“Professional, huh? Professional reporters understand protocol, which is that only public relations spokespeople can comment on ongoing investigations. Correct, Ms. Ryland?” If Jane ran with those names, he was screwed. The Supe demanded they inform the victim’s next of kin before the names were released. So far, they hadn’t informed next of kin, because so far no one knew if there were any. For now, the identities were not public.
Still, somehow, Jane had discovered them. That left Jake holding the bag not only on a potentially botched Ricker arrest but also on a potentially blown identity. Not the best way to impress the brass.
“I left a message in the cop shop PR office, I really did,” she said, “but my deadline is like, now. I know I’m pushing, Jake, but-”
“Ms. Ryland?” He hardened his voice, letting her off the hook in case her city editor or some bigwig was in earshot. Anyone else, he’d hang up the phone. Reporters were used to it. But Jane had confided she was spooked about layoffs. Maybe Alex was giving her a hard time.
This exact situation was what they’d always struggled with. It put him in an impossible position. He couldn’t give her special treatment. But he couldn’t not. She was special. To him. That’s why the whole thing was impossible. “I’m sure you understand that I cannot confirm or deny identities of homicide victims until the next of kin have been properly notified. Tell your city editor-”
“Jake? Hang on, okay?”
Jake finished his beer, listening to the fuzzy silence on the phone. Diva looked up, one ear flopped, inquiring. He gave her a reassuring pat and a half-shrug, as if she’d understand. “Women,” he said.
“I tried to text you, Jake.” Jane’s voice had lowered to a whisper. “Is that what you were signaling by the elevator this afternoon? Were you going to tell me the name? But I really need to ask you. Did you tell anyone that I-”
The call-waiting chirp on Jake’s phone interrupted, silencing whatever Jane was saying. The ID came up. RIVERA.
Why was the Supe calling him? Maybe Judge Gallagher had agreed to the warrant.
“Hang on, Jane. One second.” He clicked the button. “Brogan.”
“Brogan? What the hell is she doing?” The Supe’s hollow voice meant he had Jake on speakerphone. Was someone else in the office? And she? How’d the Supe know Jane was on the phone?
Or Rivera could be talking about Judge Gallagher. “Sir, we applied for a search warrant for the-”
“Search warrant? What search warrant?” Rivera cut him off. “Hell, no. I’ve got some newspaper guy on the other line who’s telling me-”
Jake heard a murmur in the background, someone else talking.
“Alex Wyatt,” the Supe said. “From the Register? On the other speaker. Says some asshole called one of his reporters, Jane Ryland? And semi-threatened her if she pursued the Brianna Tillson case. How the hell does she know the name of-”
“Sir?” Jake interrupted. Threatened Jane? “I hear you. Let me check. I’ll let you know.”
He clicked the button on his phone, hoping the Supe didn’t notice he’d about cut him off, and stood so quickly two documents slid from the pile, landing on Diva’s back. Spooked, she nipped at them, then leaped up and scurried away.
“Jane?” Something was wrong with his voice. He cleared his throat, then tried again. “Jane? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
32
Lots of things, Jane thought. But nothing she could tell Jake if there was a chance anyone would hear. She swiveled in her office chair, staring at the fraying fabric of her cubicle walls, hearing the muffled clicking of computer keyboards, a few phones ringing. Judging by the acrid odor of burning dark roast, someone had again left the communal coffee pot on too long.
“Tell you about what?” she asked. Jake’s voice sounded funny. Seemed like he was talking about something specific. Now what?
Already this evening hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped. When she and Alex arrived at the Register’s basement photo archives, Hec Underhill had already gone. Archive Gus pinged him on the Nextel, but the photographer didn’t answer. Alex, impatient to begin with, went back to the newsroom to oversee the early edition. Jane hung around the photo lab, crossing her fingers Hec would return.
As she waited at Hec’s desk, she’d jiggled one foot. Picked the hem of her jeans. Pulled a speck of lint from her black turtleneck. Looked at her watch. Maybe he’d tried to contact her? She dug in her bag, found her cell phone on the first try. But nothing from Hec. No text from Jake, either. Not even Tuck had called.
“Damn.” She’d said it out loud.
“Huh?” Gus looked up from his computer.
“Nothing. Sorry.”
One good thing, at least-no more anonymous calls.
She’d puffed out a breath. Impatient. “Gus? Can you try Hec again?”
Gus, perched on a high stool in front of a multiscreened monitor, was mousing through an array of photos from the snowstorm.
“Sure.” He clicked the Nextel. “Hec? This is base. Do you copy?”
He paused, and they both listened to silence.
“Sorry, Jane.” Gus had shrugged, then parked the Nextel into the charger. “He’s out-a-pocket. You know Hec. Freelancers. Always somewhere. Feel free to hang out, ya know? Have one of those cookies. I have to make this deadline.”
“Thanks, Gus.” It should have been her deadline, too. Maybe she could still get the Brianna scoop in the last edition? All she had to do was call Jake. She’d broken off one little morsel of a chocolate chip, nibbled at it as she worked on convincing herself.
It would be perfectly okay to call him, even expected. No matter what was up, or not, in their personal life, she was a reporter working a story. It was her job to call a police source if the goal was to get to the truth. And to a balanced story. Alex would agree.
Right. Great idea.
But she couldn’t call Jake in front of Gus.
“Ask Hec to come find me, ASAP, okay?” Ignoring the elevator, she ran up the three flights to the newsroom and around the corner to her cubicle. Punched in Jake’s number. But now that she was actually talking to him on the phone-well, if she interpreted the disapproval in his voice correctly, her “great idea” was more of a disaster.
“Earth to Jane?” Jake was saying. “About a threatening phone call. Might you have thought that could be a bit of information I’d be interested in?”
“How did you know I got a phone call?” She frowned, propping her elbows on her desk, holding the receiver against her cheek. It could only be Alex who told the police. Would he do that?
“‘How’? ‘How’ is not the point,” Jake said. “The point is, someone-”
“Jane?” Alex stood in the opening of her cubicle, cell phone in hand. “I’m on the phone with the-”
Her brain was going to explode. No room for one more thing to fit inside. But she couldn’t let Alex know she was talking to Jake.
“Who’s there?” Jake said. “Is someone in your office?”
“-the police.” Alex finished his sentence. “And the publisher.”
“Call ya back.” Jane looked up at Alex, still holding the phone to his ear. Smiled her best innocent smile. “What’s up?”
“Yes, I’ll tell her,” Alex said into the cell. He clicked off and leaned against the side of her cubicle. A picture of a beach in Nantucket, souvenir of the last big story she’d push-pinned to the wall, floated to the floor. Alex picked up the green plastic pin, then the photograph.
“Sorry.” He stabbed the photo back onto the fabric divider.