“Things were better for a couple of years. Her grades came up again and she graduated with honors. Back when that picture was taken for the campaign mailer things were going great.”
Delores cried softly for a moment.
“Then she left home and started college. She was fine until her 19th birthday party. Her friends threw a party and they were all drinking. She says she didn’t remember having that much to drink, but we got a call from her friend about three in the morning telling us she had hit her head and they had taken her to the hospital. We rushed to the hospital and found out she only had a mild concussion and just a few scrapes and bruises.
“Larry was furious. ‘How could she do this?’ he said. Then he started swearing, which he rarely does. ‘Delores,’ he said, ‘I’m a public official. If anyone finds out about this, my career is over.’ He said he was going to make sure her antics wouldn’t affect his political career. A week later Larry made Angela fill this out.” Delores handed the envelope to Jim.
He opened it and discovered a photocopy of a name change application. The signature on the form was in the loopy handwriting of a teenage girl. Her then-current name of “Angela Holcombe” was adjacent to her new one, “Angela De La Cruz”.
“Why did she pick De La Cruz?”
“It was my maiden name. Besides she looks more Latina than white.” Delores’s voice held a measure of pride.
“Larry made a copy of the form, which he keeps locked in the home safe. After the paperwork was filed, that was the end of the problem as far as Larry was concerned. He didn’t care that she was arrested for attacking some of her friends who were at a party at her place. He wasn’t even there when she was sentenced to serve time in prison.”
They took a short break and Delores changed her mind about a cup of coffee. He brought back two steaming cups and gave her one.
She picked up where she had left off. “When she got out of jail, she started going to New Creation. She seemed happy there. At least that’s what she told me. I went to a service once. It was different.”
“Not like St. Paul’s, huh?”
“No, not at all. It was a little too casual for my taste, but nothing seemed particularly wrong or bad. We went back to her place and she told me about her new boyfriend, and I went through the roof.”
“Let me guess, it was Pastor Jeremiah.”
How did he figure that out so quickly? “She told you?”
“No, but from what I’ve heard, it seems to be par for the course with him.”
“It was back then too. Then Angie said ‘It’s no big deal, Mom. I’m not the first woman from church he’s dated. It’s innocent, really. We haven’t slept together or anything.’ I don’t know what happened, but I just lost it. We shouted at each other until I got fed up, slammed the door and left. I didn’t know what to do.”
She almost started crying again, but gently dabbed her eyes to dry the tears.
“When I told Larry, he knew just what to do. You see, Larry and I had written Measure B almost two years ago, but we never got around to finding support for it. Now we had a motivation. We wanted to close down New Creation. Larry said he had other reasons for wanting to close the church, but he wouldn’t tell me what they were.
“We started drumming up support for it everywhere we could. Once we got Barney Colbert from the Chamber of Commerce to sign on, he did most of our work for us. We just told everybody the whole spiel about it being good for business, and people were more than willing to endorse it. It’s not like Measure B is a bad thing, it’s just that we weren’t very clear about all our reasons for backing it.”
After Delores had finished her monologue, they both sipped coffee for two or three minutes in silence.
Jim glanced at his watch and noticed it was 8:22 a.m. He knew he only had time for one more question and he asked it.
“You said your husband had other reasons for wanting to shut down New Creation. Do you have any idea what they were?”
Delores thought for a moment before answering. “No, Mr. Mitchell, I don’t.”
As Delores hastily picked up her briefcase and was leaving, Jim asked if he could use her name for the story. He normally set the ground rules before an interview began, but she was so jittery that he waited until the end just this once.
“Heavens no!” Calming down quickly, she thought a moment before finishing her response. “Just say I’m a family friend.”
Jim reluctantly nodded his head. “OK.”
He didn’t like the situation, but he knew it was the only way to get the information he needed. Sometimes you had to bend to rules to get the story.
10
6:33 a.m. Friday, June 13
Jim woke up early on Friday and opened the front door of his loft wearing a T-shirt and old shorts and quickly walked downstairs to get his papers. Setting aside The Washington Post on the computer desk, he unwrapped the Courier and pulled out the B Section, placing the rest of the paper on the dining room chair to his right. He couldn’t believe his excitement, but there was his column. He scanned for mistakes but found none. The green-colored rectangle that contained his photo and name was faded, but he could get a brighter copy at the office. Jim picked up the rest of the paper and read the important stuff—national news, sports, and the comics—over his corn flakes and a cup of fresh-brewed coffee.
There were three messages on Jim’s voice mail when he arrived at the office. Two told him how much they appreciated his column and one told him, with a liberal dose of profanity, just what he really thought of muckrakers. Jim laughed as he saved the third message, which he promised himself he would play for Ken later.
He checked his email and noticed several messages congratulating him on his work. The one from Publisher Gary Keating was short and boring. The executive editor’s comments were more personal.
Good column, Mitchell. Glad to see there’s some fire in your belly. Keep it up!
