Into the Night

by Herb Scribner

  The Lyft drops me outside the coffee shop. I slide in side and grab a table. I'm still waiting for Ben to show up. I order a coffee and sit at a table in the back of the cafe. I check my phone. Scroll through my email. Sandra sent me an email. She wants another update on my longform piece.

  Maybe I'm feeling confident. Maybe I'm feeling a little egotistical. I reply to her email. I tell her that I am working on it. I might have a draft for her at the end of the week. Just need one or two more sources.

  And that's the truth. If I could talk to Heath or Minny, then I could piece together this story. I have enough sources, right?

  Maybe not for a print story. Maybe I can record the story in an audio file and then we can print the transcript. I'm not a reporter type. I'm not the typical writer. I don't know why the Scribe would want me to not play to my strengths.

  But I own my strengths. And right now, a strength for me is recording an audio story about what happened.

  Even if it means the Scribe is against the idea.

  The door to the cafe chimes open and Ben walks through the front door. He waves at me from across the room and I wave back. He heads over to the counter and order a drink. I slide my phone into my pocket and wait patiently for him. He comes over to me about a minute later with a to-go cup in his hand. He sighs heavily when he finally sits across for me.

  It's strange to see him here. Just a few days ago he was locked behind bars. And even before that, we were breaking up. We haven't had the best of conversations with each other this last week. Our relationship has been in tatters. Everything we've been working on has been such a lie and a problem and just a mess. A lot of it because of the senator.

  But maybe now we can begin to rebuild. Maybe now we can figure out the next steps to ending the senator and her story.

  I have the story. I have the timeline. I just need the on-the-record dots to connect everything together.

  Ben asks me what is going in with my reporting, and so I tell him. I explain everything that I've learned since I began my reporting. I don't hold back, except for telling him about my conversations with the senator. He won't believe me if I explain that stuff. That reveal is better saved for another time.

  I could tell him everything that Senator Simmons said to me. I could tell him that she threatened to throw him behind bars forever if I didn't let up. But that would just make him more angry. Unwise decisions are made when people are angry. So I hold my tongue and bite down hard.

  He doesn't say anything when I tell him about my conversation with Tiffany. He shakes his head when I tell him about the conversation I had with the woman Mary of Up Sync. He rolls his eyes when I explain to him how I went by the county jail and snuck into their records for more information.

  When it's all said and done, we sit there at this coffee house. The quietness of the late night has filled the room. The clocks ticks away off to the side of us like an impending doom for what might come our way.

  "You're crazy," he says with a goofy little smile. "I can't believe you really did all of that."

  I shrug. "It's the best I could do."

  "So what's the big deal here? Like, how do you connect it back to the government?"

  "That's exactly what I'm looking for. Proof."

  "Where do you find it?"

  I shrug. I could tell him that I suspect it was Senator Simmons who met with Up Sync and made that deal in principle. But again, drawing conclusions between the murders and Senator Simmons will only rifle the waters. I need to keep that lake still for now.

  "I was hoping you could tell me who you think might create something like that."

  "What, like, the government?"

  "If the government is really working with Up Sync and made this deal, I'm sure there's got to be some record -- a travel log, an itinerary, something that can link it all together."

  "And that would be your source?"

  "It'd be one of many. I could link all of these conversations together with some piece of hard evidence. It would make a better podcast piece, but I don't know if the Scribe would be up for that."

  "Seems like a tall order."

  "It would be."

  "So do you want me to look around?"

  "Are you still on the senator's team?"

  "She sent me a text and asked me to drop by her office so we can talk about it. I could easily get fired for all of this, just as long as I remain a suspect."

  "You're definitely not the only aspect."

  "Do you want to come with me to the senator's headquarters? She could help you out, too."

  Little does Ben know that she is probably the last person who wants to help me out with any legal trouble.

  "I'm fine. I just have to do some more digging."

  "And this Heath guy or this Minny girl. You can't find them?"

  "I don't think they want to be found. And who knows if they're still valuable to me anymore as sources. From what I heard, they deal more with New Surge than anything else. I don't think they could help connect the dots."

  "Well, their names keep popping up. Plus, you never know where a company's records are kept. There's a total possibility that they have all the information you need about Up Sync. Maybe the company hid an email somewhere else or something like that. Somewhere no one would look. Believe me. I've heard of a lot worse happen among politicians."

  He's not wrong. I don't know why I never considered the possibility that the senators hid something in another email account with another company. What if they were doing business for Up Sync through New Surge? What if all the private memos and documents came from one of the other subsidiaries? This Heath and this Minny might be the ones who know more about that stuff than me.

  And that's why it's damn important for me to find them.

  "So once you have the story, do you think that the Scribe is going to let you post it? I mean, it's a pretty big story," he says.

  "What do you mean?"

  "That's the problem with a free spirit like you going off and putting together your own report, even when you haven't received total approval for it."

  "And?"

  "This is Washington."

