Delivering Death: A Novel (Riley Spartz) (18 page)

He wished he could leave town. Only one thing still stood in his way.

D
owntown. Meet for coffee in five.”

The text on my phone came midmorning from Garnett. He must have spent the night debating whether or not to reply to my message.

I didn’t bother checking my appearance in the mirror because I did not want to pretend this was anything but a professional courtesy on his part, nor did I want him to think this was a scheme to win him back. I might no longer have a boyfriend, but I still had my pride. At least that’s how I consoled myself as I walked toward the coffee shop.

Garnett was sipping a hot brew outside and handed one to me.

“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate you stopping by.”

“No problem. I was in the area. Let’s walk and talk. I’ve been sitting the last couple hours.”

I figured he wanted to stay on the move to avoid looking me in the eye. We headed north on Nicollet Mall, window shopping and watching buses speed by. “You heard about the Jack Clemens business?”

He nodded. “Your basic public relations disaster.”

I wondered at his choice of words: public relations. Had he already had a similar conversation with Velma? Being envious made me feel anxious.
Stick to business,
I reminded myself.

“So how could the feds not know he wasn’t in custody?” I asked.

“Sloppy processing,” he said. “Every year, there’s a couple cases where the wrong inmate gets released by mistake.”

“But this is the opposite problem. The wrong person got
in.
”

“That doesn’t actually surprise me,” he said. “On the intake end, there’s even less reason for scrutiny. Nobody’s expecting a body double to show up for voluntary jail time, so as long as the guy resembles the mug, has some ID, and shows up when he’s supposed to . . . he becomes whoever he says he is.”

“But what about DNA?” I asked. “Don’t they check that?”

“That’s way too sophisticated and expensive for prison intake. And as a white-collar criminal, Clemens probably wouldn’t have had his cheek swabbed for DNA until he arrived at prison, so there might not be any samples to compare it to. Truth is, often law-enforcement agencies get confused over who’s doing what, and tens of thousands of ex-felons who should have DNA on file don’t because of human error.”

“That sounds like another good story.” I made a mental note to check into it later.

“With Jack Clemens,” Garnett continued, “their best bet to having figured out they had the wrong man would have been comparing his fingerprints at intake to his original arrest fingerprints. But that clearly didn’t happen.”

I saw where he was heading. “So the dead man must not have a criminal record himself, or the authorities would already know his identity from his fingerprints.”

“Right. Their John Doe is clean, so they had to stage a show for the media and ask the public’s help in identifying the guy.” He shook his head. “Embarrassing.”

“Why would anyone agree to trade places with Jack Clemens?”

“Money, most likely. The practice is well documented in China,” he said. “The wealthy pay the poor to serve their sentences. There’s even a name for it.
Ding zui
. Substitute criminal.”

“That’s fascinating,” I said. “
Ding zui
. What is the price of freedom? Even in a tough economy, that seems a hard way to earn a paycheck.”

“He probably didn’t expect to die on the job. And Duluth would have been an easy gig to serve if he hadn’t been moved. White-collar criminals pull strings to land there.”

“What’s so great about it?”

“Things are relatively lax. There’s no fence for one. There’s talk about inmates who walk off the grounds to go to a liquor store or even a motel for a conjugal visit. As long as they return, no harm.”

I wished Toby had told me about some of those perks. That would have made for interesting surveillance footage and blockbuster TV ratings. But I imagined that wasn’t the kind of thing the prisoners wanted publicized.

“Why don’t inmates just take off?” I asked.

“When they’re caught,” Garnett said, “they’ll be labeled an escape risk and sent somewhere much worse.”

“Without a fence, is it possible the switch happened when the real Jack walked off and the fake Jack walked back in?”

“Could be. They’d have to transfer the wristband ID, but that’s not impossible.”

“So where’s Jack Clemens?” I asked.

“Long gone, if he’s smart. And I suspect he’s quite smart.”

We were approaching the iconic Mary Tyler Moore statue, my favorite spot in downtown Minneapolis. As I ran my hand along her bronze briefcase, the theme song from the television series ran through my mind.
“Love is all around, no need to waste it.”

“She and I both spent careers in a TV newsroom,” I said. “Why can’t I be cheerful, like her?”

“Hers was fiction,” Garnett said. “Real life isn’t happily ever after.”

