But she talked' about the press, about innocence, about Boggs. When she'd finished, she sat back. Sutton must have been satisfied with the response. She said, "All right, let me ask you a few specific questions."
These were even worse, though, because they were about things Rune should have thought of herself. Did you interview the original crime scene team? (Good idea; never occurred to her.)Did you talk to any of Boggs's earlier lawyers? (Rune didn't know he'd had any.)Did he ever see a shrink about his criminal tendencies? (She never asked.)
The three of them debated for ten minutes and in the end both Maisel and Sutton nodded and said that the program should go forward as long as the show didn't claim Boggs was innocent – only that there were some serious questions about his guilt.
That left only the question of when the story should air.
They asked her opinion.
Rune cleared her throat, shuffled papers, then said, "Next week's show."
Maisel said, "No, seriously."
And the battle began.
"The thing is," Rune said, "he's got to get out of prison as soon as possible. They don't like him
in there. They've already tried to kill him, I told you that."
Sutton said, "They'? Who's 'they'?"
"Other prisoners."
Maisel asked, "Why?"
"I don't know. A guard told me he isn't popular. He's a loner. He-"
"Today's Friday," Maisel barked. "Rune, to air next Tuesday, the whole program should have been shot and edited by now. It has to be in the computer by Monday. That just can't be done."
"I don't think he'll last another week. They tried to kill him once, and they'll try again."
Sutton and Maisel looked at each other. Sutton looked back to her and said, "Our job is to report the news, not save anybody's ass. Boggs gets killed the story's still valid. We could-". "That's a horrible thing to say!"
"Oh, come off it," Sutton said.
Maisel said, "Piper's right, Rune. The story is the important thing, not springing a prisoner. And I don't see how we can do it. There just isn't time."
"The script's all written," she said. "And I've spent the last three nights editing. I've got everything timed to the second."
"The second," Sutton said in a tired sigh.
Maisel said, "Piper'd have to tape on Sunday night or Monday morning."
In a soft, spiny voice, Rune said, "I want the story to air next week." She folded her hands and put them in her lap.
They both looked at her.
Rune continued. "What's going to happen if somebody finds out that we could have saved his life and we just didn't get around to doing the story in time?"
Silence, as Sutton and Maisel exchanged glances. Maisel broke the tension, asking the anchorwoman, "What do you think?"
Rune felt her teeth squeeze together with tension. Sutton responded by asking. "What else was scheduled for that show?"
"The Arabs in Queens," Maisel said. "It's half edited."
"I never liked that story," Rune offered.
Sutton shrugged. "It's soft news. I hate soft news." She was frowning, apparently because she found herself agreeing with Rune.
"My story isn't," Rune said. "It's hard news."
Sutton said, "I suppose you'll want a credit."
For ten million people to see.
"You bet I do."
The anchorwoman continued, "But that name of yours. You'll have to change it."
"Not to worry," Rune said. "I have a professional name."
"A professional name?" Maisel was fighting to keep down the smile.
"Irene Dodd Simons."
"Is that your real name?" the anchorwoman asked.
"Sort of."
Sutton said, "Sort of." And shook her head then added, "At least it sounds like the name of somebody who knows what she's doing." She pulled her personal calendar out of her purse; the scents of perfume and suede followed it. "Okay, honey, first we'll get together and do a script-"
"A script?" Rune blinked. "But it's all finished." She nodded at the sheets in front of them.
Sutton laughed. "No, babes, I mean areal script. We'll meet at six-thirty tomorrow morning in theCurrent Events newsroom."
Rune's first thought was: Shit, a baby-sitter. Where'm I going to get a sitter? She smiled and said, "Six, if you want."
"Six-thirty'll be fine."
You don't have a right to talk on the phone but they usually let you. A privilege, not a right. (One day, Boggs'd heard some prisoner yelling, "Gimme the phone! We got rights." A guard had answered, pretty politely under the circumstances, "You got what we give you, asshole.")
But maybe because Boggs had been knifed or maybe because he wasn't a punk or just maybe because it was a nice warm day, the guard in charge of the mail and telephone room sent somebody to find him so he could take the call.
"Randy, how you feeling?" Rune asked.
"That you, miss?"
"You out of the infirmary?"
"Kicked my butt out yesterday. No pain to speak of, unless I stretch. I read that story. In the book you give me. I like it. Don't think I look much like him, though, and if I ever stole fire from the gods I sure don't know a fence who'd handle it…" He paused and she laughed, like she knew she was supposed to, thinking he'd probably spent a good amount of time thinking up the joke. Which he had.
"Guess what?" she asked.
"Don't know."
"I found a new witness."
"New witness?"
"Sure did."
"Well, my, tell me about it."
She did, from start to finish, all about Bennett Frost, and Randy Boggs didn't utter a single word the entire time she was speaking. In fact, not a single syllable or grunt or even, it seemed, a breath.
When she was through there was silence for a long moment.
"Well," she said, "you're not saying anything."
"I'm grinning, though, I'll tell you that. Damn, I can't believe it. You done yourself something, miss."
."What's going to happen now is I'm going to try to get the program on the air next week. Megler said that if he gets his name and picture on the air he'll do the motion for a new trial for free."
"Mr Megler said that?"
"It hurt him to. I could see the pain but he said he would. He said if the judge buys it, and grants the motion, you could be out right away."
"The judge might not grant it, though, I suppose."
"Fred said that having the program onCurrent Events would really help. The judge'd be like more inclined to release you, especially if he was up for reelection."
"Well, damn. Goddamn. What do I do now?"
"You just take care of yourself for the next week. Don't go getting knifed anymore."
"No, ma'am… One thing… What you did…?"
Silence.
"I guess I'm trying to say thank you."
"I guess you just did."
After they hung up, Randy Boggs, the grin still on his face, left the administration building to go find Severn Washington and tell him the news.
As Boggs left the building, another prisoner, a short Colombian, followed, then overtook him. Prisoners like this were what used to be called trusties in the prisons of the forties and fifties and were now generally known as pricks or assholes or scum. He'd just had a short conversation with the guard he worked for, the guard who randomly monitored prisoners' phone conversations. The prisoner smiled at Boggs, said,"Buenos dias" and walked ahead, not hearing what Boggs said in reply. He didn't particularly care what the response was. He was in a hurry. He wanted to get to Juan Ascipio as soon as he could.