Justifiable Risk (9 page)

Eva entered the building with a wave of nostalgia for her early days as a cub reporter. Many newspaper offices she’d visited seemed comfortably similar to every other, a lot of them still located in old construction downtown near the hub of activity in earlier days. Some still housed antique, and environmentally hazardous, presses that were cost-prohibitive to dismantle and move. Every time she entered one of these buildings, she breathed deeply, hoping for the faintest scent of printing ink, and listened in vain for the rhythmic roll of press cylinders. Instead she smelled the mustiness of disuse and the cacophony of computers versus people. Eva sighed as she experienced the disappointment again.

The large, open
Tribune
building housed two glass-enclosed offices and a large area of partitioned cubicles. She introduced herself to the editor of the paper and explained what she needed. Fortunately he watched CNN and her reputation held some sway. He was more than willing to help and even assigned one of his reporters to assist with research. She followed his directions through the maze of half-walled workstations and knocked on the side of a cubicle.

“Yeah, what is it now?” A redheaded man sat hunched over a desktop covered with papers. On either side, piles of newspapers and magazines threatened to topple over with the slightest breeze and bury him. A chair, two bookcases, and more periodicals stacked on every flat surface, including the floor, cluttered the rest of the small space.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but your editor sent me back.”

The man’s head popped up like that of a surfacing groundhog. He craned his neck around the stacks of papers, did a polite assessment, and met her gaze. “I’m sorry for being snappish. It’s hard to get any work done around here.” He stood and offered his hand. “Tom Merritt, Mrs.— Hey, wait. I know who you are. Eva Saldana.”

Tom’s attention made her a little self-conscious and he appeared a bit awestruck. “Yes.”

“Wow. I mean, excuse me for staring, but television doesn’t do you justice. Though I’m sure you’ve heard that before.” Tom’s face flushed as red as his curly hair. He finally stepped from behind the mound of papers, his neatly pressed jeans and button-collar shirt quite a contrast to the disarray in his office. He looked young, but the editor had indicated Tom had been with the paper for ten years. “How can I help you? Whatever it is, ask.”

Tom was obviously curious and maybe suffering a tiny case of hero worship. Her father had taught her to use whatever resource or advantage presented itself. In Greer’s case her body provided the leverage; in Tom’s, her star power. Whatever worked.

“I’m interested in some history on the police department, specifically the homicide squad. Things like significant past cases, anything controversial or newsworthy. You know what I mean. You’ve been around a while, Tom.”

Eva could swear the man’s chest puffed out. “Yeah, I get your drift. Any
body
you’re particularly interested in?”

“You’re very astute. In fact, focus your efforts on Detectives Johnston and Ellis. Cases they’ve handled or incidents they’ve been involved in. I’m not trying to discredit anyone, so the facts will do nicely.”

Tom stretched against the side of his cubicle and the flimsy panel swayed, nearly dumping him to the floor. He recovered quickly, trying to mask his embarrassment. “I understand what you need, but it could take some time to get all this together. JJ has been with the department several years. Greer moved over to homicide a couple of years ago after—”

Eva was immediately more attentive. “After what?”

“Well.” He lowered his voice as if about to reveal the location of the Holy Grail. “It’s a long, involved story. I’d be glad to fill in the small details, but you need to get the facts down first.”

“Will I read about it in your research?” Eva wanted to know what made Greer tick, especially in her personal life. That’s where her vulnerability would lie.

“Definitely.”

“Then you might as well tell me.”

Tom shuffled his loafer-clad feet. “Hey, I got no problem sharing what I know, after you’ve read the official version. Greer and I went to school together and I like her, but news is news. So, if we can reach an agreement, I’ll be glad to cooperate.”

The mystery intrigued her. Greer seemed overprotective of her fellow officers and refused to view them in a bad light. But the law-enforcement community in general guarded its secrets fiercely. If you didn’t know the secret handshake, you didn’t get in. Now Tom was waxing cautiously about Greer.

