The Runaway Reporter (A Police Procedural Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Hyder Ali #3)

by Thomas Fincham

  Miller returned. “Irma Ronston,” he said. “Age twenty-one. She goes to the Margrove College of Arts.” He held up a student ID card.

  “Did it look like anything was taken from the apartment?” Pascale asked.

  Miller shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “So we can rule out robbery,” Lopez said, knowing what Pascal was thinking.

  “Then it has to be a jealous boyfriend,” Pascale said.

  “We’ll dig into her relationships later. Let’s go see the other victims first.”

  FOUR

  “They’re in the basement,” Miller said, leading the way.

  “What about the main floor?” Pascale asked. “Where is that tenant?”

  “You’ll see.”

  They went down the narrow steps.

  Just like the main floor, the hallway was covered in blood. But instead of finding a body, they saw a stream of blood which stretched from the entrance and into the apartment.

  “Look,” Pascale said, pointing. There was blood on the walls.

  Miller led them inside the apartment. Two bodies lay on the living room floor, both men. One lay on his back with a knife stuck in his throat, his hand still tightly gripping it. The other lay on his side, a telephone dangling from the cord next to him.

  “He called it in?” Lopez asked.

  “Yes,” Miller said. “The dispatcher relayed the message and all he said was, ‘help me.’ By the time I arrived, he was dead.”

  “Go find his ID.” Pascale said with a wave, as if shooing him away.

  Miller disappeared into the bedroom.

  Lopez turned to Pascale. “Why do you have to be mean?”

  “I’m teaching him the right way to do things.”

  “Alright, then you go find the other guy’s ID,” she said.

  Pascale looked at her and then shrugged. “Yes, boss.” He said as he left. Lopez examined the first victim. The man was wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and rubber slippers. His eyes were wide open and his fingers were wrapped around the knife’s handle. Lopez was certain the knife was what had killed him.

  She moved to the other victim. His eyes were closed, but there was a massive pool of blood underneath his body. His robe was covered in blood as well. Like the victim on the second floor, he, too, was stabbed in the chest.

  Miller came back. “The victim next to the phone, it’s his apartment. His name is Bernard Haddon, age twenty-one, and he also goes to Margrove College of Arts.”

  “Makes sense,” Lopez said.

  Margrove College of Arts was only a couple of blocks from the house. It was convenient for students to rent units surrounding their college.

  “It looks like there was a struggle here,” Miller said, looking at all the blood.

  Lopez nodded in agreement.

  Pascale appeared in the hall. Before he could say anything, Lopez said, “I think we know who the perpetrator is.” She pointed to the first victim’s shoes. “I’m certain it’ll match the print we found upstairs.”

  “You won’t believe this,” Pascale said, sounding flabbergasted.

  “What? What did you find?” Lopez asked.

  “The one who looks like the perpetrator…”

  Pascale paused.

  “What about him?”

  “His name is Rudy Ross Jr.”

  Lopez’s mouth dropped. “Call the Sergeant,” she said.

  FIVE

  Hyder took the stairs up to the third floor. The First National Building was owned by Hollings Incorporated, which also owned the Daily Times. The building was an eyesore. It looked like a concrete cinder block stood upright.

  There were talks to give the building a facelift, but when the numbers were crunched, it was decided to leave it as it was.

  Of the twenty-five floors, Hollings Incorporated took the top six. The next fifteen were leased to external commercial ventures, while the bottom five were devoted to the Daily Times, with the basement used as the press center to print the newspapers.

  On the third floor, Hyder headed for his cubicle and placed himself behind a laptop. As he turned it on, he sensed a large shadow behind him, he looked over his shoulder.

  Lester Glasgow was standing just outside his cubicle entrance. Lester was black and close to two-hundred and fifty pounds. While Hyder worked for the city desk, covering stories around the city, Lester worked for the technology desk, covering all tech related stories.

  Lester was munching on a large bag of chips. Suddenly, a realization flashed across his eyes. “Bro, my bad,” he said as he hid the bag behind his back. “I forgot you were fasting.”

