by Sheila Kell
They nodded.
“Okay, let’s get out of here.”
Megan rose and put on her blue scarf, white beanie hat and heavy, white down jacket. She’d lived in Baltimore four years and hadn’t acclimated to the weather as people said she would. Her friends teased her about how heavily she bundled up to go outside on what they called “nice days”. She couldn’t believe the light coats they wore. When it came to the weather, she was still the girl from the South where it was rarely this cold.
* * * * *
After returning from lunch, they met the new journalist. It was none other than her ex-friend, Merissa Attenborough. Kristen wouldn’t have known this was the woman who had helped break Megan’s heart. The heart that now pounded out of control. How was she to work with a woman she despised?
Plus, the home-wrecker had taken Kevin’s spot. Nausea assailed her as she closed another door on accepting what had happened to her brother.
Avoiding her new colleague, she walked to her desk, settled in and checked her voicemail. Of course there was another call from Marcus. He wouldn’t give up. She didn’t know how many times she had to tell him it was over. And now Merissa would be near. Did he know?
“Hello, baby.” She hated it when he called her baby, and she’d told him that while they were together. Yet he’d still called her that, and she’d never said a thing after the first time. That should’ve been a clue he didn’t truly care for her.
“I had to call. Your article today reminded me about Kevin. I’m sorry, baby. I know how close you were. I liked him.”
She tightened her grip on the telephone receiver. Her brother hadn’t liked Marcus. Now Megan wished she had listened to Kevin.
“I know you don’t believe I still love you, but I do. I care about what happens to you. Please quit what you’re doing. Even I know how dangerous this group is. I don’t want to see you follow in Kevin’s footsteps. I want a chance to make things up to you.”
He sighed. “I know how you are about a story, and that’s why I worry,” he paused. “Think about it. Bye, baby.”
She held the receiver to her ear a moment longer, not listening to the recording of instructions to save or delete the message.
“Something wrong?” Kelly startled her. She stood beside Megan’s desk with a look of concern covering her face.
Megan pressed the proper button to delete the message. “No.”
“It was him again. Wasn’t it?” Kelly whispered.
Megan nodded slightly and then turned to her computer to check her email and press releases. He wasn’t worth her thinking about.
Midway through her search she stopped. It had happened again. Her investigative mind told her while these happened infrequently and at different locations, they were all connected.
She turned to her friends. “Did you hear about the prison break in Chicago today?”
Megan knew what her next investigation would be. She’d get to the bottom of these escapes, no matter what it took.
CHAPTER FOUR
The frown her mother warned her would cause permanent wrinkles formed on Megan’s face. Outside the large glass windows of the newspaper office, the snow fell light and misty, the small snowflakes creating a veil of white. One inch had already accumulated and three more were expected that night, which would leave the perfect playground for children in the morning.
There would be sledding, building snowmen and snowball fights.
Her heart ached for Kevin. He’d thrown the first snowball at her after she’d arrived in Baltimore where she’d seen her first snow.
The moment she stepped outside, a gust of the cold, biting wind slammed into her with such intensity it stole her breath. She pulled her scarf higher and hurried to her RAV-4. After removing the snow and ice from it and then warming her freezing hands, she backed out of the parking space for her dreaded drive to the police station.
The slushy roads made her uncomfortable. She drove the speed limit which aggravated other drivers who beeped and flew by her. When had it become the law that the speed limit was the minimum acceptable speed on the roads, even in inclement weather? She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her body tense and determined. They could get angry all they wanted. She preferred not to be in an accident.
During the drive, she’d realized that by avoiding police officers after the fallout of her investigation, she’d relied solely on press releases and her sources for information on Magic Shop. She needed to find the right policeman to help her investigation, someone not on the Magician’s payroll.
That was easier said than done. She couldn’t just up and ask for help and then add, “Oh by the way, are you on the take?” A snort escaped her. That’d go over well.
But how would she find the good ones? She didn’t have time to investigate them all.
She caught sight of one of the vehicles that had beeped and passed her now on the side of the road. She bit her tongue to keep from laughing. See, buddy, that’s why I’m driving slowly and carefully.
She pulled into the police station parking lot and restrained the strong urge to flee. All she had to do was put the car in drive and go. She shook her head and let out a weighty sigh. She could do this. She had to do this.
The noise hit her upon entering the station. The smell of unwashed, sweaty bodies followed. She didn’t know whether to use her hands to cover her ears or to hold her nose closed.
She walked across the lobby. Her throat constricted. Kristen actually trusted these two which should have relieved her, since her boss didn’t care for policemen altogether. How would they receive her? Would they try to find a way to ruin her career because she’d exposed a few brutal officers?
The investigation two years earlier had destroyed her relationship with the police department. Reports of police brutality going unpunished found its way to her desk. Appalled, she had immediately immersed herself into the investigation. The more she’d dug into the story, the greater her disgust with the department.
