by Tim Green
“You can’t keep this quiet,” Jake said.
Slatten raised his eyebrows.
“People are going to look for me,” Jake said.
“And when I’m finished, they’ll find you. I’ll be finished when you answer me.”
“Right, you think this just goes away?”
“This?” Slatten said, looking up at the underbelly of the floor above, rusted nail points strung with gray sagging webs. “All this never happened. Not if I don’t want it to.”
“What are you talking about?”
Slatten grinned. His teeth were faded and set apart, each one seeming to stand on its own.
“You know how it works. He said, she said, and you’re running low on credibility right now.”
“Where’s Sam?” Jake asked.
“Where is Sam?” Slatten said, his voice singsong, hitting the high note in the middle of the sentence.
Jake stared at the cold, bloodshot eyes and the flat line of Slatten’s mouth.
“Martha told me she thought her baby was never dead. She thinks Sam is her son. I’m his father. All I’m trying to do is help Sam find where he came from.”
Slatten let out a thin stream of air.
“You’re a reporter.”
“Not on this.”
Slatten’s left eyebrow went up solo. “Why the camera? Why the grave?”
“The truth, that’s all I want.”
“Do you know how demented that girl is?”
“No. How?”
Slatten stared for a moment, weighing Jake’s tone. “This is the kind of family that keeps our country strong. You’ve been to Iraq. You know the kind of things that are out there.”
“Same things that are in here.”
Slatten got up and started for the stairs. “You’re pathetic.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” Jake said, kicking the water heater, his voice rising out of control. “You think you can just do this?”
Slatten snorted without turning around. He mounted the stairs and shut the door, leaving Jake blind until his eyes could adjust.
64
SAMMY BOY,” Muldoon said with a wink and a grin.
The producer stood in the hotel room doorway wearing jeans and a snug white T-shirt under a full-length leather coat. A black felt beret rested at a jaunty angle on his head. He pushed open the door and strode right into the room with a duck-footed walk that left his snakeskin boots pointing at opposite walls. He made a show of looking around.
“They told me you guys were checked in here. Not too many hotels in Kingston, you know. Dad not around?” he said, swinging his head around with a smirk.
“He’s out,” Sam said, blinking at the sunlight that was already warming the room and stirring up its musty smells.
“Something happen to your dad, Sam?” Muldoon said, sweeping back his coat and putting his hands on his hips.
Sam glared at him.
“Guess so,” Muldoon said. “I heard about the cops arresting him last night. Yeah, local hack here saw the police report. It already hit the wire and our overnight editor got it. I already talked to the cops. They took him back to his car at the train station. Funny thing, though. It’s still there, and no one’s seen him.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Sam said, swallowing and biting the inside of his lip to keep it from trembling.
“Or heard from him,” Muldoon said.
“What do you know?”
“I know there was some Albanians up in Syracuse who weren’t too happy with him,” Muldoon said, his eyes sparkling. “Relentless suckers.”
Sam stared at Muldoon’s boots.
“Question now is, what are you going to do about it?” Muldoon asked.
“The police will find him,” Sam said.
“Find him?”
“If he’s gone.”
Muldoon guffawed and stuck a finger in his ear.
“Good one,” Muldoon said, examining a hunk of wax on his pinky.
“What else am I supposed to do?” Sam asked.
Muldoon directed his eyes at Sam and his voice changed. “What do you think Jake would do?”
“Go to the police.”
“Oh, right. Your dad? I’m sure he’s got deep admiration for Kingston’s finest. Did you know about the story your dad and I were working on with the wife of the FBI agent who’s missing?” Muldoon asked.
“The one where you screwed him out of the interview?”
“You know why that woman finally talked?” Muldoon asked.
Sam shook his head.
“Something your father taught me,” Muldoon said, opening the mini bar and helping himself to a can of nuts. “Police are like every other government employee. They punch in, nine to five, and do the minimum amount of work to keep from getting fired and collect a pension. It’s human nature.
