Knickers in a Twist

by Kim Hunt Harris

  And a far cry, of course, from Jacob-the-heel-grabber.

  Someone with the Baucum name would be expected to do great things. Be a hero, even.

  What would it do to someone like that, to fail so publicly? And then to lose the family business, on top of everything else? The business his war-hero grandfather had started and passed down to him. A fall like that would be difficult for anyone, but when you're falling from an even higher platform...

  “Ummm,” Frank said.

  I looked up to see him and Stump both looking at me from their spot in the recliner, and realized I'd done nothing but stare at the open fridge for the past several minutes.

  “Should I get the peanut butter and jelly?” Frank offered.

  I shook my head and laughed. “Sorry, no.”

  Frank wasn't trying to be critical. He would honestly be fine with PB&J, and to be honest, it didn't sound half bad to me, either. But I was cold and kind of depressed from the afternoon. I wanted comfort food.

  I had grilled chicken, which according to the unrealistically ambitious plan I'd made for myself on grocery shopping day, was to be paired with acorn squash and roasted brussel sprouts. I could not—nor did I want to—imagine the circumstances wherein brussel sprouts would be considered comfort food.

  I pulled the chicken from the fridge, mentally ordered the crisper to keep those veggies crisp for a few more days, and added cheese, butter, tortillas and salsa to the counter.

  I toasted the tortillas with the chicken and cheese, slapped them together and cut them into wedges, set a plate full on the coffee table with a bowl of salsa—which I reminded myself was, after all, a vegetable, and collapsed onto the sofa with Stump.

  “Hard day?” Frank asked. This, for Frank, was the very height of sympathy and concern.

  I shrugged. “I think the universe is telling me I suck.”

  Chapter Seven

  Smashing

  Between dogs the next day, I tried to watch the rest of the videos on my phone, but I was having trouble finding the links Trisha sent us. Finally, I just Googled Peter's name and came up with a video we hadn't seen yesterday—an interview he'd done with the Dallas NBC affiliate about earthquakes in the North Texas area.

  I had to hand it to the guy—whatever that it thing was that made some people attract attention, Peter Browning had it. He was professional, the kind of person who would be deemed 'trustworthy' by viewer polls.

  A far cry from the weasel who had caved to the oil man in yesterday's video.

  At the end of that story, too, he brought the video back around to the NorthStar building collapse and David Baucum's leering face.

  “Jeez-O-Peet ,” I said. Why did he keep bringing everything back to Baucum Engineering? Things that clearly weren't associated in any way? It was starting to look personal.

  A thought struck me. What if Browning had been on to something with Baucum, and this was his way of trying to hammer home that message, or that suspicion?

  I texted Viv: I'll be done by 3. Pick us up to go to Trisha's office?

  She answered immediately: Smashing.

  I hoped that meant she was ungrounded, but as I went back to shaving poodle feet (on a schnauzer, of all things!) I decided that it really didn't matter. Viv would find a way to stay on the case.

  Once we got to the station, Viv and I decided to divide and conquer. She was going to talk to Jessica about Peter's interview with the oil guy, and Stump and I would talk to Tri-Patrice.

  As she'd been yesterday, Tri-Patrice was in her office with the door closed but seemed happy enough to take a break when I came in carrying Stump.

  “What did you think of that interview with Baucum?” she asked.

  “We didn't get that far,” I admitted.

  “Seriously? That was the most powerful one.”

  I must have had a funny look on my face, because she laughed and said, “What?”

  “I have to admit...it's been hard to watch. Maybe because it was so...concentrated? With us watching one after the other about the same thing? But I was really uncomfortable with the way Peter handled the whole Baucum angle.”

  “What do you mean? Baucum Engineering was a big player in the collapse. That'll be more apparent when you watch his interview.”

  “But it's not just the school collapse. It's all of them. Oklahoma, Kansas, Colorado, South Dakota. I mean, they go all over the place, but every time he brought it back to Baucum and the NorthStar collapse. He kept showing that same horrible graphic in every story.”

