Vindicator

by Denney Clements

  “What about Harrelson?”

  “Well, the Los Llanos coroner, God bless him, gave you everything we have – as far as I know. Sometimes I get the feeling I’m not completely in the loop.

  “The working hypothesis out here is he was connected to the conspiracy to blow up the dam and was likely the explosives handler. But – again, as far as I know – we haven’t been able to connect him to any known organization. His doings after he left Arkansas remain a source of mystery.”

  “What if I told you – way off the record – that Lazlo might be connected to the white van?” Carol’s hand dropped from his arm. He looked at her questioningly. Her brow was furrowed, her plump lips pressed together.

  A long pause. Then Franklin said, “That is interesting. You haven’t reported that yet. Why?”

  “This week I’ve been conducting interviews and posting video, audio and text about the Hodge victory. I haven’t yet gotten to the other thing, which needs more legwork.”

  “Ah,” Franklin replied. “Well, you need to multi-task, like I do.”

  “Easy for you to say, governor, with all your staff help. I have a staff of one: me. And right now I need to get back to work or my business will languish.”

  Franklin chuckled. “Point taken, Mr. Emery. Be well.”

  Chapter 15: First Fight

  November 5, 5:30 p.m.

  After ringing off with Franklin and clicking the “publish” button on his post, Emery turned to Carol. “What’s the matter, sweetie?”

  “You just threw Teddy to the wolves, Joe.”

  “I did not.”

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “The Colorado governor. I called him to get his take on Hodge’s victory in western Kansas.”

  “That part is fine, but why did you tell him that awful dead man was with the white van?”

  “I wanted to give him something he didn’t know to see if he’d tell me something I don’t know in return. It’s a technique that often works well with official sources like Franklin.”

  Her face reddened. Her nostrils flared. “Don’t you go all journalism lecturer on me, Joe Emery.”

  Her acid tone cut into his heart. “I didn’t say where I got that information,” he said. “Besides, if I help them connect the dots, The Story pans out all the faster. Franklin trusts me. Next time I talk to him, he’ll be all the more open with me. I’ll get useful information I mightn’t have otherwise gotten. This is how the process works when all of officialdom is stonewalling, as is happening with this case.”

  “I told you not to patronize me. You made Teddy a target.”

  “Bullshit. I didn’t tell Franklin where I got the information, and I qualified what I said by saying there might be a connection.”

  She regarded him with disgust a few seconds, then asked, “Who told the world about the white van and the Kansas connection?”

  “I did.”

  “You mean Teddy did. You operated the camera and posted what you recorded on the web, including him saying he’d seen four men with the van. So if Teddy told the world about the van, they’ll assume he’s also the one who recognized that killer and saboteur as one of the four men.”

  “No, they won’t,” he said indignantly. “Lots of other people saw the van in Los Llanos. Any one of them besides Ted could have seen those men and made the connection.”

  “Maybe,” she said icily, “but poor Teddy is the only one out there on the web by name, for anyone to see. Doesn’t it stand to reason, Mr. Ace Reporter, that if Franklin passes your juicy tidbit on to Colorado investigators and the FBI, they’ll pull him in again to interrogate him? He'll be first in line for further abuse of his rights.”

  “Well …”

  “Doesn’t it also stand to reason that the other bad men out there, the ones who tried to put you in the river, could come looking for Teddy?”

  “Aha,” he cried. “No. You’re wrong there. Only Franklin knows about it. He’s not about to broadcast what I told him, so your so-called bad men have no way of knowing what I, we, know. I haven’t published anything about the connection yet.”

  “Yet?” she screeched. “You were planning to publish something about the connection?”

  “Well, sure. That’s what I do. And Ted talked to me of his own free will. He volunteered the information this morning at breakfast, after seeing the photo over my shoulder.”

  “He volunteered it to you, the man who supposedly loves his big sister, not you, the intrepid reporter. You were planning to throw him to the wolves for real, not just in your unnecessary off-the-record statement to a high-powered government official.”

  He saw her point. “Well, I don’t have to publish anything on it. In fact, it’s probably better if I hold that detail back and try to build on it with reporting from other sources. That’s what I’ll do. Ted will be in the clear that way.”

  “Except for the fact you outed him to a high-powered government official!”

  “I-did-not-out-him. You sat right here and heard what I said. I know you’re upset but at least get your damned facts straight.”

  “Get out of my sight,” she shrieked.

  He lost what remained of his composure. “With pleasure!” He crammed his laptop, camera, notes and power cord into his tech bag, strode from the room, stomped up the stairs to the guest room, where she’d been sleeping with him. He crammed his clothes and shaving gear into his suitcase, then lugged both bags back downstairs and headed for the front door.

  Carol was standing in the front hall, still red-faced. Rose and Sadie looked on worriedly from the kitchen. Tears were streaming down Carol’s cheeks. “Where are you going?” she asked in a little voice.

  “Back to Wichita,” he said. “Good bye.” He stalked out the door.

  “That’s right, run away you coward,” she screamed at his back. He threw his bags into the back seat of his car, got in and headed east.