“You want them to work for you? You gotta get their attention. That woman was the wife of an FBI agent, but they weren’t doing shit for her.
“Okay,” Muldoon said, holding up a Brazil nut as if it were a classroom pointer. “What happens if we run this as a story? People see it. Wives, mothers, politicians, bosses, the bosses’ wives, you get the point. People start asking why the hell aren’t the police finding the bad guys. Where the hell is Jake Carlson, the freaking hero who uncovered those war crimes in Iraq? You don’t get people upset and asking questions, the cops wait for the crime to solve itself, which it never does. You hear what I’m saying?”
Muldoon popped the nut into his mouth and began chewing.
“I hear, but I don’t know what you mean,” Sam said.
Muldoon moved closer to him and lowered his voice. “We go to the police, of course, we need them. But we make them hungry. We make them put finding your father on tip-top of their list. We break this story, the national media will be all over it. It’ll be a race between the FBI, the police, the state troopers, everybody, to see who can find your dad and reel this thing in. Trust me.”
Sam looked him over and said, “My dad didn’t trust you.”
Muldoon stopped chewing. “Look, your dad and me, it’s like two male tigers pissing on each other. Yeah, we growl and spit, but the end of the day, we’re both wearing stripes. If your dad were here, Sam, I know what he’d want you to do. I’m a newsman. So is your dad. Media attention. That’s how they found the Boston Strangler, Son of Sam, BTK, all of them. What the hell do you got to lose?”
Sam thought for a minute, then said, “Just so we’re straight, I know what this is all about, but sometimes good things come from bad.”
Muldoon cocked his head.
“What do you want me to do?” Sam said.
“What did Martha Van Buren tell your dad?” Muldoon said, eyeing the computer on the desk. “He got any notes? Stuff I can use to juice this thing up.”
Sam took the mini DVD out of his pocket and held it out to Muldoon.
“I give you this,” Sam said, “you sure as shit better use it to get my dad back.”
Muldoon reached for it, but Sam snatched it back.
“This is Martha and my empty grave,” Sam said.
“What?”
“We dug it up. The family cemetery. Me and my dad. The only bones were a dead dog.”
“Jesus,” Muldoon said, reaching. “This is so freaking big. Everyone with a pulse is going to be looking out for your dad.”
Sam gave him the disc.
“So, we’re in this?” Muldoon said.
“You got the disc.”
“Let’s do it right, then,” Muldoon said. “We’ve got to think ahead. We should be running this thing every night, new developments, keep it burning hot. There’s a couple other things we can do, and your dad would kill me if I didn’t do this right.”
“What?” Sam asked.
“You,” Muldoon said, adjusting his beret.
“What about me?”
“Come on,” Muldoon said, “get your bag. I’ll explain in the car. We’re going to New York.”
MULDOON EXPLAINED how things were done. The story would break that night. During the day, they’d have Nancy do an interview with Sam that they could tease for the following day. After the show ran, the media storm would hit and Muldoon would parse out little snippets of Sam’s interview and clips from Martha Van Buren that every other news outlet would run so they wouldn’t appear to be out of the loop. When Sam asked about the police, Muldoon gave him a sideways look.
“Come on,” Muldoon said, “I’m the master. We go to the best. I got a guy at the FBI who’ll tee this thing up with helicopters, dogs, wiretaps, you name it. He’s got contacts at Interpol and the CIA. We’ll have everyone and their brother looking for your dad. You don’t go to some local-yokel cops for something like this. You need like a Bourne Identity operation here.”
That satisfied Sam, enough anyway that he planted his cheek against the window and kept quiet.
Muldoon parked in Katz’s spot near the garage elevator and escorted Sam up to the greenroom, assuring him that he’d get the FBI people there right away. Muldoon set Sam’s bag down on the other couch, then walked out the door. Before he closed it, he peered through the crack and waited for Sam to sit down. Then he hurried up to the empty offices. He waved to the overnight editor and went right into Katz’s office, where he shut the door and slid Sam’s DVD into the player.