Ted
The last message was from Melissa.
I enjoyed the column, Jim. I had fun working on the New Creation story with you. Hope we can do that again. Let’s do lunch sometime. I’ll bring my brown bag if you bring yours.
:-)
Jim chuckled as he responded to her.
I’d be happy to work together again. How’s today sound for lunch?
As part of his agreement with Ted when Jim took over the new job, they had decided Tammi would take over most of his reporting responsibilities for Emerald Valley. The two reporters had their own meeting to talk over some of the basic facts about the city. He would cover some of the more complicated details later, but he wanted Tammi to be well briefed when she took over the coverage.
He went over and chatted with Melissa for a couple of minutes, confirming their lunch “date.” He was about to go over what happened with his meeting with Delores, but Dan Palms was motioning to Jim to pick up the phone on Melissa’s desk.
“We can talk about what’s going on with our favorite councilman later,” he promised as he lifted the receiver.
The caller offered some information about members of the local water district getting kickbacks. Melissa handed Jim a notepad and a pen so he could frenetically jot down what the informant had to say. The unidentified man also agreed to email Jim written proof of the alleged transactions. Jim smiled as the man continued to share the salient details.
Sounds like the beginning of another column. This is going to be easier than I thought.
—
After spending a half-hour talking with Charlie about the ins and outs of newspaper column writing, Jim met with Melissa over brown bag leftovers. They ate their meals quickly, giving themselves plenty of time to talk before Melissa had to leave for a story.
“So, how’d things go with Delores?”
“It was one of the most bizarre meetings I’ve ever had.”
He shared the details of what Delores Holcombe had said about her daughter, Angela. Melissa listened intently to the account, asking only a f
ew questions. When he finished, they were both momentarily silent.
“You said Larry had some other concerns about New Creation. What do you think they are?”
“I have no idea. I doubt he will tell me anything, but I was going to call him today and see if I could get something out of him.”
“I was thinking we could get started on the Pastor Jeremiah story early next week.”
“Good idea. Let’s get a face-to-face with him. I want to be there to see how he reacts when we show him the Boston mug shot.” Jim smiled as he pondered the exchange.
“And I can get a couple of quotes from some local pastors. Who else should we talk to?”
Jim answered quickly. “I’ll call the mayor and get a comment from her. She’s met him before so she might have a choice word or two. I wish we could get someone from the church to comment.”
“You’re thinking about talking to your cousin, Vince, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but not on the record.” Jim responded defensively to Melissa’s inquiry. “Look, I know it’s not great that I’m writing about the church Vince goes to in the first place. But it’s not affecting my objectivity or anything. His name will never appear in the Courier in relation to Pastor Jeremiah or anyone else at New Creation. Besides, he would make too good of an anonymous source to compromise his identity.”
Melissa’s eyebrows furrowed. “Be careful, Jim. You’re walking a very fine ethical line here. You’re a professional. You know you can’t get involved with the stories you report on. What happens when you want to shade the truth because your cousin made a bad choice or something?”
“It’s never going to get that far. We just need to get a source on the inside. What do you say?”
Melissa paused a moment before replying. “I admit I’m a little leery about the idea, but I’ll back you on it. When do you want to run with this?”
“I say we try to write it by Thursday to run on Saturday. That should give us enough time to get input from all involved.”
—
1:22 p.m. Monday, June 16
Melissa called Jeremiah and told the pastor the Courier was planning to do a profile story on him and she hoped to talk to him by Thursday.
“Wednesday afternoon is the only time I have available between now and then. I’ll have to squeeze you in between a counseling appointment and a meeting where I am the main speaker, but I think we can get 15-20 minutes together. Will that work?”
“That will be just fine, Pastor.”
“Please, call me Jeremiah.”
The oily confidence practically oozed over the phone line, causing Melissa to roll her eyes. “See you Wednesday then.”
“Sounds great, Melissa. I have an idea. How about I email you some biographical information about me so you have time get in all your important questions?”
“Thank you.”
“I’m glad to help any way I can.”
They set the interview time at 3:15 p.m. and hung up.
Across the half-filled newsroom, Jim was calling the Boston Press-Register. Jim checked the row of clocks on the back wall, noting it was deadline on the East Coast.
“Metro Desk, this is Paul.”
“Hi Paul, this is Jim Mitchell from the So Cal Courier again. I’m still looking into the Jeremiah Harmon/Gerald Hartley story and I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”
“Sure, Jim, what do you need?”
“I want to get in touch with the assistant DA who prosecuted Hartley.” Jim quickly scanned the article for the name. “Edward Nichols. Do you have his phone number somewhere?”
Paul chuckled. “That shouldn’t be too hard to do, since he’s the DA now. I’ve got his private line here somewhere.”