“What kind of agreement are you talking about?”

“I know how you TV types are, no offense intended. You waltz into a small town like ours and think you can snatch a story from under our noses and we’ll be grateful for your crumbs. So, if you find something newsworthy, about your brother’s case or the police department, we put a double byline on it. That would be a real coup for me. Agreed?”

Eva liked to know exactly what she was dealing with, and ambitious people seldom showed all their cards. “Absolutely, agreed.” She stuck out her hand and they shook. “Now, what’s your take on Detective Greer Ellis?”

“A good person—honest, loyal, committed, and works practically nonstop.  Outgoing in school, but she’s become a bit more closed. You couldn’t want a better friend than Greer. I hope your investigation won’t hurt her.”

“I hope not too, Tom.” As she spoke, Eva realized that she sincerely meant it. “When can you have something for me?”

Tom rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged apologetically. “A day or two. Is that good?”

“That’s fine.” She placed her hand on his arm and the muscle relaxed into her touch. “I appreciate this. It’ll save me so much time.” She scribbled her cell number on the back of her business card and handed it to him. “Call me, any time.”

“I should be thanking you.” As she walked away, he added, “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Saldana. This could be my ticket out of Podunk, North Carolina.”

“Eva, call me Eva,” she said. Tom seemed like a nice man, who knew exactly what he wanted and took advantage of opportunities. Maybe she’d finally found one ally in this town. Two reporters against an entire police department. Not great odds, but she’d played worse.

After eight cups of the potent motel-room coffee, Eva paced her tiny space like a gerbil on steroids. She hadn’t spoken with Greer or Tom in two days. At this point, neither of them seemed sincere about helping her. Another search of Paul’s BlackBerry and wallet and a round of casual questions in town turned up no solid leads.

She hit the usual hotbeds of gossip in a small town: the diner, post office, quick-stop market, and the hair salon. Folks eagerly chatted about any topic she chose, as long as she kept it “confidential.” According to local opinion, the New Hope Police Department was the best if you were on the right side of the law and the worst if you weren’t. That was how it should be. Chief Bryant got high marks for running an honest force with limited resources. When Greer’s name came up, the comments usually echoed Tom’s: loyal, committed, honest, but nothing personal. In a town that loved to gossip, people remained tight-lipped on the subject of Greer Ellis the person. For a reporter that spelled story.

By midmorning Eva’s patience had run out. She’d promised Greer time to go through the investigation, but she refused to wait any longer. Reporters sniffed out stories, they didn’t wait for them to drop in their laps. Eva grabbed her purse and the local map she’d picked up at the post office and drove back to New Hope. She could follow up at least one lead that didn’t require police assistance.

The rows of old warehouses on Lewis Street all looked the same: run down, windowless, and abandoned. This dismal picture of New Hope conflicted with the upbeat staging of colorful umbrellas and bright storefronts on Elm Street. These back streets represented a seedier side of the little town, and Eva wondered if her decision to come here alone was prudent. She slowed and searched for the address. When she found 247, she parked on the street in front and approached the precarious-looking entrance.

Rusty hinges barely held the weathered door upright. Eva nudged it with her shoulder and stepped back. It creaked open enough for her to scoot inside between the edge and the frame. Minimal light filtered in from above and shrouded the interior of the structure in a gray haze. Large crates and boxes stacked precariously on the floor sported a thick layer of dust and a spider commune. The floors buckled in places from the elements, and in spots tiny vegetation peeked through.

Eva edged around the hazards and walked toward the center of the space. Not even the dust had been disturbed. What had Paul seen in this place that made it worth considering as a film studio? But he had been the visionary in the family, which made him very successful in his job. However, nothing here helped explain what happened to him, so she turned to leave. As she moved toward the exit, the floor beneath her dipped slightly, pitching her forward. She grabbed at a stack of crates that gave way under her grasp. Groping for anything solid to hold on to, she fell backward and the boxes crashed down on top of her.

