Vindicator

by Denney Clements

  Shivering again, he took his tech bag inside, stripped off his filthy clothes and stood beneath the shower until the hot water ran out. Then he called the police.

  Chapter 7: Panic Attack

  October 14, 9 a.m.

  Emery lingered longer than usual in bed. He liked to think he was too principled to ditch work unless the flu or some other debilitating illness had laid him out. But he could hardly breathe and his heart was beating faster – though less forcefully – than normal.

  The men in the Ford, he had realized shortly before dawn, had tried to kill him. There was no other possible interpretation of their attack. Had he lacked the wit to stomp on the brakes and steer toward the shoulder, the big Ford would have slammed his Eclipse broadside, sending it into the middle of the Kiowa. Even if he’d managed to get out of the car as it was sinking, the swift cold current would surely have pulled him under.

  He shuddered. Then his cell phone chirped. He lifted it off the nightstand and groaned. Carol.

  “I'm sorry, Carol,” he said by way of greeting. “I promised to call you last night and didn’t get it done.”

  “Forget it, Joe. It’s OK. What’s the matter? You sound awful.”

  “Panic attack, I think. They sent me a text message saying the Ford assault was a friendly warning. I got it yesterday just before I got home. They said if I stuck with the story, they'd come after me again. The Wichita cops traced the call to a throwaway cell phone. They've referred the case to the state Criminal Investigation Division.”

  “My God, Joe. No wonder I didn’t hear from you.”

  “What’s got me rattled is that they sent the message to mask their incompetence as assassins. That was no friendly warning, as their message implies. They were trying to put me in the river.”

  “I told you they were trying to kill you.”

  “You were right.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Well, I can’t let the story drop, not when three – or two – people were murdered and the feds tried to pin the crime on your brother and his friends. But management wants me off of it and I feel like I'm falling apart. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Take the day off. A panic attack is as much a physical ailment as the stomach flu or a bad cold. I'd like to talk to you longer but I need to get to work. Can I call you later?”

  “If I don’t call you first.”

  A few minutes later he called Sarantos and told the truth: He was too rattled to come into work.

  “I understand, Joe. I’ll spread the word. Think you’ll be able to make it in tomorrow, say mid-morning? Steve Jung’s campaign has called a press conference for 10:30 tomorrow over at the downtown Hilton and you’d be the logical person to cover it.”

  Despite his resolve to turn off his brain, Emery was intrigued. “What’s it about?”

  “His handlers won’t say. ... Hey, I’ve got an idea. Do you think you could bat out an advance blurb on the event for the web site and the morning paper, maybe work your contacts from home and see if you can find out what’s on his mind? You still have your laptop, right?”

  Marveling at Sarantos’ brazenness, he muttered, “I guess I could do that. And yeah, I managed to save the laptop.”

  “Great. This way I won’t have to charge you with a sick day. It shouldn’t be too hard a story to report. I wouldn’t even ask if we weren’t so short-handed. I know you’re stressed out.”

  “Those men were trying to kill me, Pete.”

  “I’ve come to the same conclusion. It doesn’t play any other way. I just wish I understood why.”

  Jung, who happened to be at his campaign headquarters, took Emery’s call himself. “My God, Joe. I read what happened to you in the paper this morning. I’m glad you’re OK. Any idea who was behind it?”

  “No clue, Steve. Thanks for your kind words, though I wish they hadn’t published anything about it. But I suppose it’s news. Anyhow, I was hoping you could give me a preview of your press conference tomorrow. What’s on your agenda?”

  Jung was chuckling. “Unsought publicity is no fun. I can relate. And I'm glad to hear the KCID is looking into it. Thank God that agency doesn’t report to the governor like the Highway Patrol.

  “As to the event tomorrow, I'm happy to help you out. But I don’t want to say too much. Let me think about it and call you right back. You still have the same cell number?”

  “Yes. How long before I hear from you?”

  “Just a few minutes, I promise.”