  “What horrible picture?”

  “The one with the school all in rubble with Baucum's leering face plastered over it. Looking at it like that, it's as if the poor man is gleeful about the disaster. Why do that?”

  “Well, I'm sure Peter wanted to make it apparent why he's showing events that happened in other places—he wanted viewers to make the connection that this isn't just one of those things that happen elsewhere. I mean, if there's no connection to here, there's no reason for us to be doing the story, right?”

  “I guess.” I sat silently for a minute, rubbing Stump's ear. I wasn't sure if I should bring this up, with Trisha in her delicate condition and her concerns about Peter's cause of death.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I just...do you think all those stories could have been part of what drove Baucum to do what he did?”

  Trisha shrugged. “How would we ever know? We don't know that he even meant to overdose. I mean, the ME classified it as accidental. Maybe he was self-medicating to deal with the fallout, and he went too far. But Peter didn't say anything that wasn't true.”

  “I know that. I just wonder if maybe Browning took things a little further than he needed to. He jumped on something that looked sensational and ran with it, not caring about the fallout.”

  “Salem,” Trisha said patiently. “Peter was an investigative reporter. So, he investigated. He found something to be concerned about, and he reported on it. Baucum was under a lot of strain, but that strain was in large part his own fault. He should have been more diligent than he was, and people were hurt because he wasn't. Watch Peter's interview—you'll see. Baucum knew he was at least partially responsible, and the guilt that was rightfully his is probably what drove him to do what he did, whether he meant for it to cause his death or not.”

  “But...” I frowned, then nodded. I was here mainly to ease Trisha's mind, not contribute to her anxiety.

  I decided to switch topics a bit. “I also wondered if, perhaps, Peter was onto something more with Baucum. Something he wasn't able to share just yet, and this hyper focus was his way of keeping a bead on Baucum while he worked it out?”

  Trisha drew in a breath, her eyes wide. “I don't know. Maybe.”

  She looked so instantly hopeful that I immediately wanted to backpedal. “I mean, that's just a wild guess. It could be nothing.”

  “It could be something, though.”

  Despite my moment of panic, I felt kind of proud of myself. Maybe I had a knack for this after all. “Did he say anything along those lines?”

  She shook her head. “No, not really.”

  “Any hints that he was working on something bigger?”

  She thought for a second. “Actually, yes. The whole fracking and earthquake scene had kind of become Peter's area of expertise, and you saw by the list of videos I gave you that he was active in pursuing more stories. He did say, though, that he was investigating a new angle. I asked what it was, but he just shook his head and said he didn't have enough to share just yet but would let me know.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “Wow. I'll bet that's it. I'll bet it's got something to do with that. I should have followed up on this sooner.” She scribbled on a notepad. “I'll tell Bobby Sloan. They need to be checking his computer. If he was talking to someone about a new angle, there would be some record of it on there.”

  For Trisha, who—God bless her, I loved her, I really did, but still—was a bit of a control freak, this seemed oddly
hands off. “Is that how you guys normally handle stuff? They're kind of their own agents and bring you the stories once they're ready?”

  “Honestly, no. But Peter was bringing in big stories. He'd proved he had good judgment. I figured I could trust him to follow up what needed to be followed up.”

  “If Baucum wasn't dead, I would suspect him,” I said. “Revenge, you know.” I decided to skirt around the question I really wanted to ask. “After Baucum died, did Peter ever express any remorse? Have second thoughts about the way he'd handled the stories?”

  Trisha shook her head. “No. Listen, Salem, you have always had a tender heart for the underdog and I admire that in you. But Baucum wasn't the underdog here. He had a huge responsibility and didn't take it seriously enough. He brought himself down.”

  “I guess I need to watch that interview,” I said.

