Full Tilt (5 page)

9

Rampart, New York

K
ate could hear her pulse thudding in her ears.

Over that, she heard the police radio dispatches.

She was in the backseat of Rampart Officer Len Reddick’s patrol car. He was in the front verifying her Newslead ID, which he held in his hand. She could smell his cologne and peppermint gum. His jaw muscles pumped away, letting her know that he was still pissed.

“That’s right, Kate Page,” Reddick chawed into his microphone. “Page. Poppa Alpha Golf Echo. Employee number seven-two-six-six.”

Kate’s wrists throbbed against the metal handcuffs. The cuffs were an overreaction because Reddick was angry that he’d failed to spot her. She’d seen the
Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition
splayed on the front seat when he put her in his car.

He’d seized her camera, her phone and her bag, then read Kate her rights.

As his radio crackled, she looked out the window.

This morning she’d kissed Grace goodbye; now she was handcuffed and facing charges. She knew that it was wrong to step into a crime scene, but she was compelled by a raw feeling that her sister had been here.

I can feel it, I can just feel it.

As Reddick pawed through her things she endured the sting of humiliation and, when he found Detective Brennan’s card, braced for what was to come.

Reddick’s inquiries to his dispatcher had launched a train of trouble. Calls were made to Newslead to alert her editors. Brennan was called and was en route. He’d insisted on questioning her, as it was his scene. Reddick meantime had waved over one of the forensic technicians to examine Kate’s camera and phone to review the pictures Kate had taken.

Kate’s heart was racing. So far, Reddick hadn’t patted her down.

She’d taken precautions to save her photos. The instant Reddick had discovered her inside the crime scene, she immediately removed her camera’s stamp-sized memory card, slid it into her sock, then, moving as fast as she could, installed a new card and resumed taking more photos. If the police didn’t find her hidden card, she could look at the images later.

At that moment, Reddick’s cell phone rang.

“Your people in New York.”

Kate raised her cuffed hands and Reddick passed his phone to her. He stepped out of the car to show the technician Kate’s phone, allowing her some privacy.

“It’s Reeka. What’s happened?”

Kate’s stomach tensed.

“I think I should talk to Chuck, Reeka.”

“He had to go to an emergency meeting in Chicago. I’m your supervisor, talk to me.”

“Didn’t Chuck tell you why I’m here?”

“He told me nothing. You should’ve advised me if you were assigned something on your day off. Why are you under arrest in Rampart?”

Kate explained everything to Reeka, exposing the fact she’d gone over her head to Chuck.

“So, from what the police just told me,” the temperature of Reeka’s voice plummeted to a prosecutorial level, “and from what you’re telling me, you go up there on your time for personal reasons, then present yourself as a Newslead reporter to try to gain access to a crime scene, are refused, then you later breach the scene and are now facing charges.”

Kate admitted that was correct.

“You’re aware of Newslead’s policy on how our reporters are to represent the organization and conduct themselves, especially at crime scenes? You’re aware of that, Kate?”

“Of course.”

“Yet, you’ve clearly violated it.”

Kate said nothing.

“I’ll be discussing your situation with senior management. Until then, I suggest you get yourself an attorney.”

The call ended.

This was Kate’s fault and she chastised herself when she thought of Grace. What would happen to her if she was jailed? Would social services be called?

Why didn’t I think this through?

She scanned the scene again, unable to deny its emotional pull. Decades of guilt, of being haunted by Vanessa’s ghost, had clouded her judgment.

Brennan had arrived and was near the car with Reddick and the technician, huddled over Kate’s camera and phone, while Reddick continued searching the contents of her bag. Occasionally Reddick pointed to the scene, with the technician nodding, before Brennan approached the car and helped Kate out.

“I asked you not to come here, Kate. You know full well we have to protect this scene. Anything and everything is considered evidence.” He shook his head. “You misrepresented yourself to the state trooper, you breached our scene and tromped though it, contaminating it, or, possibly planting evidence. You’re facing possible interference and criminal trespass charges. I can’t understand why you did this.”