  “It’s okay,” Hyder replied. “Seeing other people eat isn’t going to push me to start eating, you know.” He added with a wry smile.

  “Yeah, but it might mess up your mind and make you think about it.”

  “True,” Hyder conceded.

  “I should start fasting too,” Lester said, looking down at his protruding belly. “I could afford to lose a few pounds.”

  “A few?” Hyder raised his eyebrows.

  “A few… dozen.”

  Hyder logged into his laptop. “Haven’t you been saying you want to lose weight from the moment I met you?”

  “But this time I’m serious.”

  “What’s different now?”

  Lester looked around to make sure no one was listening. “I think I’ve got a girlfriend.” He finally said.

  Hyder blinked. “You think?”

  “Yeah, well, I haven’t met her yet, but we talk online.” Lester admitted.

  Hyder put his hand up. “Be careful, Lester. For all you know it could be a man you’re talking to.”

  Lester made a face.

  Hyder checked his messages, and got up. “Veronica wants to see me. I’ll see you later.” He left Lester to think about their conversation.

  Veronica Ainsworth was Hyder’s boss and editor-in-charge. She was in her early forties, slim, with jet black hair. Years of running around the city for stories had etched her face with wrinkles. But it was her enthusiasm for the job that gave her a youthful attitude.

  “Have a seat, Hyder,” she said, not looking away from her desktop monitor.

  Veronica’s office was sparingly decorated. There was a desk and a couple of chairs and nothing else. Whenever he asked her when she would furnish it, she always gave the same answer: “It’s not furniture that makes a great office, it’s the people who work in it.”

  Hyder shifted in his chair. While furniture didn’t make a great office, good furniture did make for comfortable seating.

  She turned to him, smiled.

  Veronica wasn’t just Hyder’s editor, she was also his strongest advocate. When Hyder had started at the Daily Times, it was Veronica who had taken him under her wing and had mentored him. He was deeply loyal to her, and she, he knew, was deeply loyal to him.

  “Your article on interns was brilliant,” she said. “We’re still inundated with responses from readers. In fact, our subscriptions have increased following its release.”

  The Daily Times had struggled over the years because of scandals and mismanagement, but now it was in the black. Strong, social-conscious, and thought-provoking stories were leading the Daily Times to a whole new generation of readers.

  Hyder had heard about the plight of interns, where some were paid nothing, or even if they were paid, it was a pittance, and also where some were forced to work dangerously long hours. Hyder had reported on a young intern who had worked seventy-two hours straight with little or no sleep. After the young man had finally gotten to go home, he had collapsed from exhaustion while taking a shower, hit head had hit the edge of the bathtub, and died.

  Hyder’s report had struck a chord. Many interns came out and spoke against their former employers and what they had endured for the sake of getting experience or a foot in the door. Parents of the interns came out and spoke of the conditions their children were put under. They called for action to make it safer for them.<
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  There were protests and rallies. Soon, the government listened and a bill was passed requiring employers to not force interns to work hours that could be detrimental to their health. Also, the government created a grant whereby they would subsidize half of the salary of the interns for a period of their employment. Once the period was completed it was up to the employer to decide whether to keep the employee on a full-time basis or not. This gave the employer the opportunity to evaluate the employee without investing too much, and this gave the employee an opportunity to gain valuable experience while earning some money as well.

  “Julie was highly impressed with you,” Veronica said.

  Julie Trevalley was the Daily Times’ publisher. Hyder had still not met her, but Veronica always made sure to pass on any positive comments to her.

  “Thanks,” Hyder smiled.

  “On that note, I would like you to meet someone.” Veronica picked up the telephone and spoke into the receiver.

  Two minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” she said.

  A young man entered. He was skinny, with his hair gelled back, and he wore a black jacket, with black jeans and black shoes. Hyder noted how the man carried his right hand in his pocket, as if it were dead weight.

