Nowhere to Run

by Mary Jane Clark

  The assistant U.S. attorney was having none of it. He stood to rebut. “On the contrary, Your Honor. There is probable cause to bring serious charges here. Dr. Lee unlawfully obtained a weapon of mass destruction, and the government will prove that the anthrax stolen by Dr. Lee was the same anthrax that infected Mr. Jerome Henning, killing him. We have a good-faith basis to believe that Dr. Lee is a killer. He is a danger to the public at large, and any potential witnesses in this case could also be in danger. The risk of flight is great.”

  In the current climate, the magistrate wasn’t inclined to take any chances.

  “Hold him,” she ordered, “pending a detention hearing on Friday. A decision on bail will be made then.”

  Lee hung his head in despair and considered how his plans for glory had gone so terribly awry. He shouldn’t be on his way to a six-by-ten cell with a bunk bed in a federal jail next to the Brooklyn Bridge in lower Manhattan. It was all a mistake. He hadn’t meant for anyone to get hurt.

  “Don’t worry, John,” his attorney tried to reassure him. “They have to prove that you intended to do something—that you intended to harm Jerome Henning.” The lawyer patted Lee’s arm. “Your intent was to educate the public, John, not to use anthrax as a weapon. The government is going to have a damn difficult case to make. Unless they can prove that you intended to do harm to Jerome Henning, you’ll never face criminal conviction.”

  Chapter 119

  Lauren and Gavin were out on shoots and Wayne was nowhere to be found, but Russ Parrish was in his office, watching a movie on his monitor. Meryl Streep performed her magic on the screen.

  “Russ, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “I figured you would make your way in here sooner or later. Come on in, Annabelle.” Russ clicked off the monitor. “Actually, I’m starving. Want to get some lunch? We can talk in the cafeteria. I have something I want to ask you about and something I want to confide in you as well.”

  Russ and Annabelle sat in a booth at Station Break, their bowls of lentil soup untouched on the table.

  “I read over your shoulder yesterday…the stuff about me growing up poor and growing to love the good life, acquiring a cocaine addiction along the way,” Russ said.

  Annabelle answered with silence.

  “Why were you writing that, Annabelle?”

  She mentally debated if she should tell Russ about Jerome’s manuscript. At this point, it made no sense to hold back the information, especially since she had already turned over her notes to the FBI. Jerome was dead and there was no secret to keep now.

  “I was re-creating what I could remember of a manuscript that Jerome had been working on about behind-the-scenes kind of stuff at KTA,” she explained.

  Russ laughed with cynicism. “I gather it wasn’t a valentine to our happy little broadcast.”

  “No. It wasn’t.”

  “Did Jerome have a publisher for this manuscript?” he asked.

  “No, not yet.”

  “Well, I guess I can be grateful for that,” Russ said softly. “You know, Annabelle, I realize it sounds like I’m making excuses for myself, but it was Jerome who introduced me to cocaine.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t stick it up your nose, Russ.”

  “True, but he was very generous with the stuff until I was nice and hooked. Then, when he got off it, he didn’t want to have anything to do with me. He dropped me like a hot potato.”

  “That makes sense. Why would Jerome keep hanging out with an addict when he was trying to kick his own addiction?” Annabelle had no inclination to show Russ any sympathy.

  “Maybe you’re right, but I’ll tell you one thing. If the tiny part I read about me is indicative of the type of hatchet job he was doing on other people in his book, there are lots of us who should be glad that Jerome Henning is dead—and worried that you could pick up his torch. You better be very careful, Annabelle.”

  Chapter 120

  FROM: YELENA GREGORY

  TO: ALL PERSONNEL

  THERE WILL BE A FUNERAL SERVICE FOR EDGAR RIVERS THIS EVENING AT 7:00 P.M. AT THE CALVARY BAPTIST CHURCH IN THE BRONX. A VAN WILL BE LEAVING THE BROADCAST CENTER AT 6:00 P.M. TO TRANSPORT ANY EMPLOYEES WHO WISH TO ATTEND.

  Chapter 121

  “The chairman of Wellstone was taken off in handcuffs this morning….”

  Gavin’s heart beat faster as he sat in the back of the crew car, listening to the report on the radio.

  “…faces possible imprisonment and multimillion-dollar fines for unloading Wellstone stock at a giant profit while having insider knowledge of confidential company developments.”

  As the radio report ended, the KEY sedan parked in an NYPD space near the entrance to the Columbia University Business School. Gavin walked ahead, while B.J. unloaded the camera gear.

  He was killing two birds with one stone. Getting an interview for tomorrow morning’s Wellstone scandal piece with one of the lawyers who worked on the congressional briefing books for the Securities and Exchange Commission investigations and, at the same time, ascertaining his own legal situation. He’d made a hefty profit on his Wellstone stock, but he had planned to sell it anyway, even before he’d gotten the early news. He could prove that if he had to.

  The law professor and Gavin waited as B.J. unwound wires and set up lights. In the guise of small talk, Gavin took the opportunity to get in his burning question before the interviewee was miked.

