All In A Day's Work

by Gary Resnikoff

  “Well,” said Jackson, “one less cretin in the world. Ratings or no ratings.” He raised his beer in mock tribute.

  “Careful you don’t say that too loud. I know he was sleazy, but I’m still not sure he deserved that. And who knows how the public will react?” George was the consummate good guy. The only son of a mixed couple growing up in Denver, he’d learned tolerance at an early age. Subjected to ridicule by both the black and white communities, he could have turned bitter and angry, but instead, he remained level-headed and good-natured. Through it all, he remained compassionate and was always described as a guy with a heart of gold. It was hard not to like George. He and Jackson met at the gym during their college days, playing intramural sports. Both were talented athletes and excelled at any sport they put their mind to. They hit it off early and became good friends. It helped that they’d both studied communications at DU and had a number of classes together. When Jackson landed his radio show, he offered George a job as his assistant. Their teamwork and mutual respect poured over into the show, making it a big hit.

  Chapter Five

  “Early in life, I had noticed that no event is ever correctly reported in a newspaper.”

  —George Orwell

  Justin sat down at his keyboard and struggled to start writing. He needed a follow-up article about the Lane Stevens murder but didn’t know which direction to take it in. There was information piling up, and it was a fascinating murder—no doubt about that. As it turned out, the victim had tons of enemies, and not just clients he’d ripped off. He was genuinely a disgusting person. The murder itself was inventive, and of course, gruesome—facts that always made for good reading. But what else was there at this point? Those things had already been covered in his first article. Tad kept pushing him to dig deeper and seemed overly interested in the case, but that wasn’t really helpful. He suspected that Tad was probably involved in the money part of the case and wouldn’t want that to come out in a story. By keeping Justin digging deeper and deeper, Tad could ensure that any information which might be damaging to Tad or his associates could be sanitized before any articles were written. The problem was that Tad wasn’t providing any information, and so far, facts were few and far between.

  The opening line still eluded him. He stared at the blank screen. His cell phone rang. He laughed. Saved by the bell. The Caller ID screen indicated that the number was blocked. Hell, he was a reporter. He answered anyway.

  “Is this Justin McGraw?” the caller asked in a gravelly, almost electronic monotone.

  “Who is this?” Justin responded.

  The caller repeated themselves. “Is this Justin McGraw?”

  “Yes. What can I do for you?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I have some information I think you will find very interesting.”

  “What about? Could you speak up? I’m having trouble hearing you.”

  “No. Just listen carefully and pay attention.”

  Justin moved the cell phone closer to his ear.

  “I know about the murder you are writing about and can provide you with helpful information.”

  “Who is this? How do you know what I’m writing?”

  “Seriously, Justin? You just wrote an article in yesterday’s paper about the Stevens’ murder. I assume you would want to write a follow-up since, that one had very little meat in it.”

  “Okay. That’s true.”

  “Shut up and listen to me. I don’t have a lot of time. You don’t need to know who I am, but trust me; I am a credible, anonymous source.”

  “Like Deep Throat?” joked Justin.

  “I heard you had a lousy sense of humor, but I don’t have time for jokes. Do you want the information I have or not?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Take notes. I won’t repeat myself, and I may or may not call you again.”

  Justin had a pad and pen and was ready to write. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  “Stevens was murdered by two people. A man and a woman. They go by the name the Revengers. The woman picked up Lane at the bar, but I think you figured that part out. She drugged him with a cocktail of Trazadone, Quaaludes, and alcohol. Rum, to be specific. By the time they reached his home, he was putty in her hands. She and her partner duct-taped him to a chair and then stuffed dollar bills down his throat. He gagged and retched and started vomiting. With his airways blocked, he drowned in his own vomit.” The caller laughed. “One less scumbag in the world to worry about.”

  “How do you know all these details? Are you with the police?”

  “Never mind that but trust me; my information is accurate. The ME’s report will be out soon and will confirm much of what I just told you. But I doubt the police will release that much detail to you. What you need to know is that Stevens was a thief. The Revengers knew all about him. He had been ripping people off for months and was about to leave the country. Oh… by the way, that’s another detail the police are keeping to themselves. Stevens had a ticket and a false passport and was planning on disappearing to the Cayman Islands. You know about the cab driver? Well, that’s why he was there. If the Revengers hadn’t struck when they did, he would be there now. The police are baffled right now. No clues, because the Revengers were very careful not to leave behind any useful evidence that might lead back to them. I can tell you, it is probably one of the cleanest crime scenes the police have ever seen. The message the killers left was a warning to others.”

  “I’m thinking you know who the killers are,” said Justin, thinking he was either talking to someone at the police force or one of the killers themselves.

  The caller laughed. “Of course I know, and so do you.”

  “Are you going to tell me?” asked Justin tentatively.

  “The Revengers.”