  “Let me introduce Felix Dent,” Veronica said. The man extended his left hand. Hyder reluctantly shook it. Hyder’s faith always dictated that he shake people’s right hands, since the left was considered “unclean.” Hyder let Felix’s faux pas pass, however.

  “Felix is our new intern,” Veronica said with a smile.

  “It’s an honor to meet you,” Felix said. “I’m a big fan of your work. I’ve read all your stories.”

  “Um… thank you,” Hyder replied, still uncomfortable with compliments.

  Veronica turned to him. “Hyder, I would like Felix to work with you, sort of like job shadowing. It’ll be good for him to learn from the best.”

  Hyder noted the eager look on Felix’s face. “Sure,” he said.

  SIX

  Lopez was examining the bodies in the basement when Sergeant Doug Halton came bursting through the door.

  Halton was wearing a blue suit and a red tie. He was medium built, of medium height, and sported an army-style haircut.

  “Is it true?” he said, skipping all the pleasantries. “Is it Captain Ross’s son?”

  “Yes,” Lopez said, nodding.

  “Is it also true that he’s the perpetrator?”

  “Looks like it.”

  Halton glared at her. “Is it or is it not?” He demanded.

  “We’re certain the blood on the shoes will match the prints found on the second floor,” Lopez said. “Plus, the knife found in the Captain’s son is the murder weapon used on the other victim. And it was the other victim who had called 9-1-1 asking for help. So all signs are pointing to the Captain’s son.”

  Halton walked around the scene with his hands on his hips. “It looks like a murder/suicide,” he said.

  “It does,” she agreed.

  Halton sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ll have to inform the Captain.” He sounded like he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Pascale entered the basement and said nothing. He just crossed his arms and leaned on the wall.

  Halton turned to Lopez. “Detective, make sure it’s done by the book. We don’t want any loose ends.”

  Lopez understood. Any detective who messed this investigation up would be out of a job. She also understood that Pascale and Halton got along well. Halton was letting her take the lead in case there was someone to blame later on. God forbid if Halton’s golden boy ever has to take the heat, she thought.

  An officer stepped into the doorway. “Sir, the media have gathered outside the property.” He informed Halton.

  “How the hell did they know about it?” Halton snapped.

  No one said a word.

  Halton looked like he would have an aneurysm. “Tell them we’ll make a statement shortly, but mention no names. We’ll release them later.”

  When the officer was gone, Lopez said, “Thank you for protecting the Captain’s privacy.”

  Captain Ross had always been a staunch defender of her and in some ways, she felt obligated to protect him.

  Halton glared at her. “I’m not doing it for the Captain, I’m doing it for me. We make a mistake here, you better believe it, heads will roll.” Halton looked around. “Where’s Nolan?”

  This time Pascale spoke up. “He’s not here.”

  “Where is he?” Halton asked Lopez.

  “I don’t know,” she replied.

  The entire department knew that Nolan and Lopez were a couple. There were those who were in favor of it, there were those who were against it, and there were some who were completely indifferent about it. Unfortunately, Halton, like Pascale, fit in the second category.

  “Get your boyfriend here ASAP,” Halton said.

  SEVEN

  Detective Tom Nolan took a sip from the glass and made a face.

  He sat at the end of the bar looking agitated and miserable. He wore a dark-colored suit jacket, light khaki pants, and loafers with no socks. His normally unruly hair was combed today, and his face was clean shaven.

  Ever since he had started seeing Lopez, he found himself wanting to look respectable for her. It wasn’t anything that she had asked of him, it was something he wanted to do on his own.

  After the death of his wife, Nolan had devoted his days and nights to heavy drinking. But now, things were different. Even though he was in a bar, surrounded by alcohol, he was sipping soda water; and hating every minute of it.

  Damian, the bartender, came over and placed his palms on the bar. “Why are you even here, Tom? Aren’t you trying to stay sober?” he asked.

  Nolan shrugged. “I love the comfort of this place. It’s like my second home.”

  “You look depressed.”

  Nolan shrugged again.

