by Leigh Jones
Kate abruptly sat down again as her knees suddenly gave way. The unidentified girl shot in Fish Village had no obvious connection to any of this. But what if she was the first casualty in a clean-up operation designed to keep the group’s activities quiet or restore order among unruly participants? What if she wanted out or threatened to go to the police? Kate had to take a deep breath to slow her racing heart and chase away the black spots that had started to float in front of her eyes. A lightheaded fog made it hard to concentrate.
She could think of only one person who might be able to shed light on all the possible connections—Muriel Costa. She hadn’t wanted to talk to the police, but maybe she would be willing to talk to a reporter, especially if Kate told her she was working on a story about police incompetence and her husband’s unsolved murder. Her conscience kicked her in the gut, making her wince. The first rule of journalism ethics was never misrepresent yourself or your intentions to a source to trick them into giving up information. But surely solving at least two, maybe three, murders justified cutting a few ethical corners. If only the good guys played by the rules, men like the cigarette-smoking pimp and even Eduardo Reyes would never be held accountable.
Kate stood up so quickly she knocked her chair over. Normally the stares of the other customers would have brought a rush of heat to her face, but she didn’t even flinch as she scooped it back upright and walked over to the front counter to pay the bill. She could already see the outlines of the fake story in her head, tailored to give Muriel Costa as much incentive as possible to talk. Would it work?
Chapter 24
Kate stood in front of Muriel Costa’s front door, her stomach churning. She had been nervous about plenty of interviews during her time as a reporter, but none of those carried this one’s potential weight. Ever since she left the restaurant, the images of Miss Kitty lying broken on the rocks, Julian Costa left in a pool of his own blood, and the unnamed girl thrown out like trash in Fish Village scrolled across her memory. She wanted to know what happened to all of them, but more importantly, she wanted someone to pay for their deaths.
Muriel Costa opened the door with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, like she didn’t immediately recognize her visitor but felt like she should. Guilt rattled the cage of Kate’s conscience. Forcing a bright smile, she ignored it.
“Hi, Mrs. Costa,” Kate said quickly, hoping to disarm the woman before she could make up her mind not to talk. “My name’s Kate Bennett. I’m a reporter with the Gazette.”
Muriel’s confused look morphed into distaste and she started to shut the door.
“I don’t have any interest in talking to a reporter,” she said.
“Wait! Please. Can I just tell you what I’m working on? I promise I won’t take up too much of your time. And if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I’ll go away. I promise. Please?”
“I don’t care what you’re working on. I don’t want to see my name, or my family’s name, in the newspaper again. It was bad enough when my husband died.”
“Look, I understand. I do!” Kate blurted, her words storming the walls of her normal reserve before she could stop them. “My mom died when I was in high school, and I hated seeing her picture and video of our house on the evening news. I hated hearing a reporter casually talk about something so excruciating I could barely even think about it.”
Kate never intended to tell Muriel Costa something she didn’t even speak about with her closest friends. Her involuntarily honesty caught her off guard and left her temporarily at a loss for what to say next.
“So now you do the same thing to other people?” Muriel sneered.
Kate sucked in a sharp breath. She’d never thought of it that way before.
“It’s not like that,” she sighed. “It’s a long story. Look, I didn’t mean to tell you that. But it’s true. I understand why you don’t want to talk to me.”
Kate hesitated. She was about to lie in hopes of getting information. She believed she was justified, but crossing that ethical boundary screeched like nails down the chalkboard of her soul.
“I’m writing a story about the incompetence of the Galveston Police Department. Your husband’s death was one of two unsolved murders this summer. And now this prostitution ring. It’s like they can’t find their asses with both hands over there.”
Muriel’s face softened slightly and Kate thought she could see the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“And for whatever it’s worth, I didn’t want to bother you for this story. But my boss insisted I at least try. Normally I might have told him no, but the newspaper’s about to announce a round of layoffs. I didn’t want to put a target on my back. I need this job.”
Kate swallowed back the bile rising in her throat and reminded herself telling half truths and outright lies would be worth it if she could find out something that tied the murders together. Muriel sighed. Her pursed lips suggested she was still trying to figure out a way to tell Kate no. But her resistance seemed to be faltering.
“Five minutes,” Kate said. “That’s all I need. Please let me just ask you these questions. If you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to. But at least I can tell my boss I tried.”
Kate hoped her pleading eyes would push Muriel over the edge, even though she hated resorting to tricks and manipulation.
“Fine,” Muriel finally said after staring at Kate for about 15 seconds. “You can have five minutes, or until the baby wakes up from her nap, whichever comes first.”
“Thank you so much!” Kate gushed. Persuading Muriel to let her in was the most difficult part of her plan. Even if the widow didn’t answer any questions, her reactions would at least tell Kate whether she was on the right track.