  His phone began chirping 15 minutes later. Still seething, he ignored the call and the ones that followed. But 90 minutes later, as he approached the tiny town of Mullinville, his anger was gone. Regretful now that he hadn’t stayed to try to make peace with her, he turned around and drove slowly westward along the shoulder, flashers on, until his phone picked up a signal. He stopped the car and called her back.

  “Yes?” she said coldly.

  “I messed up. I’m sorry I lost my temper. Can I come back?”

  “Why did you leave like that? I’m pretty upset. I don’t know, Joe.”

  “OK, I’ll continue on back to Wichita, then. But I just wanted you to know I made a big mistake and hope you can forgive me. I love you.” He broke the connection and turned the car back east.

  Before he could accelerate, the phone chirped again. He pulled to the shoulder and opened it. She said, “Do you really want to come back?”

  “With all my heart.”

  “I’ll be waiting up for you.”

  He got back to her house at about 10:30. He lugged his gear onto the porch and knocked on the front door. She opened it right away. Her face and body were tense. She looked at him expectantly.

  “I love you,” he said. “You were totally right. I’m so sorry I ran out on you. You didn’t deserve that. You’re right to worry about your loved ones. You were right to call me out for being callous and for using your brother to …”

  “Joe.” The tension went out of her body.

  “What?”

  She clamped her hands on his cheeks and kissed him. “It’s OK. I love you, too. We need to talk this out, but later. Please, let’s go to bed,” she murmured. “I’m really tired.”

  He brought his gear inside. They climbed the stairs to the guest room and slept clinging to one another.

  Chapter 16: Partners

  November 6, 9 a.m.

  “I didn’t really answer your question on the phone last night,” Emery said the following morning, as they sat in her kitchen sipping steaming mugs of coffee. Sadie and Rose were giving them a wid
e berth. “On why I left like that?”

  “And?”

  “It was wounded pride, pure and simple. There was no journalistic value in my telling Franklin what I did. I told him to make myself seem like a big man for knowing more than he does. When you called me on it, I lashed out rather than admit you were right. I’m so sorry.”

  She shrugged. “I overreacted, too, because I'm overprotective of Ted. He’s so childlike at times. And maybe by giving Franklin that information you really will get something in return that advances The Story.”

  “Maybe. But I can’t use the people I love to build my business. And of course I won’t publish anything about the Lazlo-van connection unless I get it from another source far removed from your family. Ted is too open for his own good, like you say, and I need to be mindful of that. From now on, he’s out of it.”

  She nodded. “I really love it that you care about all of us.”

  They sat in companionable silence awhile. Then she said, “You're fidgeting.”

  “I'm realizing that by falling in love with you, I've made all of us a target for these thug assholes. Now it’s not just me any more.”

  She stroked his temple. “I've thought about that, too, that they might come after us to get at you.”

  “Maybe it’s not worth the risk. Maybe I should give up The Story. I'd rather do that than give you up. Life without you would ruin me.”

  “I don’t want you to do that and I won’t give you up, either. I was the one who goaded you into continuing with The Story after you got laid off. I don’t want to change anything about you, including your sense of professional pride. You should be proud of your accomplishments.

  “Well, thank you, but what about your family?”

  “We'll just have to continue being vigilant. With Ted’s involvement in constant controversy with the Keepers and especially after our trouble with the feds, Mom and Sadie and I are used to that. It’s sad, but vigilance is part of our lives.”

  “This is no way for any of us to live, waiting for criminals or government goons to make their next move against us.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

  “No, it’s not,” she murmured, peering closely at him. “You're exhausted.”

  “I am weary,” he admitted. “I've worked eight straight days since Arthur Cushing talked me into starting this misbegotten blog.”

  “Go back to bed. I'll have another cup of coffee and do a load of wash. Then I'll get back in with you.”

  “I can’t. I've got to come up with something fresh to post today. Otherwise, page views will languish and the blog will atrophy.”

  “No, it won’t. Today is Saturday. You've earned some down time. Get four or five hours rest. Then, if you must, you can spend the rest of today and all day tomorrow mixing it up with them on comments. You haven’t been keeping up with them like you should.”

  He snorted. “Those comments can be a nuisance. I wish I didn’t have to deal with them.”

  “Don’t be so thick. I read every word on The Vindicator. As your most loyal reader, I find the comments to be as vital a part of the content as your original posts.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Sure, some of them are ignorant, misinformed and even hateful. But you handle people like that beautifully, meeting nastiness with your sweet reasoning. It’s all very entertaining to read.”

  “The interactivity is the thing, isn’t it, not just what I report.”

  “Right,” she replied. “And some commenters know more about what you're reporting on than you do. Or else they have information you weren’t aware of. Like that Fort Hays State hydrologist who wrote that long comment about water depletion in the Ogallala Aquifer this week, backing up what Steve Jung said about the dam sabotage doing western Kansas no good.”

  He smiled at her. “Yeah, and that video footage I shot in the cafes after the election really triggered long discussions about Jung and Hodge and water politics. You're right. The comments are important. ... You've thought a lot about this, haven’t you?”