  Boris came over and sat next to him. Boris was over six-five and the owner of the bar. “Did you know that I was once an alcoholic?”

  Nolan looked at him and shook his head.

  “It’s true,” Boris said. “But one day I said ‘no more’ and now I’ve been sober for over twelve years.”

  “Really?” Nolan’s eyes widened. “But aren’t you tempted?”

  Boris shrugged. “Temptation is everywhere. Just look at the ads on television. They never show fat and ugly people sitting in front of their TVs drinking beer. They always show good looking young people running around drinking and having a good time. Alcohol is so glamorized in our society that one cannot move five steps without being bombarded with how wonderful and amazing it is.”

  Nolan’s mouth dropped. “I… I never knew you were so deep.”

  “I have a degree in sociology, you know.”

  “I didn’t,” Nolan admitted, feeling completely impressed.

  “I always assumed the reason you came here was to mask the pain that you suffered after the loss of your wife,” Boris continued. “That’s why I never came down hard on you, even when you became drunk and belligerent.”

  Nolan nodded. There were times that he had become a nuisance after consuming a few too many drinks. In fact, he had once pulled his gun on Damian after he had refused to refill Nolan’s glass again.

  “I appreciate your understanding,” Nolan finally said.

  Boris smiled. “Don’t worry, we’re all in this together. Remember, twelve years and counting.”

  Nolan looked at his glass and nodded.

  The flat screen television mounted on the wall always played the news channel. Nolan had once asked Damian why it wasn’t set on the sports channel, or maybe even on the music channel. Damian’s response was that he didn’t like either. So news it was.

  An anchor was talking about the ten billion dollar acquisition of Devon Pharma by pharmaceutical giant Leitner Technologies. Devon Pharma was cash strapped. They had invested heavily on a new drug that w
as in its trial stages. There wasn’t much reported on the drug except that it would help millions of Americans who were suffering from depression and addiction.

  Nolan smacked his lips. His mind and his body were aching for bourbon, vodka, whiskey; anything with alcohol in it.

  “I sure could use that drug now,” he mumbled to himself.

  His cell phone rang. Normally he would have ignored it, but this time he didn’t.

  He downed the glass, scrunched his face, and then left the bar.

  EIGHT

  Hyder took Felix to his cubicle. Felix beamed. “So this is where the great Hyder Ali does his magic?” Felix asked.

  Hyder felt a twinge of embarrassment. “It’s just a place to sit and work.” He replied.

  Hyder pulled up another chair. Have a seat,” he said. “So tell me about yourself.”

  “Where do I start,” Felix said, looking away. Inadvertently, he rubbed the back of his head with his left hand.

  Hyder noted he had still not pulled out his right hand from his pocket.

  Felix caught him staring and then, with the help of his left hand, he pulled it out. Hyder didn’t see anything wrong with it.

  “It’s limp,” Felix said, as if reading his mind. “I can’t use it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hyder said, feeling a stronger twinge of embarrassment. “I apologize for staring.”

  “I didn’t take any offense” Felix replied, his tone cordial. “At least you didn’t make any comment about it.”

  “Yeah, but I wanted to,” Hyder admitted. “I’m still sorry you lost the use of your hand, though.”

  “Thanks. It happened when I was young, so I’m used to it by now. Anyway, I just completed my degree in journalism from Franklin University.”

  “I graduated from there too,” Hyder said, smiling.

  “I know,” Felix replied. “I read about you in the campus newspapers.”

  After the TriGate Scandal and the Monkey Murders, Hyder’s fame (and notoriety) had risen to new heights. He had been offered to do talk shows, go on a speaking tour, and even write a book. Hyder couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to read anything about him, so he turned the book deal down and all the other opportunities as well. He felt they would only inflate his ego, and he also felt there was more he still had to accomplish in his career. All he ever wanted was to be a reporter and tell vital stories. The publicity surrounding Hyder was just a distraction to him and nothing more. He did, however, speak to his university paper. He hoped his story would inspire others to become journalists.