Bell to Pay

by Jeremy Waldron

  Ignoring the intense and painful throb between his legs, Loxley’s keystrokes were swift and precise as he wrote the code needed to crack into Parker’s car’s computer system, sending arbitrary diagnostics to the motherboard.

  He lifted his head, fixed his eyes on the white BMW, and hit enter.

  The tail lights came on with the engine.

  Loxley played with the wipers and blinkers, laughing while he did, before killing the engine to Parker’s car.

  Swiveling his head on his shoulders, he looked around. No one suspected a thing—didn’t think anything of the car starting all by itself. He might as well have been alone.

  His erection had gone limp, but an intense and lasting warmth bloomed across his body.

  He closed the lid on his computer and turned on his own car. Driving away from the church and Thompson’s wake, he knew where the Collins’ were heading next, and he planned to kill Parker there.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Ryan Dawson was on his way in as I was on my way out. We greeted each other at the door and then he asked for me to follow him into his office. Together, we turned around and headed back inside, weaving our way across the newsroom floor. Once his office door was closed, he turned to face me and said, “Sam, tell me, did you speak with the police?”

  My eyes glimmered. “I speak to Detective King daily.”

  Dawson didn’t budge. He kept his eyes glued to mine. I could see he meant business.

  “Yes. They found me at Richard Thompson’s residence.”

  Dawson spoke like a true reporter, fast and furious, no fluff. “Did you find any evidence suggesting he was the one to have threatened you?”

  “I wish I had gotten that far. Unfortunately, Mrs. Thompson got to me first.” I told him how she accused me of killing her husband.

  Dawson’s arms were tightly folded as he stared at the floor, nodding his head. “Then it’s true—the police are saying Richard was murdered?”

  “They certainly made me believe they’re at least exploring the possibility.”

  I summed up my afternoon getting drilled by the police, relaying the types of questions they asked and why. Dawson listened intently, not moving or asking follow-up questions until I was finished speaking. Then he said, “You should have called. And you should have been represented by the paper’s attorney. You know better, Samantha.”

  I shook my head, feeling frustrated all over again. “Thompson had the story I wrote about him. It was dated two days before ever going to print. Who could have given it to him?”

  Dawson inhaled a deep breath and I watched his eyelids click.

  “It had to be someone in this office. Someone with access to our shared folder.”

  “You didn’t keep it on a personal thumb-drive?”

  “I know my personal copies weren’t compromised. It had to come from the cloud.” I kept hinting at it being that new intern, Skinny Tree Brett Gallagher, without saying his name, but Dawson didn’t seem to catch on.

  Dawson’s eyebrows pulled together. He stared through narrowed, confused eyes. “And you’re sure it was the final draft?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It was all there. Everything we reported on his scam charity.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “But there was something else.”

  Dawson lifted his eyes.

  “A key code for a Bitcoin account was also found with my story.”

  Dawson titled his head to one side. “What the hell for?”

  “Still trying to figure it out, but it seems to me that whoever gave Thompson my story either sold it to him, or wanted it to look like I was the one attempting to blackmail him.”

  “I assume you told the police about this?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t learn about the Bitcoin digital wallet until after my interview with the police. King knows what it is now, but at the time they were still trying to figure it out.”

  “Christ, Sam, I don’t know what to say.”

  I raised both my eyebrows. “Brett Gallagher, I don’t like him.”

  “Sam, unless you have incriminating evidence against Brett, let’s keep names out of this. Okay?”

  “You heard about Donny Counts?” Dawson said he had. “Then let’s not forget how Brett was the one to have my notes on Donny open when he was only supposed to be updating my security software.”

  Dawson held my gaze for a second before edging around his desk and dropping into his chair. “Everything you’ve told me is truly concerning, and I’ll talk with Travis, see what he has to say about this. We’re still working to confirm what, if anything, was taken during the suspected hack, but maybe now we know.”

  “How long until we have an answer?”

  “Hopefully by the end of this week.”

  “That’s too long, Dawson. By then, everyone involved would have moved on.”

  Dawson raised one hand, making me pause. “Until we learn how a leak might have occurred, we keep this between us. Got it?”

  I answered with a scowl.

  Dawson raised an eyebrow and changed the subject. “We need a piece on Donny Counts.”

  “Did you assign Garcia the story?”

  “He’ll cover it. Just as he did with Richard Thompson. What I need from you is to confirm whether or not he was legit or running an elaborate Ponzi scheme like some are suggesting.”