It hadn’t surprised her that reports from the alleged victims had disappeared. The police hadn’t realized that less paperwork never stopped a reporter. There’s always a way to find the truth.
Early in her investigation, the officers involved found out about it. Driving home one day, she’d been pulled over for driving three miles over the speed limit. She’d driven away with a ticket stating she’d been twenty miles over the limit and a threat. They didn’t get it. A good reporter didn’t let go of their story because they received a threat. That meant someone was scared, there was something there. That made the hunt even better.
It’d been a front page story. She’d named the six police officers who’d allegedly beaten their suspects into confessions. They were immediately suspended. After a long police investigation, they were charged with numerous counts of police brutality and fired. Megan had considered it a job well done.
She’d worried about some type of retaliation, but nothing had happened. She later found out they’d been warned that if anything did happen to her, the ex-officers would be relentlessly pursued. The day the final man left town had been a day of celebration for her. The first day she’d let her guard down when she stepped outside. The first day she’d felt free again.
Now she’d angered them again. Megan knew she should’ve reported to the police what she’d witnessed on the streets. She’d considered it, but had immediately dismissed it. They’d have suppressed the story. Now she’d pay for it, possibly with jail time. She’d go to jail for a source but not for this. She would fight with everything to avoid it.
Could they even put her in jail for not reporting a crime? She actually did report it to them, and the world, in print this morning. Shouldn’t that count? She should’ve stopped by the newspaper’s legal department before coming to this meeting.
When she reached the long, dark wood, welcome desk she squared her sh
oulders. She’d rather not be here, but she wanted to find the officers in the photo. “Hello.”
“Yeah?” asked an overweight police officer with a nametag reading Officer Grimes. Her uniform stretched so tightly that Megan feared a button would pop off and hit her in the head. Her weight probably put her behind the desk, but her demeanor should’ve removed her from it. Obviously customer service wasn’t high on the academy’s teaching list.
“I’m here to see Detective Cooper or Detective Phillips.” She mentally crossed her fingers, ignoring the flutter in her belly. Please let me get the nice one of the two.
“Have a seat, and I’ll check if they’re here.”
The thought of sitting on one of the filthy lobby chairs nauseated her.
A tall, African American man with a highly starched white shirt and red tie walked into the lobby and called her name. Great. She had the poster boy for a police detective who she bet was by the book.
She pasted a smile on her face and extended her hand. “I’m Megan Rogers.”
His large hand swallowed hers in a tight grip. “Detective Cooper. Detective Allan Cooper. Thanks for coming to the station.”
“This way.” He turned and walked away.
She hurried to keep up with him as he led her through a maze of desks. They had to have killed hundreds of trees for all of the paperwork that sat on the desks. What happened to a paperless government?
Plain clothed and uniformed officers sat at desks. Some were talking on the phone. Others talked to a person in the chair next to their desks. A few of those being interviewed were rather boisterous. The most common shout she heard was, “I didn’t do it.”
Detective Cooper stopped at an immaculate desk.
Thankfully it sat far from the noise. He pulled out a chair behind a dented metal desk.
The police department was in the process of renovating their stations, and the officers could expect new furniture. One of Councilman Thomas’s agendas he’d bullied to get passed.
She couldn’t control how they spent their money, but they should spend it on more police officers on the streets, not on office décor.
He gestured to the chair beside his desk. “Have a seat, Ms. Rogers. Would you like something to drink? Coffee?”
Her gut clenched, her heart jerked, but she kept her features composed. “No, thank you.”
He didn’t have a broad chest or large muscles, but his height, the way he carried himself and the air around him intimidated her. She’d hate to be one of his suspects.
She met his partner, Detective Joe Phillips. He stood about a foot shorter than Detective Cooper. His head full of gray hair displayed his experience and time on the force. His desk was also immaculate. Not one but two poster boys. She envisioned a nightmare about to occur.
Detective Cooper sat and ran a hand over his shiny, bald head. “I read your article. It was very illuminating.” He held the newspaper, folded to display her article on Councilman Thomas.
Illuminating seemed to be an odd word for him to use. This didn’t appear to be starting out well. This seemed the appropriate time to hold her tongue although inside her screamed, Illuminating? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“I have a problem though. You witnessed an alleged crime, several in fact, and failed to report them. Instead, you took pictures and published them. Care to explain?” The edge in his voice dug into the confidence she’d built.
“As you said, they were alleged crimes. I planned to report them, but work kept me busy.” That was close to the truth. She just left off that she wanted to avoid them if at all possible.
She should’ve known that wouldn’t happen since it involved Magic Shop. Publishing a prominent city official looking as if he was committing a crime, along with exposing a dealer who hadn’t been pulled off the streets, made it appear the police weren’t doing their job. If they had been, she wouldn’t have been successful.
“Uh-huh. Did you take the pictures with your cell phone?”