It was more than he had imagined, more than he had hoped, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He clutched the disc in his hand, ran down the back stairs to the greenroom, and peeked in. Sam sat with his computer open on the coffee table. Muldoon shut the door and took out his cell phone, dialing up Connie Hines, one of a dozen PAs, production assistants, glorified gofers who got paid nothing and would do anything just to get a shot at the business.
Connie answered in that perky tone that always conjured up an image of the big breasts and the long tan legs for Muldoon. Connie was twenty and red-hot.
“I need you to go out and use your credit card to get an Xbox,” Muldoon said. “I’ll reimburse you. Pick up some bagels with stuff on them and a couple orange juices. Get me a goddamn gallon of coffee, then get your ass over here, quick. Oh, and wear something, you know, nice.”
“Jesus, Conrad.”
“You look nice all the time.”
“I know, but you don’t just say it.”
“I got a kid you need to keep an eye on. It’s huge. Every newsman in this town is going to be looking for this kid by seven o’clock tonight.”
“He’s a kid?”
“A thirteen-year-old boy. You know what they like,” Muldoon said. “It’s the story of a lifetime and I need to lock him down. I don’t want anyone talking to him but me. After I get him on the set with Nancy for a one-on-one, I’ll get you a suite at the Pierre and you can take him there. You see how important this is?”
“There’s a Best Buy on Lexington and a Pick a Bagel down the block.”
“Good,” Muldoon said, then hurried back upstairs into Katz’s office and shut the door. He took out his BlackBerry and found the number of Ed Lurie, his top contact at the FBI.
“Chance of a lifetime, my friend,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” Lurie asked. He was chewing something.
“You got ambition, my friend,” Muldoon said. “That’s why I’m giving this thing to you and not John Gamel out of the Boston office.”
“Giving me what?”
“A monster,” Muldoon said, then explained the Van Buren story, telling Lurie what he had on DVD, explaining the Albanian connection, Jake’s disappearance, and how he was going to break the thing wide open.
“It’s yours,” Muldoon said, “but you gotta work with me. I got the kid locked down and I need you to keep what you find exclusive to us.”
“Nothing hard about that,” Lurie said. “I’m your source.”
66
MULDOON WENT BACK DOWNSTAIRS until he could pass his vigil over Sam off to Connie, then sat waiting for Joe Katz in his office, drinking coffee, going over the DVD, and starting to flesh out the story. At ten, Katz walked in.
“What the hell?” he said, with a look of amazement. “Did you hit your head? You parked in my spot.”
Muldoon sprang up out of Katz’s seat.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said. “I lost it. Jesus, Joe, you can’t believe what I’ve got. Look at this. Just look.”
Muldoon came out from behind the desk with the remote in his hand. He plunked his backside down on the corner of the desk and went back to the beginning of the disc. He played the Martha Van Buren part, then rolled right into the grave.
When it ended, Muldoon stood up and said, “And I’ve got the kid.”
“Sam? Where’s Jake?”
“No one’s seen him. I think the Albanians got him.”
Katz just stared with an open mouth, shaking his head.
“Relax, I’ve got the FBI on their way,” Muldoon said. “An agent I trust. He’s not going to comment to anyone else until we break this thing at six-thirty. The kid gave me the disc, and he’s gonna talk. I’ve got Nancy’s interview already written.”
“What about Jake?” Katz said. “Your guy with the Feds? He’s good?”
Muldoon stared for a second, opening and closing his mouth in confusion before he said, “The best. Doing everything they can.”
Katz nodded and rubbed the side of his head.
“You can’t put the kid on without his dad’s permission,” he said.
“The dad is missing.”
“We gotta get permission from someone,” Katz said.
“Not legally,” Muldoon said.
“No, but Jake will sue our asses off. He told me point-blank he doesn’t want his kid on air. Think, will you?”