  “Yup. A girl who throws in with a man has to understand what he’s all about. Besides, I goaded you into this line of work, didn’t I? ... What? You're looking at me funny.”

  “Not ‘funny.’ I'm looking at you with new eyes. I, uh, don’t suppose I could get you to come into the business? Equal partners?”

  She frowned. “I'd have to think about that. I need to bring in some money on a regular basis.”

  “Hell, I've got enough saved up, including what’s left of my Schmittlapp buyout money, to keep both of us going awhile. I've got a tidy sum stashed in retirement accounts, too. We could tap that. And I have my condo free and clear. We could borrow against it if we need to.

  “Most important, The Vindicator is starting to earn some money. Arthur sent me a small check for ad revenue yesterday. There'll be more as my audience grows.”

  “I can’t take your money,” she said.

  “Sure, you can. We'll call it salary if you like. You're great at research and you're a skilled business manager. You've got exactly the skills The Vindicator needs.”

  “I agree that my skills are a great fit with your skills. But I think I'd feel like a kept woman if I took money from you.”

  He thought about that. “I can see why you'd feel that way, but there’s an easy fix for that. We could get married.”

  “Whoa, mister, now you've really got my poor head spinning. Do you really mean that?”

  “Absolutely. I love you, Carol. I'd be lucky to have you as my wife. Will you marry me, please?”

  A tear rolled down her cheek. “Oh, Joe. I love you, too, and I'd be the lucky one if we got married. But I need some time to think over what marriage would mean.”

  “When would I have my answer? You like the idea, right?”

  “I might. Tell you what. I'll give you my answer at Thanksgiving.”

  “Good idea. That way both of our kids will be here to hear the good news.”

  “Don’t you dare take me for granted, Joe Emery.”

  “Believe me, I don’t. I know how lucky I am to have you. Now what about the partnership?”

  She pursed her lips. “You'll have to let me earn my way in.”

  “How would that work?”

  “I'll handle the books and conduct research part time, from here and sometimes from Wichita, between now and Thanksgiving. You'll pay me $20 an hour. I'll prepare weekly invoices for the work I do and cut myself a check. At the end of the year, I'll prepare a Form 1099 to reflect what I earned for tax purposes. We'll see how that works out for both of us, then decide the next step.”

  “I accept. And I can’t wait for Thanksgiving.”

  She raised a finger. “No assumptions, mister.” Then, smiling, she added, “But you need to know that we'll be together even if I don’t marry you. But no more running out.”

  He nodded. “Won’t happen again. And if this business arrangement works out and the blog makes enough money, you'll come into the business permanently, right?”

  “Right,” she said. “Now go lie down. You'll find out how good your marriage proposal makes me feel when I come back to bed.”

  Chapter 17: Cold Trail

  November 18, 1 p.m.

  After that, the trail went cold – so cold that Emery began to wonder whether The Story was really a Kansas story. The only positive evidence of a Sunflower State connection was the Kansas tag on that white van. And Roy Franklin had raised doubt whether Ted’s tag sighting was a legitimate lead.

  Grace Mercer, meanwhile, e-mailed him to say that Lazlo Harrelson had undergone demolitions training in the Arkansas National Guard. He did two 14-month tours in Iraq defusing roadside bombs before mustering out of the guard at the end of 2004 and becoming a policeman.

  Carol spent many hours trying to discover where Harrelson had gone after losing his law enforcement job and what he had been doing. He had not registered for veterans benefits, had not come to the attention of law enforcement, had not registere
d a car or renewed a drivers license and had not (until his recent mention in The Vindicator) come to the attention of news organizations since 2007. Harrelson had not registered to vote in any state nor taken out or used any credit or debit cards.

  There remained Emery’s brush with the thugs in the Ford Crown Vic and the text message they sent after failing to knock him into the river. Mike Harmon had assured Emery the week before that KCID investigators were still working the case. But they had come up with nothing so far.

  It seemed likely to Emery that his assailants were connected to the same people who’d blown up the dam. Harmon deemed that idea “pure conjecture.” However, the AG said, in a patronizing manner, KCID agents would explore that possibility once they identified the men and tracked them down.

  Now, as Emery mounted the stairs toward Arthur Cushing’s second-floor loft offices, he tried to push the image that made telling The Story so important – Carl Kempfer Jr., bloated and stinking in that surreal riverside cottonwood tree – out of his mind. Cushing had called him here for a happy reason: to brainstorm ways they might capitalize on The Vindicator’s success.

  The big scoop this week was his report on financial irregularities at the Wichita Water Authority. Kendra Wendell at the Examiner had harvested the story’s low-hanging fruit – the unexpected resignation of the assistant city manager, Nancy O’Toole, who oversaw the Water Authority. From a reader’s e-mailed tip, Emery learned that the city had just completed an audit of the Water Authority. After Tom Bernier threatened the city with a public records lawsuit, a clerk in the city manager’s office e-mailed the report to Emery in PDF form.