“Yes,” she said hesitantly. Where was this leading?
“Then it’s obvious your phone was functional. Is there a reason you didn’t call the crime in? 911 isn’t hard to dial. It’s just three digits.” He waved the newspaper. “It appears that you had plenty of opportunities to call us if your article is accurate with how many transactions you witnessed.” The longer he spoke, the louder his voice rose.
She hadn’t considered calling the police when she’d been on the street. She’d been concentrating on her investigation. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen even one police car at any time. “I didn’t think about it at the time.”
He leaned toward her. “You realized a crime was being committed, and you didn’t think about calling the police? I find that hard to believe. You thought it was important enough to photograph it and take notes for your article. Here’s what I think. I think you just wanted your story and knew the police would break up the party and you’d have nothing. You wanted to make us look like fools again,” he said sharply.
She shook her head. Okay, he wouldn’t be the policeman to help with her investigation. “No, I didn’t think about it at the time.” This was not going well.
“You are no different than any other reporter. The story is first for you, no matter how you get it.”
Getting the story was a reporter’s job. “I just didn’t think about it at the time.”
He stared at her as if assessing her. The anger slowly dimmed from his eyes. “Next time call the police first. Don’t just stand there watching and taking pictures. Let us do our job. You’ll still get a story out of it.”
She nodded. “Yes sir.” Did he really think she’d not take an opportunity when it arose? Ha. He didn’t know journalists very well.
“I want a witness statement from you. Let’s start with how you came to observe all you did. What were you doing on that side of town? It can be dangerous, especially in the evening.” He placed the newspaper on his desk.
She summarized her time on the street, skipping the fight she’d witnessed and the exchange with the possible police officers. They were hers to expose.
“How long were you there?”
“About two hours each day.” Two hours of shivering and wishing for her fireplace and hot cocoa.
“Did you photograph every exchange?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll want a copy of all of the pictures, and I don’t want to hear of any confidentiality bullshit. I hope you’ll save me the trouble of getting a warrant,” he flatly stated.
She’d expected that request. “I brought you the photos on a thumb drive.” She reached into her purse, removed the storage unit and handed it to him.
He closed his hand around it. “I’m keeping this.” He didn’t ask, he dictated.
She smiled sweetly, adding her Southern charm. “No problem. I made it specifically for you.”
He snorted, and it almost made her laugh. She hadn’t expected that sort of sound from this starchy detective. He hadn’t mentioned any charges against her, and she didn’t ask about them. Her tension eased, the tightness in her shoulders slowly relaxed.
It finally hit her. They’d been bluffing to get her to the station. Dang it all to hell and back.
“You need to remember that we do the investigating. This is our case. We don’t need reporters getting in the way of justice.”
Fisting her hands to stop her temper from rising, she responded, “We fight for justice too. I fight for justice.” He was a typical policeman. They should thank reporters not berate them. Many times the reporter uncovered information the police couldn’t. Reporters broke the news. So what if they sometimes beat the police to it?
Many times her mother had reminded her that the early bird got the worm. Of course that’d been when she’d try to get Megan out of bed early on a Saturday. Reporters were the
early birds.
He waved her off. “Spare me the free speech lecture. I heard enough of it from your boss. Right now, I’m concerned for you.”
Okay, he puzzled her. Were his hot and cold statements his version of good cop, bad cop? Or did he have a personality disorder?
“You put a picture of a drug dealer and a buyer, a councilman at that, in your newspaper. Your name is on the article.” He pointed at it. “You’ve interfered with a dealer’s livelihood, and he’s not going to be happy.”
Wait until he heard what else she’d witnessed. No matter what he said, it would make the paper before she reported it to him.
“I’m glad if I stopped him from dealing. He should be arrested and not be on the streets.”
“Do you realize how dangerous these people are? What you did was stupid. You just made an enemy, and you don’t want Magic Shop as an enemy. You need to stop digging into their activities. People who anger them tend to disappear.”
Kevin’s face came to mind and how the police had blown her off, stating he’d probably just skipped town. She knew better.
She stopped her anger from rising about Kevin. Shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, she responded, “I make enemies all of the time. I’ve received so many threats, I’ve lost count. I’m not stopping. It’s my job.” He wasted his breath if he thought he could scare her off. She knew it was dangerous, but for her brother’s sake, she refused to quit.
“I wouldn’t blow off a threat from Magic Shop if I were you. Leave exposing organized crime to us.”
Yeah right. Sure she would. They were obviously so good at taking care of Magic Shop that she caught several drug dealers operating in the open.
“Detective Cooper, I’m a journalist. I’ll do my job. I won’t let someone scare me off. I will find out who the Magician is.” Her heart seized at the thought of walking away from her brother’s killer. It wouldn’t happen.
He shifted in his seat. “We’re investigating them, and I’d rather you stopped. This is serious,” he paused. “Just be careful.”