The cramping in her stomach started to ease as she followed Muriel into her living room, stepping around the abandoned toys and discarded shoes that littered the floor. Muriel sat down on a faded couch and pulled her knees up to her chest. On the side table next to the widow, Kate spotted a family photo. It must have been taken shortly after the baby was born, just a few months before Julian’s death. His proud smile said he was completely content surrounded by his wife and his three children. He looked like the kind of man who could be driven to join a criminal operation only out of desperation—or by force.
Kate perched on a tattered love seat perpendicular to the couch, balancing her notebook on her knees. “During the investigation into your husband’s murder, did the police ever give you any idea they might have a theory about what happened?”
Muriel shifted uncomfortably. “Not really. They couldn’t find anything that connected him to anything bad. And I told them my Julian was a good man. Make sure you write that down. The detective kept insisting he was involved in something he shouldn’t have been. But they had no evidence! Nothing. I kept telling them they needed to look at some of the homeless people who hang around near the beach. Most of them are crazy. Who knows why one of them would have killed Julian. But maybe they didn’t need a reason. Who knows?”
“But the police never questioned any of them, to your knowledge?”
“No, at least they never told me they did. Once they quit questioning me, I never heard from them again. No update on the case, no nothing. It was like they just gave up. And my poor husband’s killer is still out there.”
Muriel began to rub her hand back and forth along her thigh, as if to keep tears at bay. Kate cringed inwardly at bringing the widow back to something that obviously caused her so much pain.
“What about Julian’s friends? Did the police ever talk to them?”
“Yes. Friends, co-workers, family. All of them vouched for Julian. He was a good man,” Muriel said quietly, lacing her fingers together around her knees.
Although she spoke with conviction, Kate got the impression Muriel had said those words over and over, until they were almost worn out. Why did the widow feel such a need to defend her husband?
“What about Ricardo Peña? Did they t
alk to him?”
Muriel looked up sharply with a glare. “Why? What’s he got to do with this?”
“Nothing,” Kate said quickly, her fingers tingling with excitement as she clutched her pen in a vice grip. “I had just heard they were good friends, and I assume if the police wanted someone who could vouch for Julian going back years, it would be Ricardo.”
“I’m sure they did talk to him. And I’m sure he said Julian was a good man, just like everyone else.”
Muriel’s knuckles had gone white and her biceps stood out as though her arms wrapped around her knees were the only thing keeping her tiny frame from springing off the couch. Kate tried to ignore the fear that suddenly burned in the pit of her stomach. If the widow was hiding whatever her husband had been involved with, what might she do to keep it a secret? She might even be involved herself.
“It must have been quite a shock to see your husband’s friend caught up in that prostitution bust,” she said slowly. “I mean, I know he wasn’t charged with anything, but I hear a lot of people think he might have been involved—”
“What does that have to do with my husband’s murder?” Muriel spat, glaring now as she uncoiled and set her feet on the floor. “I thought you wanted to talk about Julian.”
“I do. But the prostitution case is another one the police seem to have botched. And it’s interesting that your husband’s friend was involved.”
“A coincidence. That’s all.”
Muriel stood now, putting her hands on her hips. Kate quickly stood too so the older woman wouldn’t have a height advantage.
“Maybe. But that’s a pretty big coincidence.”
“Your five minutes are up,” Muriel hissed. “How dare you come into my house and suggest some kind of connection between my husband and … prostitutes.”
“What about the other murder this summer?” Kate said in a rush. “What about that girl they found in Fish Village? Did the police ever ask you whether it might be connected to your husband’s death?”
Kate had hoped to get some kind of reaction from Muriel, but she was unprepared for the look of complete shock that overwhelmed the widow’s face. With blanched cheeks and wide eyes, Muriel licked her lips. When she tried to say something, nothing but an unintelligible hissing came out. She crossed her arms over her chest and swallowed hard.
Surprise left Kate breathless. She could barely stammer out her next question.
“Do you think the same people that killed your husband killed that girl? Why? Do you know who she is?”
Muriel shook her head violently from side to side. “No! I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know about any dead girls. And neither did Julian. He was a good man.”
Kate held the widow’s panicked gaze. Desperation, sorrow, and raw terror flitted across her face, deepening the shadows under her eyes and the lines that criss-crossed her forehead.
“Please leave now,” Muriel whispered. “Please.”
Kate briefly considered pushing Muriel, now that she had her off guard. But she doubted she would say much more after the shock of the questions had worn off. Without a word, she turned and walked to the front door, quelling the fear that stabbed her chest when she thought of the other woman standing behind her. She reached for the knob and turned it slowly.
“Someone’s going to figure out what happened eventually, you know,” Kate said, turning briefly to look at Muriel one more time before opening the door and stepping out into the bright afternoon sun.
The widow didn’t say a word but stood on the threshold and watched Kate with wide, frightened eyes as she climbed into her car and drove away.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kate’s head was still spinning when she pulled into the newspaper parking lot 15 minutes later. Preoccupied by a replay of her conversation with Muriel, it took her a few minutes to realize something was wrong when she walked into the newsroom. The cavernous space, normally filled with the din of chatting, typing, and laughing, had fallen ominously silent. As she walked past Krista’s desk, she spotted a box on the chair. She looked back questioningly at Delilah, but before the senior reporter could say anything, Mattingly came rocketing out of his office.