“Why?” Adrenaline and fury coursed through her and she let go. “I can’t believe you have to ask me that! You found my sister’s necklace out there in that—that killing ground and she’s—”

“We haven’t confirmed it’s hers yet.”

“You know and I know it’s hers!”

“No, we don’t. Kate, everything we have to this point is circumstantial. Nothing’s conclusive.”

“You found her necklace out there! My God, she was supposed to have drowned twenty years ago in Canada! So you tell me how did it get there?”

“We don’t know and we don’t know that it’s your sister’s. You of all people should understand the huge emotional and legal consequences of making assumptions that result in misidentification.”

“Then tell me why you have contacted Canadian police.”

“I’m not discussing this case with you.”

“Yeah. Remember, Ed, you called me to help you! That’s why I’m here. I’ve lived with this for twenty years! I deserve to know the truth! That’s why I did what I did!”

A few tense seconds passed.

“Did you take, touch or leave anything, Kate?”

“No, all I took were some pictures with my camera. That’s all.”

Brennan returned to the others for another long discussion, then returned with her things and Reddick, who removed her handcuffs.

“The technician found no pictures on your phone, so we’re returning it.”

“I told you, I didn’t take any pictures with my phone.”

“We’re keeping the memory card from your camera and the additional memory cards we found in your bag. The technician tells me that your camera had wireless connectivity but that you didn’t send any images anywhere.”

“I didn’t. Are we done? Or are you going to go full-bore cop and strip-search me?”

Brennan let her comment pass.

“No. I don’t have a female officer on duty, for one. I’m going to make a judgment call here, but I think we’ve covered this given the circumstances and the situation.”

“So I can go?”

“Not yet. Now, you’re going to show us your path into the scene so we can mark it,” Brennan said. “Then we’re going to need impressions of your shoes and take your fingerprints. When we’re done, Officer Reddick will drive you to your car.”

“Am I being charged?”

“No, but if you interfere again, we’ll bring the charges back. Understood?”

Kate met Brennan’s stare and she nodded.

“I appreciate your help,” he said, “and what you’re going through. Go home, Kate, and let us do our job.”

10

Rampart, New York

T
he grill of Reddick’s patrol car filled Kate’s rearview mirror for several miles after she’d left the rest stop.

Driving to town, she bit back on her tears and her anger at Rampart police but mostly at herself. She was churning with rage and an underlying ache, because she’d never been this close to Vanessa.

I’ve got to think clearly.

Kate looked at the time.

Even with the drive to Syracuse she had a few hours before her early evening return flight. Enough time to check into the other part of the case.

Carl Nelson.

She’d become so consumed by the necklace that she’d overlooked his role. She knew nothing about him, the man the local press had named as the second fatality in the fire, the reclusive computer expert. Remembering his long hair and beard from the driver’s license photo Brennan had showed her, Kate thought Nelson fit the image of a creepy eccentric. What part did he play in this? What was Vanessa’s relationship to him? And what about the rumors of a suicide note?

Kate needed to talk to Nelson’s family, neighbors and coworkers.

Stopped at a traffic light, she was glad to see Reddick had backed off. Kate concentrated on her GPS and entered Carl Nelson’s address, 57 Knox Lane, which she’d memorized from his driver’s license.

Is going there a smart move after what happened at the scene?

This is a democracy, and people have a right to talk to other people,
she thought, searching her mirror for any sign that Reddick was still tailing her.

Nothing.

She headed for Nelson’s neighborhood and came upon his home, a modest ranch-style house with a neat yard and a detached garage.

And a Rampart police car parked out front.

Kate cursed to herself and let out a long breath.

She wanted to knock on the door, talk to anyone who was there, and Nelson’s neighbors. She wanted to do her own digging for answers, but not with a cop sitting there eyeing the quiet street.

Kate bit her lip, taking in the house as she drove by slowly, knowing the cop was likely recording her plate. No, this wasn’t going to work. Kate rolled down the street for a few blocks, coming to a gas station.

Maybe somebody at the station can tell me about Nelson and point me to people he worked with at the call center.

When Kate stopped and signaled at the intersection, she spotted another Rampart patrol car parked on the street.

Reddick again.