  “Go over it with me, will you, Roger?” Gavin asked. “Are there any exceptions to the insider trading rules? Could someone who had important nonpublic information ever sell his stock, take his profit, and still be within the limits of the law?”

  The professor frowned. “It’s a tricky question, and the courts have disagreed. But the rules permit someone to trade when it’s clear that the information was not a factor in the decision to trade. For example, if the person had instructed his broker in advance to sell when the stock hit a certain price.”

  Gavin registered a mental yes!

  He would be okay on this one.

  Chapter 122

  After lunch, the bulletin came from the Associated Press.

  “Another anthrax death confirmed in New Jersey,” Dominick O’Donnell shouted to the newsroom.

  All hands clicked on their computers to bring up the story on their screens.

  AN AUTOPSY PERFORMED ON A WOMAN NAMED CLARA ROMANSKI DETECTED THE PRESENCE OF B. ANTHRACIS. ROMANSKI WAS FOUND DEAD IN HER APARTMENT LAST WEEKEND. A FRIEND TOLD POLICE THAT ROMANSKI HAD BEEN A HOUSEKEEPER FOR 36-YEAR-OLD JEROME HENNING, A KEY NEWS PRODUCER WHO DIED ON SUNDAY, ANOTHER VICTIM OF ANTHRAX POISONING.

  “Holy crap,” Linus whistled.

  “God help her,” whispered Beth.

  Chapter 123

  Collateral damage. That’s what Clara Romanski’s death was: collateral damage. Like the civilians who were mistakenly killed in military battles or the pedestrians wounded in gang-war street fights. In conflicts, the innocent often got hurt. It was unfortunate, but it went with defending the territory.

  Edgar Rivers was collateral damage too.

  Not two, but three deaths now.

  Soon to be four.

  Chapter 124

  Lauren had just returned from her shoot when Linus snagged her in the newsroom.

  “This is a great opportunity for you, Lauren,” he insisted. “We’ll reschedule the consumer story you were slated to do tomorrow and run it later in the week. Go out to New Jersey and bring me back something we can promo as ‘Terror in Maplewood.’”

  Lauren needed no convincing. If she was ever to get Constance’s job, she needed more hard news pieces under her belt.

  “Who’s my producer?”

  “Annabelle Murphy.”

  As B.J. drove the car through the Lincoln Tunnel, Annabelle and Lauren discussed strategy. Lauren decided it was in her best interest to let Annabelle take the lead.

  “Let’s go into town and interview people on the street to get their reactions to what�
�s happening in their usually peaceful suburb,” Annabelle suggested, remembering the picturesque village that she had visited with Jerome. “B.J. can get some beauty shots of the Maplewood downtown area and the upscale homes.”

  Lauren nodded. “‘Residents have chosen to live in this tree-lined community of snug homes and good schools thinking they were making a safe life for themselves and their children’ type of thing?”

  “Exactly,” said Annabelle with gratitude that they were on the same page. Lauren may not have been at the top of Annabelle’s favorite people list, but Annabelle was relieved that the reporter was smart enough to pick up immediately on the vision of what they were going for in the piece. Maybe Lauren wasn’t the lightweight Jerome portrayed her as.

  As Annabelle observed Lauren tapping her foot against the car floor mat, she realized Lauren might be nervous. This assignment was outside her usual reporting area.

  Annabelle knew she had to focus on the piece and make sure they got the makings of a first-rate news story for tomorrow’s show. This wasn’t the time to pump Lauren for information or create an adversarial relationship. They had to work together this afternoon.

  After the baby woke from his nap, the au pair changed his diaper and dressed him in his red snowsuit.

  “Come here, Sandy. Come on, girl,” she called in her thick accent. The long-haired golden retriever loped forward and waited patiently as the leash was clipped to her collar.

  Once the baby was loaded into the stroller, the three headed down the hill for their afternoon walk to town. The walk broke up the long day, stuck in the house with a four-month-old for ten hours at a clip while the baby’s parents were off at their offices. All these days were long, spent in an unfamiliar country with little companionship beside the television set. Soap operas and Oprah Winfrey. It wasn’t what the au pair had envisioned when she signed on. She had thought living in America for a year would be much more thrilling than it had been so far. The most excitement had been when the police had come this past weekend to the house across the street where the man who died of anthrax had lived. And that was an excitement the au pair could do without.

  Since the police had been there, she had watched the anthrax stories on the news that explained how the first apparent symptoms appeared days after exposure, and she had been wondering if she should tell the police what she had seen. But the police in her own country scared her and, it followed, the American police were scary as well.

  The au pair didn’t want any trouble.

  It wasn’t hard to find people who wanted to talk. Annabelle stood on the sidewalk in front of the Maple Leaf Diner and approached customers as they entered and exited.

  “Hi, I’m Annabelle Murphy with KEY News. We’re doing a story on the latest anthrax casualty. Would you be willing to answer a few questions for us?”

  When the affirmative responses came, Lauren stepped in with her microphone and asked the questions while B.J. trained his camera on the faces.

  “Of course, it scares me,” answered a young mother as she straddled her toddler on her hip. “We moved out here last year from Manhattan to get away from terrorism. Now I’m worried that nowhere is safe. There’s really nowhere to run.”

