She pulled back the zipper and audibly squealed. The bag was filled with money. Bundles of one hundred dollar bills. She was breathless, but still her mind raced. Ten thousand, fifty, one hundred. My God, she wanted to scream. There must be $150,000 in here. She had seen enough. She had to get out of there. She tried to pull the zipper closed, but the bag had opened too widely and the zipper was stuck at the far end. Lisa grabbed the side of the bag opposite her and pulled it toward the center, to ease the zipper’s path. As she did, she could feel something hard under the leather. “Oh please, nothing more,” she whispered, but she couldn’t resist reaching under and pulling out the black, portable computer hard drive. She stared at it a long time. If she took it out to her computer, she really increased the odds of being caught. She considered the risk. This much cash, stored in a place like this… She knew it had to be something illegal. Campaign payoffs? Dirty tricks? Those kinds of things didn’t happen in Iowa unless…unless you had a sleaze like McCabe working for you.
Lisa was appalled and quickly made up her mind. She had to know more so she could tell her father. He could get word to Governor Roskins before McCabe did something stupid and ruined everything. Lisa jumped to her feet and practically ran to the nearest computer – Molly’s. It was now dark outside, so anyone passing by would be able to see her through the storefront windows. She turned the PC screen away from the front of the building and pushed the drive into the USB port. The disk appeared to contain one word processing file and one spreadsheet file. She decided to look at the word processing document first, assuming it would be more understandable than a bunch of numbers, at least to begin with.
As the words came up on the screen, Lisa read: “CONFIDENTIAL TO: L.M. FROM: T. RE: OPERATION DUPE.” As she continued reading, Lisa began to shake her head. This had to be a joke. This couldn’t be. Her eyes widened and she began to mutter: “Oh no, no, no…” She practically chanted as she absorbed the contents of the document. Her face reddened and her temples thumped harder and faster. Then she pounded the keyboard tray: “No, goddammit no!” She realized she was crying and struggled to calm herself. This was no longer a game and was no longer a dirty little secret of Lyle McCabe’s. Suddenly she was terrified. Trying to keep her hands under control, Lisa copied the document onto the hard drive. What to call it? Lisa strained for a moment and fear welled up again. Come on, come on! Then she typed: MOL-XMAS.LST, hoping that if anyone else ever spotted the file, he or she would think it was Molly’s personal Christmas list. She saved it in the generic documents folder, closed the file, unplugged the drive from the PC, and raced back to McCabe’s office. She tucked the disk back into the side of the bag where she had found it, and tugged at the zipper. She was crying again as it finally moved and slid shut. She pushed the file drawer closed, pulled the key from the lock, and pushed the lock into place. She turned and faced the desk and thought: “Tape.” She needed a piece of transparent tape. Rather than search for it, she ran out into the office, grabbed a strip from the dispenser on Molly’s desk, and ran back to McCabe’s office. As she sat down to affix the key to the logbook, she realized she hadn’t paid enough attention to exactly how it was positioned on the page. At this point, she didn’t care. She was scared, shaking, and fighting back more tears. She just wanted to get out of there.
She stuck the key to the page, dropped the book in the desk drawer, slid it shut and stood up, just in time to see Lyle McCabe walk through the back door into the outer office. Her first instinct was to hide, but she immediately ruled it out. Even if a hiding place could be found, she couldn’t bear to stay another minute. She leaned down and quickly brushed the floor dust from her navy slacks, and then simply walked out of his office to face him.
“Excuse me, Lisa, but what were you doing in there?” McCabe asked pointedly, still smiling.
“I’m sorry, Mr. McCabe. I’m a mess. I… I just had some bad news from home, and I was looking for a Kleenex.”
“I see,” McCabe was clearly at a loss. “Why don’t you wait a minute and I’ll try to find you one.”
“No…thanks, really,” Lisa stammered. “I’ll be okay. I’ll just go home for tonight. I know you won’t mind if I finish my work later.”
“Of course,” McCabe said, staring at her for a long moment, unblinking. This time he was looking her right in the eye. Then he turned and walked slowly to his office.