He’d been watching her.

Un-freaking-believable.
Okay.
She got the message.

Kate headed for the interstate and Syracuse.

As she put Rampart behind her she refused to be knocked off her feet. There were other ways she could pursue this. It took about sixty miles for her to calm down. She stopped in Watertown at a Sunoco to fill up then went to a Burger King for a coffee and a muffin. She sent Reeka and Chuck a message.

Worked it out with Rampart PD. Not going to be charged. Heading home.

After sending it, Kate looked at Grace’s face, the background image on her phone, and checked the time. She should be home with Nancy.

Kate pressed her number.

“Hi, Nancy, it’s Kate.”

“Hi, how’re things going up there? Did you have success?”

Nancy was aware of Kate’s tragedy and her lifelong search for answers.

“A bit, but it’s complicated. I’ll tell you about it when I get back.”

“Would you like to talk to Grace—she’s right here?”

“Yes, thanks. And, Nancy, thank you for doing this.”

“No need to thank me, here she is.”

“Hi, Mom!”

“Hi, sweetie, how did school go today?”

“It was fun. We learned about butterflies, it was so cool.”

Kate cut a lonely figure in the corner of the restaurant. Listening to her daughter tell her about her day was a balm, briefly pulling her mind from Rampart, the death scene and the questions that troubled her.

* * *

The flight to La Guardia was delayed.

Kate waited in pre-boarding, too tired to think or do much else but look at her phone and older photos of herself with Vanessa when they were children. There they were, sisters, hugging at Christmas. There was Vanessa on the sofa, looking so small and smiling so big. Her new angel necklace glinted in the flash. Kate blinked at the memories before closing the images.

Later, as the jet finally lifted off, Kate contended with the aftershocks of self-reproach for messing up. Then she considered Brennan and his reluctance to escort her to the scene.

Why wouldn’t he do it?

Seasoned detectives she’d known would’ve had no trouble with her request, which indicated to her that Brennan was either a rookie or being overly cautious, or that something more was going on.

Well, there’s no way I’m letting this go.

When the plane leveled she shut her eyes for a few tranquil minutes.

* * *

When Kate got home, Grace was asleep in Nancy’s guest room, which smelled of lavender and loneliness.

“You can let her spend the night, if you like.”

“Thank you, Nancy, but we’ve imposed all day.”

Kate caressed Grace’s cheek, kissed her softly. She stirred and groaned, “Hi, Mommy...love you,” as Kate hefted her into her arms.

“Oh, you’re getting so heavy.”

Nancy got the door, carrying Grace’s backpack, and followed Kate back to their apartment. After Kate put Grace into bed, she returned to her living room and put five crumpled twenties into Nancy’s hand.

“What’re you doing, Kate? I can’t take money from you.”

“You’re always helping. Take it. Please.”

“Now, listen to me.” Nancy put the money into Kate’s hand, closed it and held her hands firmly around it. “Ever since my Burt died, I lost my way. We have no children, no family, well—you know. You and Grace arrived in my life like an answered prayer. I’m here to help you whenever you need it. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Kate found a depth of warmth and love in Nancy’s kind face that came as close to a mother figure as she’d ever known. Kate hugged the older woman, holding on for a moment.

“Thank you. I’d be lost, too, without you.”

“Okay, good night. Now you get some rest and let me know if I can help with anything.”

Kate took a hot shower and made a cup of raspberry tea, glad that she’d have another day off to recover. Still, something was niggling at her.

I’m forgetting something.

Before going to bed, she went through her unopened emails. Most were routine and could wait. Then she came to one from Reeka, sent only minutes before.

Be in the office tomorrow for an important meeting at 10 a.m.

11

New York City

N
ewslead’s world headquarters took up an entire floor near the top of a fifty-story office tower on Manhattan’s far West Side.

Kate waited alone in a corner meeting room. It offered sweeping views of midtown, the Empire State and Chrysler buildings, but Kate only saw trouble in front of her. Being summoned as she was after what had happened upstate was not a good sign, especially on a day off.

At least she had gotten Grace to school before coming in.