  Jung called back 10 minutes later. “I need to talk to you on background first if that’s OK.”

  “As long as you give me something substantive on the record.”

  “Fair enough. I suppose you heard about my statement two days ago. I expressed disgust that Gov. Hodge said she’s glad the dam in Colorado blew up because it’s good for Kansas. Your paper tacked my remarks onto the ends of both of your stories.”

  “That isn’t exactly what she said, Steve.”

  “I know, I know, but that was the thrust of her remarks.”

  “So you’re going to reiterate your disgust in the hope you get bigger media play?”

  “Well, that terrorism business did overshadow her outrageous statement, which is a pity because we both know she was whoring for votes from western Kansas.”

  “You’re abusing your background privileges, Mr. Prosecutor.”

  “OK, OK. You can report that Mike Harmon, our attorney general, will be joining me at the press conference to discuss the Kiowa River settlement he negotiated with Colorado and show that it was a great deal for Kansas. He was going to be a surprise guest, but I don’t mind tipping my hand to you. He’s OK with it. You can have it exclusive as long as you get it onto the Examiner web site by mid afternoon.”

  “What’s your role at the event going to be?” Emery demanded.

  “To correct her distortion of the record out in Colorado this week.”

  “And to remind folks that she whores for votes with intemperate remarks while you earn them the old-fashioned way?”

  “Those are your words, not mine. Nice talking to you. Watch your back out there.”

  Emery batted out a 250-word piece advancing Jung’s press conference and dumped it into the Examiner publishing system a little before 3 o'clock. The story included a confirmation from Harmon’s faux campaign (he was unopposed for re-election): The two-term attorney general would indeed attend Jung’s press conference “to help our next governor expose Mabel Hodge’s gross distortion of the Colorado water settlement as a sign of desperation from a candidate who’s in deep trouble.”

  Emery had also called Hodge’s campaign organization for comment but could report only press secretary Janelle Halladay’s refusal to “dignify the opposition’s smear tactic with the rebuttal it so richly deserves.” As Emery pointed out in the story, this continued the Hodge campaign’s practice of never mentioning Jung by name.

  His day’s work done, Emery, still in his bathrobe and pajamas, went out on his living room balcony, settled into his rocker and called Carol. The rain had ended. A warm south wind had come up. Sun rays danced on the broad rippling surface of the Kiowa 100 yards down-slope from his condo complex.

  “How did your day go?” she asked.

  He told her how Sarantos had roped him into working from home.

  “Well, I think it did you good to have something to work on,” she said. “You seem calmer.”

  “I am calmer, but you get part of the credit for that, Carol. You've been kind to me and that really helps.”

  “After all you did for me and my family, I'm more than happy to help you, Joe. I think it’s really interesting that fate intervened to keep you on the story, with your management’s encouragement.”

  “Fate in the form of Steve Jung’s ambition. But enough about me. How’s your day going?”

  She sighed. “OK. I did several hours work and picked up a paycheck for work done previously. And the FBI says Ted’s no longer a pe
rson of interest. He’s back home, hopping mad. He wanted to sue for false arrest. Bernier talked him out of it. False arrest, Tom says, is a valid cause of action only if they pull you in and harass you knowing that you're innocent. The FBI, he says, had reason to suspect the Keepers of blowing up the dam, phone tips that turned out to be phony.”

  “Someone framed them. You're angry about it, I can tell.”

  “Damned right I'm angry, Joe. It shouldn’t have taken an embarrassing newspaper story to get the authorities to do their jobs right. The system is broken.”

  “Yeah, you're right. The only question now is how badly.”

  Chapter 8: Complet Noir

  October 15, 10 a.m.

  Emery parked his rental car on level two of the garage at the Waterside Hilton, the anchor of the city’s downtown convention center. He emerged into a wide corridor, one wall punctuated with the doors of meeting rooms. Opposite was a glass wall overlooking the raging Kiowa, which had escaped its banks.

