“TV is a visual medium, kiddo. That’s why you don’t see me in front of the camera.” Callum laughed, and his large, round middle jiggled. “The problem is, Lilly, you charge like a pit bull. When that works, it’s great, but sometimes stories need a softer touch. Sometimes you’ve got to finesse it. You could learn a lot from Rod.”
I made a halfhearted attempt to sound reasonable. “But he’s dishonest. Once he faked interest in Star Wars genealogy to butter up an interview. Another time it was Dungeons and Dragons. He pretends to like people so he can use them to get what he wants. Even his name is fake.”
“Rod Strong?” Callum laughed. “You think Edward R. Murrow would have done as well if he’d gone by Egbert?”
“Is that even a name?”
“I guess his parents thought so.” Callum waved his hand holding the phone. “Anyway, right now Rod’s the only reporter who asks for you, so maybe cut him some slack.”
“He used to be the only one asking for me, but as of today, my slump is officially over.”
“What’s the story with the 187?” Callum put the phone back to his ear, listened for a moment, then hung up. “Do they have any leads?”
I filled him in on what I knew.
“I’m only going to say this once.” Callum used a tone usually reserved for shooters who broke cameras or crashed vans. “We do not pull those kinds of stunts around here, okay? You do not disobey the cops like that.”
“I know. I’ve never done anything like that before, but Trent said . . . let’s just say he made it clear I couldn’t come back empty-handed.”
“He didn’t mean you should break the law.”
I nodded.
Callum relaxed a little bit into his chair. “But it’s good you got a statement. I’ve hit a brick wall working my sources.”
“You’d think for a hijacking they’d want publicity to flush out witnesses.”
“It may still come to that, but for now I’m guessing Leland Warner is clamping down on publicity. He’s big into control.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Leland Warner.” Callum paused, and when I didn’t react, he explained, “Warner Land Holdings owns most of the unincorporated land along Weedpatch Highway and another big chunk south of Arvin.”
“But the orchard was called Valley Farms.”
“That’s just a subsidiary. Most of the old man’s businesses are set up that way. He’s into everything from agriculture to sports franchises to real estate—and not just in Bakersfield.”
“Then why haven’t I ever heard of him?”
“He’s into privacy. He’s always the guy standing behind the guy getting attention.”
“And you think he can give orders to the police?”
“No, but he can ask for favors. He’s got a lot of sway in Sacramento.” Callum shook his head. “But it doesn’t sound like the murder has anything to do with him. The thieves needed a secluded spot to transfer the cargo, right?”
I nodded. “And the orchard was perfect. They must have scouted it out in advance.” I had an idea. “We haven’t covered any other hijackings lately, have we?”
“No, but I can check press releases and news stories from the rest of the state.” He reached for the computer mouse. “Maybe a group working the northern end of the valley has come south.”
I left Callum to do his search and took a seat at an empty desk. I turned on the computer and searched the KJAY video library for Leland Warner. Nothing came up.
I returned to the assignment desk. “How come there are no hits for Warner in the archives?”
Callum didn’t take his eyes off the computer monitor. “I told you. He likes his privacy. The man knows how to stay out of the news.”
“You mean we’ve never done any kind of story about him, ever?”
“I think Leanore was going to do something a couple years ago, a profile maybe, for one of her local-history pieces. But then it got canceled.”
Leanore had been the historical reporter, but had left the station a year earlier when Trent made cutbacks.
Callum glanced at the clock. “The morning show’s starting soon. Where’s our anchor?”
I looked around the newsroom for Marcie, but didn’t see her. “She’s probably getting ready.”
“She spends way too much time in makeup before her shows. She’s an anchor/producer. She’s responsible for more than just how she looks.”
My voice rose. “That’s not fair. Everyone agrees the morning show has gotten sharper lately.”
“Oh, and I suppose you think that’s her doing?”
My reply was stifled by the arrival of Marcie herself. Her elegant red pants suit set off the highlights in her long, strawberry-blond hair. She saw me and came straight to the assignment desk. As she approached, I noticed she’d swapped out her usual American-flag lapel pin for a sparkly snowman.
“What happened with the 187? Did you get . . .” She trailed off as she saw the blue bootees on my feet.
“I had to give up my shoes to the cops in exchange for an exclusive.”
Her cheeks flushed underneath the artificial blush she’d applied for television. “A scoop during sweeps? This could make us number one again.”
Callum picked up a ringing phone and started shouting into it, so Marcie pulled me a few steps from the assignment desk and lowered her voice. “And being an anchor at the number one station in town makes me a lot more attractive to bigger markets.”
“Are you up for something?”
“Don’t say anything, but I think Sacramento’s going to make me an offer.”
“Good luck,” I said, trying to sound happy and failing. “It’s going to be hard to replace you.”
She shook her head. “Trent knew my contract was coming up and he’s had Rod shadowing me. Rod doesn’t know it, but I think he’s a shoo-in for my job.”
“Lilly?” Callum’s voice interrupted the string of expletives going off in my head. “I’m coming up with zilch on other hijackings.”
I returned to the desk with Marcie behind me. “Nothing at all?”