  "What do you mean?"

  "There's going to be immediate blowback. Like, Annette, I love you, you know that. And I am sorry that I am telling you that in the middle of this coffee shop when we're supposed to be broken up. But I think it's important you understand what's going to happen here if you do publish the story."

  "What's that?"

  "The impact is immediate. The day the story comes out -- Twitter will blow up. You'll have every political reporter tweeting it, commenting on it. Then the cable news shows will pick it up. We're talking CNN, Fox News -- all of then. Then the politicos and the talking heads will go off on it. Scrutinize it or praise it. Then all of the other papers will start looking into it to confirm the reporting. And then, finally, when it's all done, Congress will have to choose whether to act. Then you gotta consider how they're going to act. Will they agree with the reporting or will they call you out for writing fake news? It's a mess. And I've seen it from the inside. Hell, the senator even has strategies for how she plans to tackle these stories if they come up."

  "Wait, she has a strategy?"

  "It's part of my job," he says. "Well, my original job, that is. If there's ever a story about the senator that we want to rebuke or defend against, then I have to deal with how we handle it, and that includes an exit strategy."

  "That's insane."

  "Yeah. So I hope you know what you're getting into."

  "I think I do."

  "Good. Because Washington can be a killer. It even kills the innocent. So just prepare. I know you've dealt with this stuff before. But this is Washington. No one is safe here. Not even the most powerful people survive every time. So look out for yourself, and make sure you know exactly what you're doing."

  We finish up our coffee and leave the store together. He heads off to the senator, wishing me luck with the rest of my reporting
and story. I wish the same to him, hoping that he doesn't get fired. Only time will tell.

  I'm not sure exactly where I want to go next. I could go to a great many places. It's nighttime so it wouldn't be ridiculous for em to go back to my hotel room and sleep off this nagging amount of stress on my back.

  But even that seems like a problem since it'll only delay the inevitable. I will have to get moving again. And I need to answer these unanswered questions sooner rather than later. Like any journalist working on an investigative piece, I want to put this story to rest before it gets too out of control.

  I stand outside the coffee shop and pace back and forth. I pull my phone out and give a call to my editor, Sandra Kim.

  It's time to make that next move.

  "Annette. I got your email."

  "I'm glad. I just wanted to call and follow up."

  "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

  "I'm almost done with the story and I just wanted to ask you two more questions since I'm knew to this whole write and report thing, at least on a major scale."

  "Sure, what's up?"

  "Are you okay with me using original sources that want to speak off the record? A lot of the stuff I have kind of requires it."

  "Is it huge?"

  "It's pretty big."

  "Who are your sources?"

  "Can I tell you that?"

  "I'm your editor. You're allowed to tell me."

  "Okay, I will when the story is complete."

  "Fine," she says, but it's clear she's annoyed. "You had a second question?"

  "Well, does this have to be a written report?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I was thinking of doing a podcast recording, just like in the old days. Explain it to everyone the way I have done in the past. We can pitch it as an Annette Gardner exclusive. And then we can post the transcript."

  She sighs. "I don't know about that."

  "Come on. It'll be huge. This is one of the reasons you brought me on, isn't it? So I can break big news over audio just like I did in the past. I'm not this fancy, political reporter and you know it. I report on murder. And that's what I'm going to do."

  "Sorry, murder?"

  "I have a lot of details about the Kayleigh murder that I am going to report on."

  "Your assignment was for a tech story," she says. "Not some murder conspiracy. I don't think you understand how all of this works."

  "I understand," I tell her. "And I am going to give you the best damn report you've ever seen. But I just have to do it my way. And this is how I want to do it."

  She waits a second or two before she continues speaking. I know that she's thinking about what I told her and how I plan to handle all of this.

  "I'll call you back later," she says. And then, bashfully, she says, "And I'll let you know what my bosses say about an audio report."

  "Awesome."

  I hang up and slip my phone into my pocket. I have to fish reporting on this story, and that means connecting all of the dots together. And to do that, I need to fill in every hole and make sure there's nothing anyone can poke through.

  I head to the county jail station.

  I demand to know who posted his bail.

  Chapter 25:No help

  It's a ghost town inside the county jail. Everyone has left for the evening. That's not that surprising for me. It's a little late for people to be spending hours on end inside the jail.

  I can't decide if this gives me an advantage or not. Less people mean I can exude my influence a little more. There will be less people around so some of the workers might feel less worried about helping me out.

  At the same time, less people mean it gives me less chances to influence someone to help me. If there's only one officer on shift, then I am going to have to hope they're a fan of my work and my previous podcast. And on top of that, they'll have to be willing to help me.

  There are a lot of variables in this entire plan. But I need to figure out who posted Ben's bail. I need to know if it was the senator, who might be playing her own game. Maybe it was Mack, who was trying to help me out. Or maybe it was some social activist looking to help Ben out.