“We’re trying to save his life.”
“Right.”
“I think there’s a grandmother Jake leaves him with,” Muldoon said. “I’ll work on it. The kid knows the deal. He wants his dad back.”
“Okay, do the interview, but get some kind of okay from the grandmother and let’s wait for the official word on Jake. He might turn up. We can run the kid tomorrow.
“And you gotta corroborate some of this other stuff. We need backup on this baby thing.”
“Van Buren is a public figure,” Muldoon said. “We can say almost any goddamn thing we want.”
“Saying he committed a crime goes beyond almost,” Katz said.
“We’re not even saying it. She is.”
“I know,” Katz said. “We still have to do some homework. Have someone get a copy of the death certificate and get somebody to talk to the doctor and the undertaker. I want two sources on this crazy shit. We can’t just air it. We got to at least show we investigated, and I want something on these Albanian characters that Jake kept talking about. Get someone, I don’t know, an FBI spokesperson to talk about who the hell these people are. Where’s the kid?”
“I’ve got Connie babysitting him in the greenroom. I had her buy an Xbox. I told her to expense it. You got me on that, right?”
“Of course,” Katz said, standing up. “Maybe I should talk to him. Is he okay?”
Muldoon held up both hands. “I think just leave him, Joe. Let’s get him on tape, and get through tonight’s show. I’ve got him right where I want him and, no offense, but I don’t want anything to jar him, give him any crazy ideas. Jake can’t have been saying good things about you to the kid after you canned him.”
“What are you? His best friend?”
“No,” Muldoon said with a shrug, “but I got this kid this far. He’s all set. You just get Nancy in here ASAP.”
“She’s got a lunch with the Olsen twins’ publicist,” Katz said.
“Screw that.”
Katz shook his head and said, “Easy, killer. The word is one of them may be going back into rehab.”
“This is Emmy material,” Muldoon said.
“Relax. We’ll get it,” Katz said. “She can do this after her
lunch. Even if I could get her to cancel it, she’d be such a bitch it wouldn’t work. Let her do the lunch and we’ll shoot the kid at two-thirty.”
When Ed Lurie showed up, Muldoon reiterated their agreement, then led him down to the greenroom. Sam was bent over his computer, reading something with his brow knit. Connie sat next to him on the couch playing Xbox. When she saw Muldoon, she dropped the control and leaned closer to Sam, peering over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Muldoon asked.
“Research,” Sam said, eyeing the agent. “Albanian organized crime. Lukaj. He’s got a place in his name in Syracuse. I think they should go there first. You with the FBI? What took you so long?”
Muldoon turned and introduced Ed Lurie.
Lurie spent half an hour interviewing Sam. Muldoon sat next to the agent on the couch facing Sam. He kept notes of his own so he could revise Nancy’s interview with anything new. Connie stayed next to Sam with a sisterly hand on his leg, patting him gently every so often until he swept it away.
By the end, Sam’s voice was strained and his eyes looked red and glassy.
The agent assured Sam that the Bureau would bring all its resources to bear in finding Jake and getting him back, and agreed that someone needed to get out to Lukaj’s place to take a look.
“Trust me, though,” Lurie said. “Guys like these aren’t going to have him locked in the coat closet.”
Sam just bit his lip and nodded.
“You got a card?” Sam asked as Lurie stood to go.
The agent handed him his card. Sam asked him to put his cell phone on the back.
“In case I find anything,” Sam said, nodding at the computer.
When the agent left, Sam said, “I gotta use the bathroom.”
“You know where it is?” Muldoon said. “Next door down.”
Sam nodded and got up. Muldoon gave Connie a look that grew angrier as Sam got farther from the couch. When he went out the door, Muldoon popped up, stabbed his finger at the door, and spoke in a furious whisper.
“Go with him!”
“To the bathroom?”
“Every goddamn where he goes,” Muldoon said. “What part of that don’t you get?”