“No. The only thing even close happened last month. Almond distributors in Visalia and Hanford had loaded trucks stolen in the middle of the night.”
A distant voice called from the phone in Callum’s hand. He raised it to his ear, consulted a grainy monitor behind him, and barked into the receiver, “Teddy, that’s awful. Your bars are barely coming in. Tilt the dish to the right. . . . I said the right!” He covered the mouthpiece with his free hand. “Some days I think Teddy couldn’t shoot his butt with a Polaroid camera.”
I couldn’t help smirking. “I heard he managed to do it once with Freddy’s help.”
“Yeah, the Wonder Twins.” Callum paused while Marcie and I laughed. “But this is a new low. I think Teddy may have found a way to get his head even farther up his butt.”
“Go mellow on the Tedster.” The three of us turned and saw Freddy standing just inside the doorway with a slice of pizza in his hand. He wore a pair of Bermuda shorts and his red logo shirt. A thick mass of bleached curls bobbed on his head, revealing dark roots. I assumed that Teddy, out on his live shot, was similarly attired. They weren’t actually twins, or even related, but they were hard to tell apart. I didn’t know how much of our conversation Freddy had overheard, but I doubted our comments would bother him. As far as I could tell, he wasn’t bothered by much.
“We had a rager last night,” Freddy explained. “Somebody spaced on putting water in the punch. It was like Kool-Aid mix and straight vodka. He’s pretty fried.”
Callum sighed. “I don’t know enough curse words to do justice to everything stupid in that story.” He glanced at the grainy monitor behind him, then took his hand off the phone’s mouthpiece. “Teddy that looks worse than before. . . . Don’t dude me, dude. I’m not your dude.”
Freddy spoke to me while chewing pizza. “I heard you totally bagged a murder last night.”
“She got us an exclusive,” Mar
cie said.
“Awesome.”
“Totally,” I replied.
“Totally, righteous,” he added.
I cocked a finger like a gun. “Right back at you.”
“Freddy,” Callum interrupted. “Why aren’t the Christmas decorations up? You and Teddy were supposed to . . .” Callum took his first good look at Freddy and slammed the phone down. “Freddy, you know you can’t wear shorts to work. What if I had to send you to court for a story?”
“Dude, I got pants in the van.”
Callum turned red. “How about we wait until Trent gets in and see if he fires you this time?”
“You won’t have to wait long.” Walter Trent, our station news director, passed the assignment desk on his way to his office. He carried a leather Coach briefcase in one hand and what was almost certainly a latte in the other.
“Hey, you’re in early, boss man.” Freddy said.
Trent entered his office and set down his things. His lack of a response felt more ominous than if he’d yelled at Freddy.
Marcie glanced nervously at her watch. “We’re getting close to air. I should go check the rundown.”
“Don’t stress. He totally won’t fire me,” Freddy told her. “Teddy and I work cheap. It’s awesome job security.”
She laughed, but made a quick exit.
Trent returned to the assignment desk. “Freddy, if I see you in shorts again, you’re fired.”
“Right-o, boss man. Like I said, I got pants in the van.” Freddy turned and exited out the back.
Trent carefully avoided looking at me and addressed Callum. “What did we get on the murder?”
Trent’s early-morning presence at the station was unusual, and I was sure he was there to check up on me. That made it all the more enjoyable to say, “It’s a scoop.”
“Seriously?” His face brightened. “How big a scoop?”
“Huge,” Callum told him. “She got exclusive video of the body and a bite from the Sheriff’s Department. We should get on the phone with promotion and run a proof-of-performance spot. Ratings are going to be great.”
“Exclusive video. Do you two know what this means?” Trent took quick strides to the basket and picked the tape out. “I need to see this.”
I heard movement inside the first edit bay, then my least favorite shooter appeared. David and I had never got along, but things completely deteriorated when Jake, our chief photographer, left for a better job in Las Vegas. Without a chief to keep them in line, the jerks like David were free to be, well, jerks.
“I’m done in here, if you want a deck.” David’s muscles bulged from under his red polo shirt as he leaned against the open sliding-glass door. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to watch Lilly’s video with you.”
I’ve heard that in large television markets a shooter works with the same reporter every day. At small stations, we have to be much more flexible. My main job is to shoot video, but sometimes I’m drafted to edit or even run teleprompter for a show. When there’s no reporter available, a frequent occurrence in our understaffed newsroom, I conduct interviews and handle the newsgathering myself. Just about the only thing I don’t do is write or produce, and you’ll never see or hear me on the air.
So it wasn’t unthinkable that David might help out with some editing. The bizarre thing was his being at the station at all, considering he worked the 10:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. shift. Also, it infuriated me that he’d been in the edit bay the whole time—almost certainly eavesdropping.
“What are you doing editing?” I asked. “And at this time of day?”
He returned the raw tapes he’d been using to the basket and set the edited video on a small shelf for the producer to take to playback. “Callum was short editors so I offered to work some overtime.”
“You just got the urge?” I said.
David glanced at Trent, then turned his ugly smile on me. “I got an upsetting call from Trent in the middle of the night. I was so worried we were about to blow a huge story, I couldn’t sleep.”