  “Who are the Revengers?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Justin. Just write your story and stay alert. I have a feeling there will be more stories for you to write soon. And if you are any good, I’ll call back. If not, I’ll find another reporter.”

  “Wait. Why me?”

  “Why not you? Just do your job. Inform the public. I’ll have more for you soon.”

  The line went dead. Justin quickly typed in *69, but no information came up. His mind was racing. That had to be one of the killers, but why were they calling him? Sure, he wrote an article about the murder, but so did a few other reporters. He didn’t think it was a cop. Any of his regular sources at the department would have just arranged a quiet meeting. They wouldn’t play this Deep Throat kind of game. So, he concluded, he was a pawn in someone’s game. The question was: What to do next? Write the article based on the caller’s information or call Detective Stein and fill him in? Maybe Stein would confirm the details. Probably not. He looked at the clock and knew he had to write something, or he’d miss the deadline for the next publication. He decided to write the article and talk to Stein later. He would attribute the story to an unnamed, anonymous source. Scratch that. He would attribute it to a credible, anonymous source. Tad would love it. It would sell newspapers and there was nothing in it that might embarrass Tad. Detective Stein would be another issue.

  The article ran the following morning, and it created quite a stir. Tad had approved the copy and wasn’t concerned that Justin wouldn’t or couldn’t name his source. It was a scoop, and Tad loved it when his reporters discovered information before all the other news outlets. However, he wasn’t pleased that the money he had invested and encouraged others to invest was gone. The good news was that, at least for now, none of them were named as investors or supporters of Lane’s Ponzi scheme.

  Justin walked into the office a little late the next morning. He had spent the previous evening patting himself on the back and drinking a few shots of Don Julio to celebrate what he considered to be an excellent article. It’s not every day a reporter breaks a major story and scoops all the other news outlets. He could only hope his Deep Throat would call again with more information.

  The recept
ionist greeted him as he sauntered in. “Good morning, hotshot,” she said with a grin. “By the way, you have about ten messages on your desk from a Detective Stein. He didn’t sound pleased.”

  “Oh? What else did he say?”

  “He wants to meet with you.”

  “When?”

  “Now,” replied a voice from behind him.

  Justin turned around to see Detectives Stein and Baird. They had entered the building just behind Justin. They didn’t look pleased.

  “Huh,” stammered Justin, “I think I can accommodate you.”

  “That would be nice,” replied Detective Stein. He still didn’t look pleased.

  Justin knew when he wrote the article that Stein wouldn’t be pleased. Why would he? He was clearly trying to control the flow of information and had been unwilling to share much with the press. Although Justin could understand his motives for wanting to limit information, he had his own job to do, as well. He wondered how this meeting was going to go. He suspected it was going to be unpleasant. Celebrating last night might have been premature.

  “Do you have someplace we can talk privately?” inquired Detective Stein sternly.

  “We have a conference room. Follow me.” It was an uncomfortable march down the hall. Justin poked his head in to make sure the room was unoccupied. Satisfied, he held the door open for the two detectives.

  As soon as the door closed, Detective Stein barked, “Where did you get this information?” He dropped the newspaper on the conference table.

  “Anonymous source,” Justin replied meekly.

  “I read that in your article. I’m asking you again,” he said in a controlled tone, barely hiding his anger. “Who gave you this information?”

  “I can’t divulge my source,” he said, trying to sound brave and measured.

  “Justin, you realize this information was not part of the official release. I’m conducting a homicide investigation. Information like this could hamper that. This type of information had to come from someone in my department. I can’t have anyone on the inside undermining the investigation.”

  “I understand your problem, Detective Stein. But here’s the thing. I actually don’t know who my source is.”

  “Bullshit. Don’t give me this anonymous source crap.”

  Justin just stared back at the detective.

  “Wait. You mean to say you ran all those details and didn’t verify your source?”

  Justin raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

  “How can this be right? You ran a story, and you have no idea if what you wrote is true? You expect me to believe that?”

  “It happens all the time, Detective. I was writing my story about Lane and got a phone call from someone who claimed to know details that you weren’t sharing. They had enough facts that I knew were correct from my other sources, so I believed what they were saying was true. I was getting pressured to run something by my boss, so I went with it. I considered calling you to confirm the details but knew you would stonewall me.”

  “Damn right, I would. Details like this make it more difficult for us to run our investigation. All sorts of nuts will be calling us to confess.” He paused, and then turned to Detective Baird. “Did you talk to him?”

  “No, Sir,” replied Detective Baird.

  Stein turned to Justin. “Do you think it was someone from the ME’s office?”

  “Detective, I really don’t know. Honestly. There was no Caller ID, and they wouldn’t tell me who they were or how they knew any of this.” Justin pulled out his phone and hit a few buttons, then handed it to the detective. “Here’s the log of calls. You can see the one that says, ‘Blocked Caller’.”

  Stein looked at the log and handed it back.

  “I can tell you the voice sounded altered.”

  “How so?”