She lay stunned in the rubble with her head pounding like a weeklong hangover. She wiggled her arms and legs and was relieved that nothing felt broken. No sticky patches that might signal blood loss. Covering her head with her hands, Eva crouched and then stood, forcing the empty crates off her. She opened her eyes and tried to focus as pain shot through her temples. When her vision cleared, she was staring down the barrel of a very large gun.

“Merda santamente,”
she swore.

“What in the hell are you doing here, Eva?” Greer lowered and holstered her weapon, but it looked like she was swaying from side to side.

“The same thing you are, I imagine—investigating.” She grabbed her head to stop the dancing vision of Greer. “Can the sermon wait a while?”

“Are you hurt? You’re a little unsteady. What happened?” Greer pulled Eva against her and wrapped an arm around her waist.

The light-headedness increased. Greer stood very close and Eva fought not to cling to her just for the contact. “Boxes fell on me, but I’ll be okay.”

Greer led her outside and toward her unmarked police car. “I’ll drive you to the hospital. You might have a mild concussion.”

Eva felt foolish for not being more careful. She didn’t want Greer treating her like an invalid. “Don’t need a hospital. I’ll go back to the room and rest.”

They stopped beside Greer’s vehicle and she fixed Eva with her azure stare. “You’re either going to the hospital or I’ll stay with you until I’m sure you’re okay. You decide.”

As tempting as the option of having Greer with her sounded, nurse was not the role she had in mind. Besides, she wanted Greer working on Paul’s case, not wasting time babysitting her. “Fine, hospital it is.”

Fortunately, New Hope General wasn’t busy and they settled Eva into an exam room quickly. Before the nurse could take her temperature, Bessie was standing at the door.

“Are you all right, honey?”

“I’ll be fine, Bessie. Don’t worry. Your niece insisted I come in.”

“What happened, Greer?”

“I found her under a pile of boxes. Ask her what happened. Does the emergency room have you on speed dial when I come in?”

“We care about you, that’s all. What happened to Eva?” Bessie wasn’t giving up.

“She was snooping around the old warehouse district and a pallet of empty crates fell on her. She’s a little woozy. I couldn’t let her drive. But now that she’s here, I can go.”

Eva watched the interaction between Greer and her aunt with interest, finding it strange that they spoke about her as if she wasn’t in the room. Was this how cops and medical folk discussed victims—as if they weren’t really present? Or maybe this was simply Bessie and Greer’s method of communicating—third-person cryptic.

“You certainly cannot go, young lady. You wait right here until she’s finished, then take her to her motel. She doesn’t have anybody in town.”

“That won’t be necessary, Bessie,” Eva said. “I’ll call a cab when I’m ready. I’m sure Greer has more important things to do.”

Greer nodded and started for the door, but Bessie ended the discussion. “She can wait outside if she wants, but she
will
take you back to your motel when we finish.”

Two hours later, Bessie rolled Eva’s wheelchair to the hospital exit where Greer paced the concrete drive. Her posture was rigid, her gait long and purposeful, and her expression totally blank. Why did this place make her so uncomfortable?

As they approached her, Greer stopped. “Finally. I’ll get the car.”

“Is she okay?” Eva asked Bessie.

“She’ll be fine. This isn’t her favorite place anymore.”

Bessie helped Eva into Greer’s car, then walked around to the driver’s side. “She has a mild concussion. Stay with her and watch her for a few hours.”

“But, Bessie—”

“You heard me. Don’t leave her alone for at least four hours. Understand?”

Greer put the car in gear and, without answering Bessie, drove out of the lot. “Why did I get the most meddlesome aunt in the history of the world?”

“She’s trying to help, but you can drop me off. The headache meds are working.” At this point Eva wasn’t eager to spend alone time with Greer either. The combination of their attraction and a concussion could be dangerous. And now that Greer was finally working Paul’s case, she didn’t want to jeopardize their cooperative efforts.