“Sounds like some kind of anxiety disorder. You should see a shrink. They can do amazing things with medication nowadays.”
“Okay, okay. That’s enough, you two.” Trent glanced at his watch and then David. “Watch the video with us and then cut a quick VO/SOT for the morning show. We’ll need to lead with this story.”
“Do you mind watching on one of my decks?” Callum hung up the phone he’d been using to talk to Teddy and gestured to the bank of monitors behind him. “I need to see the video so I can decide how much to use on the website.”
Trent agreed and took him the tape. Callum swiveled around in his chair and inserted it into an unseen deck.
“You’ll need to rewind,” I told him. “All the way to the top.”
He pushed a button, then reached for one of the scanners. “In honor of our scooping everybody else in town, I’ll even turn down the county line.”
In the five years I’d worked at KJAY, I’d never seen or heard of Callum turning down a scanner. He even had a portable one he took with him to the bathroom.
I glanced at David, hoping to catch him in a jealous sulk, but instead chanced to see a female writer in the newsroom look up from her computer. What the writer saw made her tired and cranky face melt into a dewy half-smile. Without seeing him I knew Rod had entered the room.
“Lilly?” he called to me, somehow managing to shout tactfully. “You’re in early.”
He took short, graceful strides and joined us at the assignment desk. It wasn’t that he was handsome, because he wasn’t. His face was too thin and his nose too pointy. And he was small. Not as small as me, but standing near David he looked short. What made the girls in the newsroom swoon, what made him so attractive on television, was the incomparable packaging job that was Rod Strong.
My eyes swept over his creamy brown suit and matching vest, and I couldn’t help but appreciate the cut and drape of the rich fabric. A blue-striped tie coordinated with a handkerchief discreetly peeking out from the jacket pocket. They both set off the flawless blue of his eyes. On top, golden waves of silken hair crowned his head, and when he smiled, rows of perfect ivory gleamed from his mouth. I didn’t know how much it cost to keep him in that style, but it had to be more than he was making at KJAY.
He exchanged greetings with David and Trent, then turned to me. “Are you available?”
“Not if you want me to shoot something. We’re about to watch the video I shot at last night’s homicide.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” As he stepped back, he saw my feet and giggled. This undulating laugh that he never failed to produce when we worked together felt like fingernails on a chalkboard.
At that moment it annoyed me even more because I knew it was at my expense. “The police confiscated my shoes at the crime scene.”
Callum cut off Rod’s response. “It’s done rewinding.” He turned the jog wheel to scan through the black at the top of the tape. “Is this thing going to be bloody?”
“Just in the beginning,” I said. “But then I did a perfect pullout as they wheeled the body bag into the coroner’s wagon.”
“The coroner’s wagon.” Trent repeated my words like a child naming his favorite candy.
“I’m scanning pretty far into the tape.” Callum said. “Why didn’t you start recording at the top?”
For a moment all I could feel was a dull pain in my chest as all my muscles tensed. “I did start at the top.”
Callum turned the jog wheel all the way to the right. The machine revved up and wavy lines danced all over the black screen. No picture appeared. Finally, the machine grunted and stopped.
David’s voice broke the silence. “End of tape.”
THREE
Freddy returned wearing a pair of cargo pants and drinking a Coke through a child’s curly straw. “Keepin’ it real with pants.” We all ignored him and stared at the black screen.
“Maybe the monitor is bad,” Rod offered.
“No.” David lowered his head and squeezed the ridge between his closed eyes. “You could see the tape forwarding through black.”
Callum reversed the jog wheel and scanned backward through the tape. “He’s right. The tape itself is black.”
Black is a setting on the camera used to recycle tapes. Black video is recorded over old images to prevent them from bleeding into new ones. It’s rarely used, but I always check the button before I shoot, just in case it’s inadvertently been switched on.
David started to laugh. “Lilly had her camera in black.”
“It can’t be that.” Callum shook his head. “Not even Teddy and Freddy are that stupid.”
Freddy opened his mouth and let the curly straw fall back into the can. “Dude, I’m like standing right here.”
“You’re wrong,” I told David. “That’s a rookie mistake.”
“Maybe it’s the wrong tape?” Rod suggested.
Callum hit the eject button, glanced at the tape, then handed it to me.
Printed on the label, in my own handwriting, was Weedpatch 187. “No, this is it.”
“Let me get this straight,” Callum said. “We got nothing on a murder? Not even a cell-phone picture? We’re going to be laughingstocks.” Callum turned the scanners back up and reached for a phone. “We have to get somebody down to Weedpatch, ASAP.”
That’s when I remembered Trent. The crease between his eyebrows looked like the Grand Canyon. “David, you and Rod go turn a package on the murder.”
“Nothing against David.” Rod smiled in his superficially friendly way. “But since Lilly already has a handle on the story, maybe she should go with me.”
“No.” Trent turned and walked toward his office. “Lilly, I’d like a word.”
I started to follow him in, but stopped at the doorway. “Can I check my camera first? It’ll only take a minute.”
“Not now.”
“But it could be broken.” I began to back away. “I could take it to engineering.”
A Bad Day’s Work Page 3