“About time, Bennett!” he barked. “Meeting. My office. Now.”
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Kate trailed behind Delilah, Ben, Jessica, and Cowel. Hunter Lewis brought up the rear and closed the door behind him. When they were all seated around the conference table, Mattingly let out a long sigh in the heavy silence.
“This morning, Mr. Bells called the department heads into his office and announced we couldn’t delay layoffs any longer. We’re losing six positions in all, two in the newsroom. Krista will be leaving us, effective immediately. I’ll also be letting one of the copy editors go later this afternoon.”
Anger flushed Kate’s cheeks and tears pricked the backs of her eyes. The fight for truth and justice would limp on, but those cuts hampered the effort.
The reporters glanced at each other around the table. Kate mostly saw relief in her coworkers’ eyes. They had survived. Kate suddenly felt a rush of sympathy for Krista. She was an innocent bystander in the mortal combat between profits and purpose. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that separated Mattingly’s office from the newsroom, Kate watched as the junior reporter trudged back to her desk, presumably coming from the bathroom. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and between putting things in the box on her chair, she paused to blot her face with a giant wad of toilet paper. Tears began to gather behind Kate’s narrowed eyelids, and she quickly turned away.
“For the rest of you, this means we’ll be reorganizing our beat structure and asking you to pick up the slack. Hunter and I will figure all that out in the next few days. Any questions?”
“Is this it?” Delilah asked. “At least for now? I mean, are you going to come back and hit us with more cuts or furloughs or something in a few months?”
Mattingly looked hard at Delilah for a few moments before answering.
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure we won’t have any more cuts for a while. But I’m not sure about the furloughs. It mostly depends on our revenue between now and the end of the year. We may have to make more adjustments in January.”
No one said anything, until Lewis broke the silence.
“This has been hanging over our heads for a while. Now that it’s over, we can get back to work. No one’s happy about this, not even the publisher. And I can guarantee you Kenton fought as hard for us as he could. If there had been a way to get the newsroom through this without cuts, he would have found it.”
Mattingly just grunted in response and looked down at his hands, clasped in front of him on the table.
“The news business isn’t what it used to be,” he said. “It’s all numbers and profits and margins now. Used to be, all we had to worry about was not getting scooped on the next big story. It’s just not that simple anymore.”
The managing editor’s sagging mouth screamed defeat. Kate’s throat tightened so hard it felt like someone was holding a pillow over her face.
“Well, I just hope the publisher knows what he’s doing to this newspaper,” Delilah said. “Saying it isn’t what it used to be doesn’t even cover half of it.”
When no one said anything in reply, the senior reporter stood up.
“Are we done here?” she snapped. “I have work to do.”
Mattingly grunted again but kept his eyes focused on the table as Delilah stalked out, followed closely by Ben and then everyone else. Kate lingered after standing up.
“I know you fought hard for us,” she said, tracing circles on the table top with an outstretched finger. “I know it wasn’t easy…and I appreciate it.”
Mattingly didn’t look up, but he nodded in acknowledgement. Pressing her lips together to keep the tears at bay, Kate turned and walked out of the office, leaving the managing editor sitting alone, still staring at his hands.
Kate walked straight to the now
jobless reporter’s desk and stood there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot while Krista blew her nose.
“It’s not like I didn’t see this coming,” Krista said between sniffles. “I just kept hoping it wouldn’t happen. I have no idea what I’m going to do. I’ll probably have to move back in with my parents.” The prospect of returning to her childhood home brought on a fresh wave of tears.
Kate cleared her throat while Krista blew her nose again.
“Don’t give up! Journalism needs reporters like you. There are lots of other papers out there. I’m sure Lewis will put in a good word for you. And I’ll be happy to tell anyone what a great reporter you are.”
“Thanks,” Krista said, mustering an anemic smile.
“I’m really sorry. If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”
Krista nodded but didn’t say anything else as she wiped her cheeks again. Twenty minutes later, she walked out of the newsroom. Kate was the only one who waved goodbye.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Johnson was shutting down his computer when he heard a knock on the frame of his open office door. He hadn’t seen Kate since the mayor’s press conference a week ago. She looked as tired and dejected now as she had then, although the bandages were gone. He smiled gently and waved a hand toward her usual seat in front of his desk.
“Take a load off. Looks like you’ve had a rough day.”
“We had layoffs at the paper today,” Kate said, perching on the edge of the chair.
“Not you?” Johnson said, his heart skipping at the thought Kate might be stopping by to say goodbye.
“No. Krista, our junior reporter. I think I’m safe, at least for now. The whole thing just sucks. The fewer reporters we have, the harder it is for us to dig up the truth. That’s pretty much our whole job, you know?”