Lisa couldn’t frame into words what had just passed between them as their eyes met, but she knew that McCabe knew. Soon he would see that his book and the bag had been disturbed, removing any doubts about what she had seen. She fought the urge to run out the door, walked deliberately to her PC, and shut it off. She desperately wanted to transfer the file to another diskette, but knew she had to steer clear of Molly’s machine. She slipped on her shoes, grabbed her purse, called, “Good-night,” over her shoulder, and walked out the door. As the door closed behind her, she stole a glance back through the plate glass window. What she saw sent a wave of fear through her, like a physical pain that rolled from the soles of her feet to the top of her skull. Lyle McCabe was seated at his desk, dialing the telephone, but was staring at her through the windows. It was a focused, icy stare. He wasn’t smiling.
***
“City desk.” Tony jammed the receiver between his ear and his shoulder and returned to typing the short accident story he had received from the Quincy County Sheriff’s Office. Two serious injuries was a page three story here, or page one if Jeff got good art to go with it. He still marveled on occasion at what was considered news to the Crier compared to the Chicago Tribune where he had interned prior to returning to Iowa.
He was expecting to hear the voice of the nursing supervisor at St. Vincent’s, the local hospital where the two accident victims had been taken. He had paged her ten minutes earlier to get condition reports on the two victims. Instead, he heard Lisa’s voice, “Oh Tony… you were right.”
“Well, it’s about time,” he quipped, not noticing the tone of her voice.
“Uh, I…Tony, I have to see you.”
Tony stopped typing and straightened in his chair. Lisa was crying. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“I have to see you. Now.”
Tony glanced at the newsroom clock. It was just shy of 9:50 p.m. and he was scheduled to work until 11 p.m., when tomorrow’s paper would be put to bed, meaning the newsroom would hand the final pages over to the production crew.
“I can’t get away quite yet. Why don’t you come here?” he offered.
“No,” Lisa said quickly, then sniffling. “I…we…we have to talk.” She obviously meant they had to talk about something private. Tony found himself wondering if she was pregnant. He pushed the thought from his mind.
“Well, Lisa, I don’t know what to say. I can’t just walk out on Ben.” Only one reporter worked the late shift at the Crier, and tonight Tony was it. Because of the paper’s small staff, Ben often said there were only three valid excuses for not accepting your scheduled evening: if you were getting married, if you were in jail, or if you were dead, and only then if you had a note from the coroner.
“Tony, you don’t understand,” Lisa was sobbing again. “I have to see you.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at home, but I can’t stay here.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m scared!” Lisa practically yelled into the phone.
“Hey, Lisa, take it easy,” Tony said softly, looking at the stack of notes on his desk, and glancing over at Dave, who also had a telephone receiver propped so he could type the caller’s information. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll churn this stuff out in record time, and I’m sure Dave will let me out of here by 10:30 or so. Can you get by until then?”
“I don’t know. I suppose so. But I’m not staying here. Can I stay with you tonight?”
“Of course,” Tony responded without hesitation, and was immediately ashamed of the thoughts that came to mind. “You can let yourself in and I’ll get ther
e as quick as I can.”
“No, I can’t. I can’t go to your place until you’re with me,” she said. “I know I sound…I know I…Oh Tony, it’s terrible.”
“Hang in there, sweetheart. Is there somewhere you can go? Somewhere you can wait a few minutes until I can meet you?”
Lisa was quiet for moment. “Yes,” she brightened. “Meet me where we started, at the crib.”
“The crib?” Tony had to think. He knew he should know what she meant. The crib? “Oh, you mean the cr…” Tony started to smile.
“Don’t say it,” she said. “You know where I mean. Come as quickly as you can.”
The phone went dead, and Tony slowly replaced the receiver. He was completely baffled by the call. What could be so terrible, and why didn’t she want him to confirm what she meant by her reference to Uncle Harvey’s corncrib? Tony knew it wasn’t modesty, although it might have been with some women. Then his mind quickly shifted to admiration.
