting too old to go to bed that late and get up this early. I rummaged a pair of jeans and T-shirt out of my laundry basket. Maybe later I’d get a little time and drop my dirty clothes off at the laundry. I paid extra to have the little old lady behind the counter take care of them. It was worth it. I’m certainly not going to spend my time listening to my clothes in a washing machine while I watch bad TV. Someday I’d actually purchase a washer and dryer. I’d been told there was a spot for them in the basement, but since I’d never been in the basement of my building, I couldn’t say for sure. Just another place to run into my neighbors.

Speak of the devils, they were early risers, just my luck.

“You look better today,” Walter mused. He actually looked good in a suit.

Amber peered into my face and I suppressed the urge to slap her. “What happened?”

“You were looking out the window when I got mugged,” I said.

She shrugged. “Is that what was going on? I just thought you’d met up with friends.”

I hung back and let them move past me on the sidewalk, turning to their cars. It was hard for me to believe that she’d seen me on the ground with two thugs trying to shove me into a car and thought they were my “friends.” It strengthened my resolve to stay out of the way of my neighbors.

Vinny’s office was in a brownstone on Trumbull Street. Besides “Private Investigations,” the sign out front also boasted “Madame Shara: I’ll Read Your Palm and Tell You Your Future for the Right Price,” and “Cobb Doyle, Attorney-at-Law.” I walked up to the door and let myself into one of those fake foyers. The inside door was locked, and I found Vinny’s bell and pushed it.

There was no answer. No buzz letting me in. I rang the bell a few more times, but there was no sign of life behind the door. I peered through the glass at a dark hallway. It puzzled me, since he’d been adamant about the time and I didn’t think he was the type to stand me up. I pulled my cell phone out of my bag, found his card in my wallet, and punched his number.