  “Like one of those voice machines you see on detective shows on TV. I really have no clue about the person. But it sounded credible based on what I knew about the case, and what they knew. So…” He shrugged again. “I’m guessing the facts about the note and the details are correct.”

  “I’m not confirming or denying anything.”

  “Detective Stein, I’m truly sorry my story caused you some problems, but I got that info and had to run with it. Where do we go from here? Is there anything new that you can give me that is okay to print?”

  “At this point, I don’t have anything more to say regarding what is or isn’t a fact. What else can you tell me about the call?”

  Justin shared everything he could remember—which, other than what he had put in the article, wasn’t much. In the end, Stein had to accept what Justin was giving him. Justin had made Stein’s life a little more difficult, but he hadn’t broken any laws. He had dealt with leaks before, but usually, they were minor and didn’t jeopardize the case. The leak had to be from someone very close to the investigation. Possibly a rogue cop trying to garner favors from a reporter. But if that was the case, why be anonymous? Hard to gain favors if the reporter didn’t know who he was dealing with. He glanced at Detective Baird. Young and naïve. It was possible he thought he was helping somehow. Maybe he thought by running more information to the public, someone would come forward with information that would help the investigation. He was young, but Stein thought he had made it clear to him that no information was to go out unless it was first cleared by Stein. He didn’t think it had been the crime scene guys; they rarely took interviews, and the examiner himself was a pro and wouldn’t have released anything.

  Or maybe, just maybe, the killers had called Justin. And why not? The killers were trying to create fear and panic, or they wouldn’t have bothered with a note. And the note was clear that they were on a mission. Could one of the killers have been the anonymous caller? Stein had worked tons of cases in his career but had yet to deal with a killer who sought out publicity. It seemed like these killers were not only trying to scare the public, but were also taunting the police.

  Justin broke the silence. “That’s really all I have.”

  “All right, Justin. It’s possible you will be hearing from them again. I want an assurance from you that if you get another call from this person, I will hear about the details from you before I read it in the newspaper. Can I count on you for that?”

  “Okay. I guess I can do that. Do you think it was one of the killers?”

  “At this point, we don’t know if it was one of the killers or someone in my department, leaking information to you. Either way, I want a call from you.”

  “Could you trace the call even though it says ‘ID Blocked’?” inquired Justin.

  “Not likely. Probably a throwaway phone,” answered Detective Baird.

  “True,” interjected Stein, “but we will look into it and see if we can trace where the phone was purchased. Maybe there’s a record of the purchase, possibly even a video. Don’t get your hopes up too high, though. I’ll need you to sign a statement saying it is okay for us to contact the phone company to see the record.”

  Justin agreed.

  They ended the meeting with an agreement to share information. Justin would give Stein a heads-up if he discovered anything new that might be useful in the investigation before he printed it. And Stein would give Justin first crack at any information that he cleared for the press.

  Chapter Six

  “Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work.”

  —Aristotle

  “Richard, don’t worry. Unless Lafarge has crawled into a hole and is six feet under, we’re going to find him and get him back out to your house to fix the job,” said Jackson with fire in his voice—before he realized that, after the Stevens murder, it was probably the wrong thing to say. He continued in a softer tone, “There’s no reason a new roof should leak like that. That just burns me up. What are these guys thinking? We have standards and if he can’t adhere to those standards, he shouldn’t be in business as a roofer. Maybe we should be talking to the city to find out how he got a lic
ense to do business. Richard, stay on hold; let’s see if my staff can reach LaFarge right now.” Jackson flipped a switch, put the caller on hold, and looked over to George. “George, who’s the next caller?”

  Reading the list on his computer screen, George announced, “We have Stan in Broomfield, who has a problem with a room addition.”

  And each call was followed by another consumer who felt ripped off in some way by an incompetent contractor or deceptive conman. Rather than feeling depressed or overwhelmed by the number of problems he had to deal with, Jackson felt energized. There was comfort in knowing that he was needed, and he was doing good work. Bigger problems were met with more energy and enthusiasm, and it didn’t seem to matter if the problem was workmanship or theft; Jackson was determined to exact some satisfaction for the injured party. And he usually succeeded. The show’s popularity and audience had grown to the point at which a bad word from Jackson on the air about a business could lead to ruin. And he knew it and used it to his advantage. Over the years, the list of businesses that had suffered and failed because of the Consumer Champion was long and continued to grow. He wore that knowledge like a hero’s badge, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to brag about it on the air. If a contractor or businessman was unwilling or slow to make things right, Jackson would remind them of his past successes. Not a threat, he would say, just the facts.

  The show’s success could be attributed to a combination of things: Jackson’s sincerity and concern for the public was obvious and unquestionable, but so was Jackson’s team and their relentless pursuit of the truth. Their support for Jackson was unwavering, and his wealth of knowledge on so many topics was staggering. And in the rare case he was stumped, his team was quick to research the issue and provide Jackson with answers.