Clever girl, Tony thought. But he still couldn’t understand the secrecy, the urgency, or the fear that Lisa conveyed in her call. Tony was finishing the accident story as he thought about all of these things. He was just about to get up to talk to Dave when the radio scanner crackled to life: “Car three.” A fainter voice: “Three.” Then: “Car three, we have a reported ten-fifty P.I. at the intersection of Highway 26 and Hoover Street.” The response: “Ten-four, I’m on my way.” That would be Harriet at Central Dispatch, what the public called 9-1-1. She was talking to Tom Sullivan, one of the new young officers in the Orney Police Department.
Tony took a deep breath. Lisa wouldn’t be happy, but he had to follow up. A ten-fifty P.I. was a personal injury accident. Tony knew from experience that the call could mean anything from a bloody nose to multiple fatalities. He also knew from experience that because the location was the intersection of one of Orney’s busiest streets and the highway, there was a good chance it was serious. More importantly, he knew there was no way Ben would let him go now that they had heard the call. It was a breaking news story and he was the only reporter on duty. Tony’s only comfort was knowing that Lisa was safe while she waited.
***
Lisa found the heavy, stale aroma of the old corn bin comforting. It brought back memories of playing on Uncle Harvey’s farm when she was a child. She remembered sunny days when the neighbors and farm hands were shelling corn while the wives and daughters fixed a spread on folding tables under the shade trees. It was a meal that would put a cruise ship buffet to shame. The women were proud of their work, as the men were of theirs. Old fashioned, yes, but she ached for those days. Uncle Harvey’s rough hands lifting her up onto the John Deere, Aunt Doris’ pumpkin pie, showing off the baby kittens to anyone who would look. Lisa was crying again.
The surroundings also reminded her vividly of her first night with Tony. God, how she wished he would hurry. She was parked inside the bin with her engine and lights off, the windows up, and the doors locked. The heat was stifling, but she was too frightened to leave herself vulnerable to the outside. She had backed into the bin leaving the big sliding barn door behind her closed, but the one in front of the car open. This gave her a view of the lane leading out to the gravel road in front of the acreage. Although the view was narrowed by the tunnel effect of the bin, she would have adequate warning if anyone but Tony approached. The keys were in the ignition and she knew she could start the car and race out of harm’s way before anyone could reach her.
Headlights popped into view on the road. “Oh please, Tony, let it be you,” she pleaded. Her heart sank as she realized the lights were too low and too far apart to be Tony’s Explorer. The lights turned into the lane and her heart began to race. The lights flashed in her eyes and she reached for the keys. Just as quickly, the car made a full 180-degree turn in the farmyard and stopped. As Lisa’s eyes readjusted to the dark, she recognized the car. It was a big, late model, four-door sedan with a star on the door and a light bar on top. It was a deputy sheriff’s cruiser. Knowing Deputy Peters worked the day shift, Lisa relaxed a little. Explaining her presence in the corncrib to a young deputy on patrol would be awkward, but it wouldn’t be all bad to have a deputy’s company until Tony arrived. She reached over and unlocked the door as the silhouette climbed out of the police cruiser and walked toward her.
***
Tony glanced at the clock in the dashboard stereo. It glowed a green 11:40. “Jeez,” he said aloud. He pushed the accelerator even further, knowing as he watched the speedometer slide past 60 mph that he was past the safety margin on a gravel road at night. A ridge of loose gravel, an excited deer, or any number of other obstacles could put an end to his speeding, permanently. On the other hand, a beautiful blonde was waiting for him. A beautiful frightened blonde, he reminded himself.
He had tried to call Lisa on her cell twice. First, as he had headed to the accident scene, he had called to let her know he would be late. He wasn’t surprised she didn’t answer. Lisa always left her cell zipped in her purse when she drove, and she had probably been headed out to Harvey’s. Tony had called again a few minutes ago to let her know he was on his way. She still hadn’t answered, which had caused his anxiety to rise significantly.