  “You do. You'll see why Peter probably didn't lose one second of sleep about the way things turned out. Baucum's hubris. I mean, seriously, Salem. The guy was unbelievably cold about the whole thing. And Peter was thrilled with the attention the stories were getting. Everything was going his way. He had job interviews in Dallas, Houston, and Memphis. He was leapfrogging over two market sizes, and he was looking forward to getting a shot at the big leagues. I didn't see anything that would make me think he was second-guessing the work at all.”

  Hmmm...cashing in on a tragedy to work his way up the ladder. I decided that, dead or not, I didn't care much for Peter Browning. “Does it feel slimy to you that he dogged so much on Baucum, when the poor guy clearly had suffered? He lost his business, he lost his reputation—”

  “And a little girl who dreamed of being a prima ballerina has lost that. Along with any hope of walking across the stage at high school graduation or dancing at her own wedding. It's a horrible, horrible situation. Calling it a horrible situation doesn't seem slimy to me, no.”

  “I guess you're right.” Although it still seemed slimy to me. I stood and hefted Stump onto my hip, remembering how Misty Monahan had appeared that night at the side of the dirt road when Peter's body had been found. I set aside my discomfort with the man. People who worked with him and knew him well were obviously devastated by his death. Maybe I just didn't understand the news business that well.

  “Is Misty Monahan working today? I'd like to talk to her while we're here. Maybe see if she knows anything about that new angle Peter was working on.”

  Trisha frowned. “She's supposed to be here, but she called earlier and said she wasn't feeling well. That's the third time this week, which is weird because before this she never called in sick once. Remember that fire out at the cotton gin? She covered that with a 102 degree fever.”

  “Wow. Impressive,” I said, but I was thinking, Good lord, why? There were three other TV news teams, a newspaper, and countless radio stations. Why drag yourself out of your sickbed to say what a dozen other people are also saying?

  “This whole thing with Peter has really taken a toll on her. They were very close.”

  Trisha's door flew open and Viv popped her head in. “Salem, come see what I just found out!”

  I followed after Viv, who quick-stepped through the news room back to where Jessica, the camera girl, stood, looking slightly confused.

  Viv planted herself beside Jessica and gestured toward her like a game show hostess. “She's British! Another Brit! Can you believe that?”

  “No,” I said. “I can't.” I had only talked to Jessica once, but she clearly was not British.

  “What about the white cliffs of Dover? Breathtaking, right?”

  “We moved from there before I was two years old,” Jessica said, with the thin patience of someone who had already tried to say this at least three times.

  “But you were born there?”

  “On a US Air Force base, yes.”

  “Do you have dual citizenship, then? Oh, don't you miss it?”

  “No,” Jessica said, not specifying which question she was answering.

  Clearly it was time for me to step in. “Has Patrice told you that we're investigating the death of Peter Browning?”

  Jessica blinked at this sudden change in topic, but seemed relieved. “Ummm, no, she didn't.”

  “Yes, yes, we need to get down to business,” Viv said, reaching into her pocket.

  Don't give her a card, I prayed silently. She's young. She'll be traumatized.

  In an effort to push the conversation forward before Viv had a chance to pull the cards out, I said, “We've been going through some of Peter's interview tapes. Some of the more notable stories he did. Were you with him for those interviews? It's hard to tell from watching the video.”

  “Hopefully it's impossible to tell,” Jessica said. “Misty and I are kind of a team on most stories, but yeah, I worked with Peter, too.”

  “Good. We wondered if maybe you would be willing to talk with us and give us your take on some of the different stories.”

  She looked between us again, then gave the slightest of shrugs. “Sure, I guess so.”

  “Nothing major,” I assured her. “We don't really know what we're looking for. But maybe just your general impression of the way people reacted to him.”

  “For instance, can you remember any instances of people getting angry with him over an interview.”

  Jessica gave a short laugh. “Of course. People got mad at him all the time. He was kind of annoying.”

  Viv and I glanced at each other.

  “Not a fan, huh?” Viv said.

  “Oh, he was okay. I mean, he was trying to do something, right? Trying to get noticed, trying to get a bigger piece of the pie. Tell a bigger story. If that means you get annoying sometimes...” She shrugged again.