The large room was cold. Kate used her phone for a quick check for updates out of Rampart.
Nothing.
She listened to traffic on the streets below and the hum of the ventilation system until the door clicked open.

Three people filed in.

First, Chuck. His tie was already loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his hair mussed. He dropped a folder on the table and sat without looking at Kate.

Next was Morris Chambers, from Human Resources. He was the antithesis to Chuck. He wore a suit, button-down shirt and bow tie. He opened a leather-bound executive notebook and clicked his pen.

Reeka followed, dressed to kill in a dark power blazer that would’ve worked for a funeral. Her face was in her phone, thumbs pausing when she shut the door and started the inquisition.

“Kate, this meeting is a result of what happened yesterday.”

Kate threw a questioning look to each of them. She thought this had been resolved, that Reeka had updated Chuck upon his return.

“I admit that what I did was stupid, but I was not charged.”

“This goes to your breach of Newslead policy.”

“But I worked it out with Rampart PD—this was a personal matter.”

“Yes, Chuck informed us of your sister’s tragedy. It’s heartbreaking. Still, it doesn’t excuse the violation, Kate.”

Reeka turned to Morris, cuing him to step in.

“Yes...” Morris cleared his throat. “The policy forbids Newslead staff from using their position for any form of personal gain.”

“But I didn’t gain anything.”

“You went to Rampart on a personal, private matter,” Morris read from his notebook. “But you represented yourself as a Newslead reporter on assignment, to New York trooper Len Reddick in an attempt to gain access to a crime scene. After you were refused access, you trespassed.”

“That led to possible charges.” Reeka stared at her.

Sensing a noose being tightened, Kate turned to Chuck, who was just sitting there. She couldn’t believe it. She and Chuck had been through hell together. He’d begged her to come to New York and work for him at Newslead. He knew about her sister and had been supportive. He was the most powerful manager in the room and, she thought, her friend. But there he was staring at the skyline. Leaving Kate alone.

“Quite frankly, Kate,” Reeka said, examining her own glossed nails. “I fail to comprehend why you went up there and did what you did.”

“What?”

“My read on this is that it’s a regional story, a rural domestic, a murder-suicide. Didn’t you lose your sister in western Canada?”

“What the hell do you—”

“Kate,” Chuck intervened.

“I was called by Rampart police,” Kate said. “They requested my help and I cooperated. There are strong indications my sister, who’s been feared dead for twenty years, was a victim!”

“Kate, take it down,” Chuck cautioned.

“But identities in Rampart have not been confirmed, have they?” Reeka lifted her eyebrows to punctuate her point.

“What? Reeka, how can you sit there and—”

“Kate, hold off,” Chuck said. “This is a difficult, complicated situation. It’s put you under stress and strained your judgment. The best action here is for you to take two weeks off, Kate, starting now.”

“Are you suspending me?”

“No, you’re taking time off with pay. I’ve approved it.”

Chuck signaled an end to the meeting.

“We have counseling services available, if you need it.” Morris clicked his pen and closed his notebook.

“I suggest you look into that, Kate. It’s for the best,” Reeka said.

They walked out of the room, leaving Kate alone with Chuck.

Several beats after the door had closed she turned to him.

“What happened?”

“You lost control in Rampart, Kate. The organization will not tolerate that. I cautioned you before you went there to avoid any conflict. You were on your own and could not represent yourself as a Newslead reporter.”

“Yes, but the indication my sister had been there was so strong.”

“You’ve followed similar leads over the years and unfortunately each one has dead-ended. Didn’t you tell me that yourself, Kate?”

“I know, Chuck, but this time it’s different.”

“I appreciate what you’re going through. Take time off, for your own peace of mind. See how your Rampart lead plays out, but if you pursue this, for God’s sake, do it on your own. Is that understood?”

Kate nodded.

“Listen,” Chuck added, “the rumors of more layoffs looming may come true. We’re not breaking big stories. We’re losing subscribers. Everyone’s on edge.” He ran a hand over his face. “Kate, you’re a good reporter, an asset to the company.”

“Thank you.”

“Morris had your termination papers in his notebook. Reeka wanted you fired. I put a stop to that.”