Now he gripped the wheel tightly with both hands and pushed the Explorer even faster. He knew he didn’t have to worry about a ticket. The state troopers never patrolled the gravel roads, and he had passed a deputy sheriff going the other direction. Tony thought about how lucky he was to have passed the deputy before he had brought the Explorer up to full speed. Every patrol officer Tony had ever known considered nailing a news reporter a special bonus. And if it happened to be Deputy Peters…well, Tony didn’t want to know how that would have gone.
Those thoughts quickly dissipated as the Explorer cleared the next small hill and Tony saw the blackness of Uncle Harvey’s grove rise against the purple sky. He eased off the accelerator and braked into a skid as the lane approached. He hoped Lisa would see how fast he was driving, so she would know he had hurried. In his heart, Tony knew a display of macho driving would not ease her disappointment at him for being over an hour late.
As he drove up the lane, he could see the door of the corncrib was closed. His anxiety increased again. Either Lisa had left already, or she was so frightened she had shut herself inside the bin. He didn’t like to contemplate either scenario.
The Explorer slid to a stop a few feet short of the bin. Tony switched off the ignition and hopped out in one motion. He jogged to the door and was about to call out her name when he realized he could hear her car running. What the…? “Lisa!” he yelled, grabbing the door and pulling hard. The door was heavy and rusty, but it moved. A cloud of exhaust billowed out of the opening. Tony stepped back coughing. “Lisa!” He turned his head, took a deep breath, and ran into the fog inside the bin. Even in the pitch-blackness, he had no trouble finding the driver’s door. He pulled hard but the door didn’t move and the handle snapped back into place. Locked. He quickly felt his way around the car to the passenger side. Also locked. His eyes began to sting and against his will, his lungs sucked a gulp of exhaust. He started to cough and ran back out. Two deep breaths of fresh air, and he started back in. Somewhere deep in his left brain, reason stopped him. He turned to the door and pushed it the rest of the way open. Immediately, more of the cloud rolled out, which meant more fresh air was rolling in. Tony ran to his Explorer, punched on his headlights, and leaned around the bucket seat to grab the tire iron out of the back. For once, he was glad he hated storing it and the jack in the spare tire compartment.
He ran back into the crib to the passenger side of the car, and smashed out the window with one blow. He didn’t even notice the pain as he reached through and pulled the inside door handle. He reached across the passenger seat and felt Lisa’s hair in his fingers. She was seated in the driver’s seat, but was folded over with her head and shoulders lying across the center console. She was motionless. “Oh God, no.” Tony frantically reached in further, grabbin
g under her arms and dragging her out of the car. He didn’t stop until he was beside the Explorer. He then eased her to the ground and turned her over on her back.
“Lisa! Please Lisa! Wake up!” Tony was shouting and crying as he fell to his knees and put his ear to her chest. Nothing. “Please, Lisa, please…” He pulled her head back, pinched her nose and put his mouth to hers, blowing hard. One, two, three. He knelt beside her and pushed on her chest. “Oh God.” He couldn’t remember exactly how to give chest compressions. “Lisa, God please…” More mouth to mouth, more compressions against her chest. Nothing. More mouth to mouth, more compressions.
Tony knew she was dead. He also knew his efforts were wasted long before exhaustion overtook him, and he collapsed sobbing on the ground beside her.
Chapter 19
Doug didn’t wait for Tony to answer the door. He rapped twice on the glass and walked briskly through the door from the front porch to the living room of Tony’s modest two-bedroom bungalow.
“Tone?” he called.
“Huh,” Tony’s soft voice came from the overstuffed chair facing a blank television screen.
Doug dropped into the couch on Tony’s right and placed a brown paper sack on the coffee table. “I thought you could use a cold beer.” He didn’t wait for an answer, popping the top and holding it out for Tony’s grasp.
As he waited he examined his friend closely. Tony was curled up in the chair, arms pressed together at the wrists and tucked between his knees. He was in jogging shorts and an old Nitty Gritty Dirt Band T-shirt. His hair was greasy and his face was red. The sockets around his eyes were almost black. Doug stared at the stark contrast between the rings and the whites of Tony’s eyes; not the bright, sparkling white he was used to seeing, but a cold, empty white that sent a chill through him.
Burying the Lede Page 17