  No matter who did it -- it's important that I find out. If I am going to fill out the entire story and make sure there aren't any holes to poke, I need to know who helped Ben out. If it's a source or someone I'm criticizing, that will just add more questions to the entire story and my credibility will be shot down instantly.

  I walk through the doors. Half the lights of the office are off. It's dark in most corners. A single auburn desk lamp glows at the desk right next to the door. A young woman no older than thirty types away on a keyboard. Her glasses are at the bridge of her nose. She picks her head up when she sees me.

  "Hi, can I help you?"

  Here we go. Putting it all on the line. I don't have any other cards to play. So this is the one I have to play.

  "Hi, yes, my name is Annette Gardner. I am working with the Washington Scribe right now and I have an assignment that I need help with."

  She crosses her arms and looks at me with the sternest glance I've seen in such a long time.

  "You were here earlier today."

  "I was."

  "And we all heard about the press conference that the one woman gave. What's her name? Tiffany? Yeah. She said you came down here and looked at our records."

  "I had help."

  The tough glance won't leave her face. "I know you did. Detective Bailey helped you out. And so did all of the people who were here. And we all got in trouble for our. Detective Bailey was put on suspension for helping you out the way you did."

  "Sorry about that," I say. "But I am reporting on this pretty important story and I needed all the help that I can get."

  "Well, maybe you should consider who you're affecting when you're making these decisions," she says.

  "Sorry?"

  "Look at you. Just, going around, asking people for favors, throwing your name around like you're some special reporter," she says.

  She shakes her head at me, an ugly and horrifying glance on her face. She doesn't like talking to me about this. She doesn't want me here. She wants me to leave.

  "I think you need to leave," the woman says.

  "So you're not going to help me?"

  "You might be the first journalist I'll have to turn away."

  "I have a right to public documents."

  She shrugs. "I'll have to ask my boss. So comeback another time."

  I know she's messing around with me and just wants me to leave. She doesn't want me to get the information.

  "I have a right to know who posted Ben's bail."

  She shrugs. "Sure. But that doesn't mean I am going to help you with it."

  I can't handle this woman. She's shutting me out. She's shutting me down before I have a chance to even look through the records. Even though I've gotten lucky in the past, and I have had a lot of help from people in the past. Now I need more help and I am not getting it.

  But I have to accept it. There's nothing else I can do. I just have to move on. I just have to accept it. And I'll have to find the information out another way.

  Maybe Ben can make the call.

  "Fine," I say. "But you need to know that you're gonna wish you helped me once this story breaks."

  "Is that a threat? Threatening a police officer isn't a smart idea."

  I shrug. "I've been through worse."

  Before she can say anything else, I walk out the door into the night. I sit down on the steps outside the office and text Ben and ask him to check in on who posted the bail for him. He says he will and that he's about to meet with the senator. He'll see if she did it before he calls the county jail. That makes sense to me.

  Later, I head back to my hotel room and rest on my bed again. I flip on the television and decide to put on reruns of "Friends" playing on Nick at Nite. I laugh almost every single time there's a joke. I really need a chance to laugh after the drama from the last few da
ys. I need to take a breather and be away from all the problems that have been going on. Just a little bit of escapism never hurt anyone.

  It's been such a tough few days. My mind is spinning. The weight of deadlines is on my shoulders. I am still under the threat of the senator. And I am being accused of murder from a woman whose sister died. Even though I've already been deemed not a suspect, it still pains me to know that someone thinks I killed their sister.

  I hate how everything is going right now.

  Just as I start thinking about falling asleep and spending the rest of the night in dreamland, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull out and see an unidentified number calling me. The area code said Alexandria, Virginia. I think about hanging up and ignoring the call, but I answer it.

  "Hello?"

  "Is this Annette Gardner?"

  "Yes. Who's this?"

  "My name is Heath Goldsmith. I believe you've been looking for me."

  Chapter 26:Heath

  My hand freezes with the phone. His voice is edgy and grizzly. He's cold. He doesn't feel like calling. And yet he knows it's a call he has to make. I can see him now. He sits in a chair beside a fire in a forgotten log cabin at the heart of acres of wood. He wears a lumberjack shirt and tattered jeans. He's been hiding for years. But only now he's brought himself back to civilization.

  The frozen lock around my hand breaks. Now it shakes with nerves. I pull the phone away from my ear and grab my own wrist to stabilize it. I take two deep breaths, shutting my eyes as I do so, and then bring the phone back to my ear.

  This is a delicate situation. I could lose him at any time. And if I do lose him on the call, where does that leave us? Do I call him back? Am I allowed to call him back? What are the rules?

  I need to press on. He has the details I need. He has information that can help me.

  I have to play this smartly.

  "Hello, Mr. Goldsmith."

  "Heath, please," he says.

  "Yeah, sorry, Heath. Hi. Thanks for calling. How did you get my number?"

  "If you've been around long enough like me you know how to find the phone numbers you need."

  I'm a bit baffled at his curtness. "That makes sense."