The paper’s reporters had assembled their own comprehensive list of private and public phone numbers for contacts in the greater Boston area. All of the numbers had been entered into computer files arranged by category. Paul opened the BOSTON GOVT file and scrolled down until he found Nichols. Paul gave the number to Jim.
Jim called and left his message in a voice mailbox. He left his cell and work numbers just in case Nichols decided to call around 8 a.m. Boston time and wake Jim up before the sun rose on the West Coast. He also stressed the importance of calling back by Wednesday.
His next call was to Mayor Dewhurst. Jim called her on her cell phone, knowing it would be the most likely way to get a hold of her on a Monday. Her husband was a successful financial planner, so the mayor did not need to work. Taking advantage of this freedom, she volunteered three days a week for local charities. And unless Jim called Dewhurst on her cell phone, it could take a couple of days for her to get back to him.
“This is Marilyn.”
“Hello Madame Mayor, it’s Jim Mitchell. I’m working on a story about Pastor Jeremiah Harmon, and I wanted to get your input.”
“OK.”
“Did you know Jeremiah Harmon is a convicted felon?”
“What! Pastor Harmon was a convict? When was this?”
“Actually, the man who’s calling himself Jeremiah Harmon these days is Gerald Hartley, who was convicted of vehicular manslaughter 11 years ago in Boston. He was also heavily fined by several federal agencies for his role in swindling millions of dollars from young, middle-class couples looking to get a great deal on some short-term, high-yield investments.”
Dewhurst muttered an expletive, an atypical response from the normally reserved mayor that caused Jim to chuckle.
“Yeah, I had the same reaction when I found out… I was wondering if you think the City Council would have supported New Creation moving into the theater if they had known about this?”
“Not a chance.”
Jim was surprised by the candid answer. “Excuse me?”
Dewhurst took a deep breath. “Jim, please don’t quote me on that, OK? For the record, let’s just say we probably would not have been as supportive of the proposal if we would have had that fact in our possession. That’s probably all I had better say right now.”
Jim thanked her and hung up. He didn’t like making side deals about which comments to run and which ones to leave out. Great. I’m bending the rules again. I’d better not make a habit out of this.
He walked over to Melissa’s cubicle to share the news.
“Hey, what have you got?”
“We have an appointment with Pastor Jeremiah Wednesday at three-fifteen. I was kind of vague about what the story was about. I’m sure he doesn’t suspect anything. How did you do?”
“I got Marilyn Dewhurst to say a bad word.” Jim grinned like a schoolboy who had just pulled off a clever prank. “She was shocked to say the least. I’ve also got a call into the DA in Boston about the Hartley case. Did you talk to your pastor friends?”
Melissa looked through her notepad. “Yeah, one so far. He said he was somewhat surprised by the news but not completely. ‘Pastor Jeremiah is a very private man. I suspect there is a lot we don’t know about him yet.’ Is that a great quote or what?”
“Definitely. OK, let’s get to work on some questions for the reverend.”
“Right. I think we should map out how we are going to do the interview and who gets to drop the bombshell on him.”
“Good thinking. We’ll compare notes right before we head out there.”
Both started preparing the questions they wanted to ask of Jeremiah Harmon, a.k.a. Gerald Hartley. And Jim, for one, was not at all interested in going easy on the man.
—
7:08 a.m. Tuesday, June 17
Jim was enjoying his morning bowl of corn flakes when his cell phone rang. Putting down the Washington Post’s front section, he answered the phone, pretty sure the person on the other end was the Boston district attorney.
“Hello, this is Jim.”
“Hi Jim, this is District Attorney Edward Nichols from Boston. You left a message for me last night. I’ve got about 10 minutes. How can I help you?”
While Nichols was introducing himself,
Jim had retrieved a notepad and pen from his messenger bag. He quickly jotted down the date and “Edward Nichols, Boston DA.”
“Do you remember Gerald Hartley?” Jim asked.
“I sure do.”
“Well, since he left prison three years ago, he has come to Southern California and is running a church for recovering addicts. What do you think about that?”
“It’s not surprising he’s got himself into a position where people don’t question a word he says. I remember when we were trying him. He had this energy that made him seem genuine and believable. I mean the jury almost believed his fairy tale that because he had just learned some bad news about an old friend, his vision was blurred from tears and he didn’t see the car Jessica Gratton and her parents were in. He had several people on the jury in the palm of his hand.”
“What happened to turn the case around?”
“We had some pretty good evidence, including a credit card receipt and three solid eyewitnesses. I know he turned on the charm to beat the federal charges for the Ponzi scheme he was running. He probably played his little mind game on them and it worked.”
“Did Hartley grow up in the Boston area?”
“Actually he grew up just outside South Bend, Indiana, practically in the shadow of the golden cupola at Notre Dame, which is ironic because he spent a year taking business and psychology classes at Boston College. So much for team loyalty.” Nichols chuckled. “You a big college football fan?”
“I graduated from USC, so I have something of an affinity for the Trojans.”
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