  Jung’s press conference had attracted what passed these days for a large turnout. Emery counted six reporters for local news organizations. Two reporters for the web-only independents attempting to fill void created by legacy-media layoffs were also present.

  His phone chirped when he was three steps into the room. Natascha Schroeder. He retreated to the hallway.

  “Why am I not surprised that you’re calling now?” he snarled.

  “Jeez, Emery. I’m calling to find out if you’re OK. Talk about no good deed going unpunished.”

  “I’m fine, Natascha. I apologize for being cranky. I figured you were calling to try to step on the headline that Steve Jung and Mike Harmon are about to create.”

  She giggled. “You know me too well, Emery. But this isn’t some hurriedly contrived media contact initiation.”

  “I love it when you speak Press Manipulese.”

  “Seriously, besides wanting to make sure you’re OK. I wanted to ask you to call the governor sometime today.”

  “What’s on her mind?”

  “I’m not sure. But she asked me to reassure you she won’t waste your time.”

  “I’ll call her in a couple of hours. But why am I hearing from you and not Janelle over at the campaign?”

  “This apparently is not about campaign politics, Emery. You know the number. See ya.” The phone clicked dead.

  The stars of the show mounted the dais precisely at 10:30. Harmon, a chubby, balding gentleman with a perpetual grin that did not extend to his small blue eyes, began with a recap of the Kiowa River water settlement he had negotiated with Colorado earlier in the year. The water allocations he had secured for Kansas, he asserted, “were the largest in history.”

  He continued: “Our governor, for reasons she has never bothered to clarify, fought the settlement every step of the way, making clear that the only outcome acceptable to her was the dismantling of the dam – until the dawn of the terror era, ironically, not a realistic goal.

  “No dam might sound good to some Kansans. However, dams such as the Gunderson, and those in Nebraska along the Republican River basin, are good for upstream states and downstream states. They allow for storage of water for both states to use in dry spells.

  “Well, now the governor has gotten her wish. When the next drought hits – and it will – thousands upon thousands of acres now under irrigation for corn, soybeans and other feed grains, in Kansas, will usable only for less profitable dry-land crops such as winter wheat and alfalfa because there’s no stored water for release. The terroristic destruction of the Gunderson dam is a threat to the rural economies in Colorado and Kansas. I now yield the floor to Steve Jung.”

  Jung, sporting his signature bow tie, three-piece suit, horn-rim glasses and gray crew cut, then took the podium. “From Mike’s remarks,” he intoned, “we can see once again the chief weakness of our present governor: failure to envision the consequences of her actions or, in this case, of her foolish remarks.

  “In Colorado on Tuesday, she deemed what turned out to be a terrorist act quote-unquote justice for Kansas.

  “Let’s put aside for now the horrendous facts that the explosion took three lives and racked up billions in property damage. Our friends in the feedlot, meat-packing and farming industries of western Kansas may see the water now rushing through the Kiowa basin as sign she is right about justice. But Mabel Hodge, as usual, is wrong. Here is why.

  “Most of the water released by the dam explosion will flow right through the chronically arid western Kiowa basin into greener Wichita, far to the east, thence into even greener eastern Oklahoma. Our hydrologist friends at Kansas State University tell us that the river flow is too rapid and intense to fully recharge aquifers and replenish irrigation wells. The glut soon will pass. In our western counties, the Kiowa once again will become what it was before the construction of the Gunderson: an occasionally wet meandering prairie stream. Recharging aquifers takes a slow, steady river flow, not flood conditions like we have now. From this, voters can draw their own conclusions about Mrs. Hodge’s qualifications to lead.”

  He pointed to his campaign’s press secretary, Malik Pham, holding a sheaf of pamphlets. “Malik here has compiled the facts. Don’t take my word that our reckless governor doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Check out our sources and those of your own choosing. We’ll take your questions now.”