  Annabelle jotted down the words in her reporter’s notebook, sure they’d want to use that sound bite in their piece.

  The au pair stood on the corner and watched as the American news crew interviewed people in front of the diner. She didn’t recognize any of them from television, but it was exciting nonetheless. At least she would have something to write home about tonight.

  As she rolled the stroller back and forth in place, she wished that she could go forward and be interviewed and then see herself on television later. But she didn’t know if that would be a good idea. Not only was she self-conscious about her heavy Irish accent but what would she really have to say that anyone would be interested in?

  The baby began to fuss. As she searched for the pacifier in the stroller pocket, the idea occurred to her. Maybe there was a way to feel part of the excitement.

  Within half an hour, Annabelle knew they had plenty of sound bites to choose from. She glanced at her watch. The sky was beginning to darken. They still had to get the B-roll of the town and swing by Essex Hills Hospital to get an exterior shot of the building. If they were to make it back to the Broadcast Center and get the script written in time for her to catch that van to Edgar’s funeral, they had to get moving.

  “I think we have enough here, don’t you, Lauren?”

  “Yes, we have some really good stuff.” The reporter nodded. “But what about my stand-up?”

  Not only knowing that the piece needed to illustrate reporter involvement but positive that Lauren would want her “face time,” Annabelle had anticipated the question.

  “I was thinking that it would be good to shoot it in front of the train station up the block,” she suggested. “You could say something about the New York City commuters who leave their families each day in the supposed safety of the suburbs only to find that they’re as vulnerable here as anywhere else.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Lauren agreed.

  It wasn’t worth packing up the gear and driving the short distance to the train station. They could walk it. As they crossed the street, a young woman pushing a baby stroller approached.

  “Excuse me.”

  Lauren glanced at the young woman but kept on walking. B.J. rolled his eyes at Lauren’s single-mindedness and shrugged.

  “It’s all right. Go ahead, Beej. I’ll be right behind you.” Annabelle stopped and turned her attention to the wide-eyed female.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re doing a story on anthrax, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have something you might want to know.”

  Annabelle doubted it, but she waited.

  “I work for a family who lives across the street from the man who died from the anthrax. The Friday night before the man got sick, I saw something when I was walking the dog.” The young woman glanced down at the golden retriever.

  Annabelle’s interest was piqued now. “What was it? What did you see?”

  “I was walking Sandy, and I passed someone on the street near the man’s house.”

  “A man or a woman?”

  “It was dark and I really couldn’t tell. Whoever it was had on pants and a heavy overcoat with the collar turned up. But when Sandy was done, I walked back up the hill, and I could see the person put something into the mailbox of the man who got anthrax.”

  “Did you tell the police this?”

  The au pair shook her head. “At first, I didn’t think anything of it. But then, when I saw on the news that the man across the street must have been exposed to the anthrax days before he got sick, I was afraid to tell the police.”

  Annabelle flipped to a clean page in her notebook.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  The au pair looked nervous. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “The police should know about this,” Annabelle urged.

  Again, the girl shook her head.

  “All right, but let me give you my card. If you think of anything else, will you please call me?” Annabelle scribbled her cell phone number on the back.

  The young woman looked at the white card with the official KEY News logo.

  “There was one other thing,” she offered, feeling that she could trust this Annabelle Murphy, who wasn’t making her feel trapped, this lady who was making her feel important and interesting.

  “The person had on a baseball cap. I recognized the circles on it. It was from the Olympics.”

  Chapter 125

  “Would you feel comfortable knowing that every e-mail you’ve ever written could wind up on the front page of The New York Times?” Yelena barked as she paced angrily across the office carpet. “That’s what you should keep in the back of your mind, Gavin, when you put things in writing and send them over the Internet.”

&n
bsp; “The New York Times isn’t monitoring my e-mails, Yelena.” Gavin tried to remain calm as he sat in the hot seat.

  “No, but KEY News has that right. It’s printed in black and white in the policy on company computer use. How stupid could you be, Gavin, writing those interns like that?”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong, haven’t written anything objectionable,” he defended himself.

  “You’re right on the cusp, Gavin. I’m warning you. Lay off the interns. The last thing we need around here right now is a sexual harassment suit.”

  Chapter 126

  Maybe that baby-sitter didn’t want to come forward herself, but as long as Annabelle didn’t reveal anything that could be used to trace the au pair’s identity, there was nothing stopping Annabelle from telling Joe Connelly about the sighting of a person wearing an Olympics cap putting something in Jerome Henning’s mailbox on the Friday night before he fell sick. Joe could let the police know. Annabelle didn’t want to call them if she could help it.

  As Lauren worked on her script, Annabelle walked down to Security, but Connelly was not in his office. She left him a note, saying that she needed to speak with him, and then went right back upstairs. The van was leaving in forty-five minutes, and she wanted to be on it.

  If Lauren would just finish that script, Annabelle could polish it a bit, send it off for approval, and have Lauren record her track. Annabelle would leave all the videotapes with an editor to assemble tonight and come in extra early in the morning to look the package over.