  “So, do you remember specific instances when he was so annoying that he would actually cause someone to want him dead?”

  She rolled her eyes slightly and shook her head once. “Not one that stands out, no. I mean, hindsight, right? I was a little nervous about the whole Space Cop thing. Nobody wants to make the cops mad, you know?”

  “Right.” I had actually been there and done that. She was right. You don't want to do that.

  “But then that all kind of blew over and things went back to normal.”

  “Did it?” Viv asked. “Tell us about that interview with the chief of police.”

  “It was tense. He made it clear that he didn't care for what Peter was doing. He felt like it could have been handled a lot better if they'd kept it private. There was no need to create a big stink.”

  “How did Peter react to that?”

  “Peter loved it. He seemed to be excited by it, honestly. I mean, look around.” She cast her own glance around the news room. “We're all here because we like to be in the thick of it, right? We like it when stuff happens. We want to be a part of it. Peter was no different.”

  “You said you didn't want to make the cops mad. Did they get mad, with all those stories about the Space Cop toy thing?”

  Jessica sighed. “Oh, there was some pushback, for sure. We got lots of calls. People would scream “Back the Blue!” at us when we drove by in the station van. Or when we were standing out by the road somewhere giving a traffic report or a weather report. But that was just people around town. Not the police, necessarily.”

  “So they were professional about it?”

  “Sure. I mean, like I said, the police chief was mad about the whole thing, but when it came down to it, he knew that Peter was just telling a story about a thing that happened. The thing that happened—that was the real problem. He would have chosen for it to be handled differently, but he couldn't exactly fault us for reporting it.”

  “There is a theory that Peter was murdered and it was made to look like a suicide.” I didn't tell her it was Trisha's theory, of course. “ And, of course, a policeman would know ways to murder someone and make it look like a suicide.”

  “I mean, I guess. It could have happened.”

  “But not Chief Simon?”<
br />
  “I'd be really surprised. Shocked. He seemed more like he was ready to chuck the whole thing and be done with it, if you ask me. It takes a lot of passion to sustain a grudge for almost a full year, and that guy just didn't have it in him. He was beyond burned out.”

  “What about one of his officers? Or the one who was fired? What was his name—Brownlow? Or his wife?”

  Jessica shook her head. “You're completely out of my sphere. I was there for the wife's interview, but if she was going to kill anyone, it would have been her husband. She was furious with him.”

  We all digested that for a moment. Then Viv said, “Okay, moving away from the police. We watched the unedited video of Peter's interview with Dorsett Oil. That was our first experience with an unedited video, and I have to say, we were a little surprised.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “Well, surprised by Browning's demeanor, I guess. We've seen him as the hard-nosed investigative reporter, going after the facts. But he kind of...” I didn't know a polite way to phrase it.

  “Rolled over,” Viv said.

  Jessica lifted her chin as if remembering, then smiled. “Oh, yeah. I do remember that. He was so mad after that.”

  “Mad?”

  “Mad at himself, I guess. Embarrassed that he'd let the old guy bulldoze him like that.” She nodded again, looking off with a smile, remembering. “Yeah. I remember thinking that, too, that he just caved on the guy. Suddenly he was Mr. Deferential.”

  “Did he say why? I mean, this was after his big showdown, expose thing with the police. He has a few months more experience, and by all accounts, a big win under his belt. You would think he would have had the backbone to stand up to Dorsett.”

  “I thought so, too. Okay, it's coming back to me now. He was very silent, kind of stompy, you know, when we were loading the stuff back in the car and heading back to the station. Then, when he got in the editing bay and started editing the footage, he got really mad, but...an embarrassed mad, I guess I'd call it. Stomping around, muttering under his breath. I steer clear of people when they get that way. But Misty watched the video and asked him why he'd rolled over like that—just like you said, he rolled over—and he said he just felt suddenly really uncomfortable there. Like he got a bad vibe or something. A really threatening vibe. And he wanted to get out of there.”