We both knew we weren’t discussing life in general, but rather our particular situation. I dumped my coffee cup in a garbage
can and sat down on the base of the sculpture, chin in my hands, while Garnett remained standing.

I said what needed to be said. “Our paths will continue to cross, yours and mine. On the job and off. There’s no avoiding that. I just don’t want those times to be awkward.”

“I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “It’s hard for me to be around you.”

“Okay, I’ll be honest, too. It’s harder for me
not
to be around you than it is for you to be around me.”

“Is that a line from a movie?” he asked.

“No.”

“Well, it should be. It’s good dialogue.”

That made me smile. “Dialogue might have been the best part of our relationship. Maybe we should have just stuck with talking.”

He pulled me to my feet, and for a few seconds our bodies were close enough for me to sense he wasn’t as detached as he pretended to be. “No. Our best moments together were when we stopped talking. Talking was what always got us in trouble.”

So he wanted me to be quiet? I gave him the silent treatment.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Riley.”

As long as I said nothing, I suspected there was a chance we might kiss. But he knew how to make me talk.

“A relationship, I think, is like a shark,” he said. “You know? It has to constantly move forward or it dies. And I think what we got on our hands is a dead shark.”

The instant passed, unrequited. So I replied, “Woody Allen,
Annie Hall
, 1977.”

“Those two didn’t end up happily ever after either,” Garnett said. “I need to get back to work now. I’m parked in a ramp around the corner.”

“Sure, Nick.” I started to walk away, but suddenly turned with an impulse. “Just one more question. What’s my phone number?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

“I just want to know if you know.” My heart beat faster.

He recited both my desk and cell numbers. And that convinced me the shark wasn’t dead, after all.

On my way back to the station, I hummed the Mary Tyler Moore chorus:
“You’re going to make it after all.”

S
cott returned from Hollywood with the certainty that he was on the verge of being discovered for something bigger than Channel 3. “I don’t want to waste my whole career in Minneapolis, like you,” he told me during rehearsal on the new set.

After that, I no longer felt I owed Scott any apology.

He’d tweeted a picture of himself with his arms draped around Rachel and Ricky’s shoulders to promote his interview with the two movie stars, which was airing during the set unveiling. Viewers were promised a new look and a big story for tuning in.

Bryce was keeping details of the interview quiet, even from the rest of the newsroom during the huddle. “I don’t want those celebrity gossip rags stealing our scoop.”

“Are we giving viewers their first glimpse of her wedding costume?” I didn’t use the word gown because I considered the whole event a farce.

“No,” my news director said, “this is much bigger. This is significant enough to lead with.”

“I thought we were leading with my story about domestic dogs being killed by traps.”

I’d landed prime examples and even had actual traps to use on set as props.

“No, we’re holding that,” Bryce said. “This has the potential to
go viral across all social media. This exclusive will help our new set get maximum exposure. Rachel and Ricky appeal to younger demos—their local fans will watch Channel 3, and their national fans will click on our website.”

That night, I tuned in, along with the majority of viewers in our TV market, as would be proven by the overnight rating numbers the following morning.

((SCOTT CU))
GOOD EVENING, EVERYONE . . . WELCOME TO OUR NEW STUDIO . . . HERE’S A BRIEF LOOK AT HOW CHANNEL 3 UNDERWENT THIS MAGNIFICENT TRANSFORMATION TO BETTER BRING YOU THE NEWS.

A time-lapsed video rolled of the assembly of the new set, from empty room to Taj Mahal. Bryce was clearly very proud of his accomplishment.

((SCOTT, CU))
NOW FOR OUR LEAD STORY . . . THE COUNTDOWN CONTINUES FOR FILMING THE “WE DO” WEDDING SCENE AT THE MALL OF AMERICA . . . AND CHANNEL 3 HAS SOME EXCITING NEWS TO SHARE. I JUST RETURNED FROM HOLLYWOOD WITH THIS EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH THE STARS OF THE MOVIE.

Rachel and Ricky flashed carefree smiles to the camera. Rachel had grown from a child star into a young beauty. She’d been cast at age six in her first acting role for a television comedy about a family with four cats—one for each child.

Ricky had come onto the national scene more recently as a wavy-haired pop singer. He’d grown up in Le Sueur, Minnesota—also the home of the Jolly Green Giant. This would be his first appearance on the big screen.