  Back at the Examiner, Emery marveled yet again that the newsroom had become so cavernous. Not that long ago, the room was crammed with desks buried under mounds of paper and mobbed with reporters, editors, photographers, clerks and interns. The desks of the laid-off had been removed. Here it was mid-day on a Friday, and only a dozen staffers were scattered about, updating the web site and starting work on the weekend papers.

  He uploaded the video he’d shot for the web producers and made a few calls to verify the facts and theories Jung had presented. He pulled his notes together and was starting to write when he remembered Schroeder’s request. He punched in the governor’s office main number.

  Hodge came on the line after 30 seconds. “Mr. Emery. I heard about my opponent’s misogynistic remarks today. You can report that I have no comment on them. We may respond later.”

  “OK, governor. How can I help you?”

  “I asked Natascha to arrange our little chat because of what happened to you Wednesday on Highway 50 out west of Holcomb. You and I have had our differences, but in your own way you’ve been fair to me. So I want to help you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I don’t like what happened. It’s barbarous. So I’ve instructed Mr. Complet to ensure that the Highway Patrol investigates this incident thoroughly. If we find evidence of criminality and identify those responsible, we will bypass the Kansas Criminal Investigation Division, which our attorney general has packed with hacks and cronies, to seek prosecution locally through our friends in the 25th Judicial Circuit.”

  Emery recalled reading that the prosecutor for the seven-county 25th Circuit was a Democrat – unusual in western Kansas. Edward Vander-something?

  No matter. The thought of Ernest Complet leading the effort to bring his attackers to justice made Emery queasy. Complet, manipulative and sneaky, was a member of the bar but had never spent a day in court. He’d been Hodge’s general counsel, a job with broadly defined powers, for two years. Before that, he’d spent many years as chief of staff for the Senate Agriculture Committee. This promotion had elevated him from common backstabber to noir prince of evil.

  “I’ve rendered you speechless, Mr. Emery,” Hodge said.

  “I’m sorry, governor. Look, I deeply appreciate your desire to get to the bottom of the incident Wednesday. You’re very kind. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather let the official investigations play out unimpeded. I’d rather not get caught up in whatever, uh, differences there may be between your office and Mr. Harmon’s.”

  She guffawed. “Nicely put, Mr. Emery. If I’m re-elected in two weeks, perhaps you could come to work for me. I c
ould use a wordsmith like you.”

  “That’s a kind offer, Mrs. Hodge, but I’m an ink-stained wretch of a newspaperman and don’t know how to be anything else.”

  “Very well,” she said. “I’ll tell Mr. Complet not to bother. I just hope for your sake that someone competent is guiding the KCID investigation.”

  There was something chilling in the way she said this.

  Chapter 9: Understanding Media

  October 15, 6 p.m.

  After filing his story on the Jung press conference, Emery went out for a bite of lunch. Upon his return to the newsroom, he worked with the web producers to get his Jung press conference package – text, video and background documents – suitably placed on WichitaOnline.com.

  Then he turned his energy to another facet of his broken-backed job description – Reporting Coach. This assignment entailed helping poorly trained young staffers become functioning journalists. Raw young hires tended to excel at video, graphics, HTML coding and other skills useful to web production. But most were weak in reporting basics: nailing down the facts, framing them for news stories and writing the stories in clear, plain prose.

  Today’s client, Kendra Wendell, showed promise. A tall, stocky young African-American woman with a mop of curly dark hair, Wendell was working on a series about the 15 local Kansas House of Representatives races in which the incumbents faced opposition on Election Day. She was struggling to distill campaign literature, position papers, archives materials and interview notes into 200-word candidate profiles. He worked with her nearly three hours. Toward the end of the session, Wendell’s capacity for summarizing seemed stronger. But her story deadline for the first five House races was only two days away. She'd be hard-pressed to meet it.

  Poor kid, he thought as he headed toward the elevator. If she were his offspring, he’d counsel her to find some other outlet for her talents.