((SCOTT, SOT))
FOR ONE OF YOU, THIS IS A TRIP BACK TO YOUR HOME STATE OF MINNESOTA. HOW DOES THAT FEEL?

The interview was done as a three-camera shoot, meaning one camera was on Scott, the other shifting between the two actors, seated on a couch. The third, locked in a side view for cutaways. The questions and answers were edited back and forth.

((RICKY, SOT))
I AM SO LOOKING FORWARD TO HAVING MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY MEET RACHEL . . .

((RACHEL CU))
AND I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO THAT BECAUSE WE HAVE A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT.

((RACHEL, RICKY TWOSHOT))
WE’RE GETTING MARRIED . . . FOR REAL!

The happy couple laughed and kissed and laughed some more. A reaction shot was edited in of Scott looking shocked, then pleased. He congratulated them on camera. They explained they’d met and fallen in love during the filming of
We Do.

((RACHEL SOT))
SEE MY RING? ISN’T IT BEAUTIFUL!

((RICKY, SOT))
WE KEPT OUR RELATIONSHIP A SECRET SO WE WOULDN’T BE CHASED BY THE PAPARAZZI.

((SCOTT, CU))
SO WHEN EXACTLY IS YOUR BIG DAY?

((RICKY TWOSHOT))
DURING THE MOVIE! WE’RE GETTING MARRIED IN THE GIANT WEDDING SCENE AT THE MALL OF AMERICA ALONG WITH EVERYONE ELSE!

They smooched, once more, this time as if they’d rehearsed for the camera. His arms were wrapped around her waist from behind, her neck tilted back to reach his lips, matching the choreography of the famous film kiss on the bow of the
Titanic.

News control dissolved the video back to Scott on set, who seemed lost in the moment until a floor director cued him. Even then, he took so long to react that I thought the producer might order the newscast to
go black while they regrouped. To go black—off the air—is the worst thing that can happen to an anchor on a live program. But Scott suddenly reverted to professional mode.

((SCOTT, CU))
THAT’S NOT ALL FOLKS . . . RACHEL AND RICKY WILL SELECT TWO FANS TO BE THEIR OFFICIAL WEDDING WITNESSES. GO TO OUR WEBSITE AT CHANNEL 3 AND YOU CAN APPLY FOR THE HONOR.

The line between news and gossip is always narrowing, but there was no doubt in my mind that the station had crossed over. I turned on my computer to click on Channel 3’s website to leave a mean comment under a sock puppet name, but found the system had once again crashed because of heavy user traffic.

I
considered calling in sick the next morning so I wouldn’t have to listen to Bryce gush about the wedding exclusive, but then I remembered we’d rescheduled Lisa’s interview, and I didn’t want to cancel on her twice.

Those good intentions fell apart when Keith Brunn, Channel 3’s medical reporter, showed up at the news meeting with a copy of an email he’d received. He’d blocked out the name of the sender.

“My source wants to stay confidential,” Keith said, “but I thought you might want to see this. I checked and another cancer clinic got the same message.”

The email contained a photograph of the mug shot of the fake Jack Clemens. “Here’s the best part,” Keith said, reading it out loud.

We are asking the medical community, particularly those treating oncology patients, for help in identifying this man. He was a homicide victim, but our autopsy also found that he had stage four colon cancer, which had metastasized to his brain.

His blood type was A positive.

His height was 5 feet 10 inches.

He is believed to be between the ages of 40 and 50.

If you recognize this man, please contact the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

You can remain anonymous and may be eligible for a reward.

Keith handed me the email. I looked at the sender line. It was from Agent Jax.

“I’ll let you determine if it’s authentic,” he said.

“It looks genuine, but I’ll definitely confirm that first. In the meantime, do you know what the rules are regarding doctor-patient confidentiality after death?”

“I’d venture they’d be fuzzy in this case,” he said, “Who’s going to file a complaint about a breach of privacy if the patient is dead?”

“And how about the prognosis for stage-four colon cancer?” I asked.

“Terminal. Just how long can depend on several factors, but no doubt, even if this guy wasn’t murdered, he would have died in prison anyway. Most likely within a year.”

Bryce applauded, and made us both give him high fives. “Keep me posted. I’m expecting a team report from the two of you. We’ll want to be promoting this so viewers tune in for another look at our new set.”