  “What other assignments you have Garcia working?” Dawson looked annoyed by my question. Before he could answer, I said, “Parker and Joan Collins? Is he writing a story about them?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Is he or isn’t he?”

  “Not that I know of,” Dawson conceded.

  I glanced at the clock and thought about mentioning Loxley and how he seemed to be channeling his message through me, but I decided against it. I couldn’t afford loose lips to destroy the only leverage I currently held when protecting my reputation. I knew Dawson wasn’t the mole, but maybe someone close to him was.

  “I better get going,” I said. “I need to figure out how my article found its way to Thompson’s desk and if Donny’s death was an accident like the police are suggesting, or something else entirely.”

  “You think he was murdered?”

  I gave Dawson a look. “Don’t you?”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  My car had trouble starting. It was known to misbehave when the weather was cold, but not this time of year when the days were warm. I felt my blood boil with frustration. It seemed nothing could go my way. Sure, my car was getting up there in age, and despite my regular oil changes I had to face the fact that I might need to find a new pair of wheels soon. Even if it meant taking a hit to my bleak savings.

  I tried a second time. The engine clicked but nothing happened.

  I fell back into my seat with a thump and whispered a curse before asking whoever might be listening for just a little bit of luck to come my way.

  As I gave myself a minute to cool down, I relived my conversation with Dawson and couldn’t stop thinking about Brett Gallagher.

  Recalling my interaction with him, it was the way he acted as he invaded my privacy that had me distrustful of his true intention. He treated it like it was no big deal. As frustrating as it was, that Donny Counts was now dead left me suspicious.

  I pulled my cellphone out of my tote and called Travis in IT.

  “Turner here,” he answered almost immediately.

  “Travis, its Samantha Bell.”

  “Hey Samantha, what can I help you with?”

  Sounds of the highway traveled through the line, and I suspected he was behind the wheel. “Are you not in the office?”

  “Driving,” he said, quickly telling me how his office line was re-routed to his cell. “I can do the same for you if you want?”

  “No, that’s all right,” I said, thinking I received enough calls as it was. “Do you expect to be back soon? There is something I would like to speak to you about.”

  “Out of the office most of the day. Meetings,
” he grumbled. “I hope it’s not an emergency. But if it is, Brett is in the office and I’m sure he would be able help with whatever you need.”

  “No, he’s not there,” I said. “I checked already.”

  “Huh.”

  I imagined Travis scratching his head. “Have you learned any more about who might have hacked us?”

  “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

  “Really? Who said?”

  “Don’t do this to me, Sam. I like working at the Times.”

  We all did, but that didn’t mean we were all entitled to ride off into the sunset and retirement after a long, successful career with a failing paper.

  “What’s this really about?” he asked.

  “Brett had one of my folders open yesterday. The folder that contained my notes on Donny Counts.” Travis was quiet and when he didn’t respond, I added, “You heard the news, right?”

  “Wait, you’re not suggesting—”

  “I don’t know what I’m suggesting, but what I do know is that I need a favor from you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I need you to keep this between us.” I gripped my steering wheel with my free hand. “Can you give me your word?”

  “As long as it’s nothing illegal.”

  “I’m glad you think so highly of me,” I teased.

  “Sorry, Samantha, I just don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”

  I bit my lip and stared out over the sea of parked cars, their rooftops shimmering in the sunshine. “I was hoping you could confirm whether or not Brett has a Bitcoin account.”

  “For a second, you had me scared.” Travis laughed. “And can I ask what this is about?”

  “First confirm whether or not he does. Then I’ll decide if I can tell you why.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Bell.”

  “How do you think I got this far in life?”

  Travis laughed his way off the line and as soon as I ended my call with him, I turned the key and the engine finally rumbled to a quick start. “Yes!” I shouted, giddy with excitement.

  Soon I was traveling toward Rose Medical Center, thinking about Garcia and the possible reasons why he might have scribbled my name next to Parker Collins’s.

  What did I have to do with Mr. and Mrs. Collins? I wasn’t writing a story on them. Should I be? Or should I be asking Garcia who his favorite vigilante was? The whole train of thought seemed ridiculous. Garcia was a great reporter, someone you could trust. But still, there was something off that left me feeling incomplete.

  I rolled to a stop at a light and turned my head to the left.

  What the hell was he up to?

  I thought about calling his wife, Cecelia, but instead called Erin.

  “Sam, I’m at the hospital. No one is giving me access to Counts’s report.” Erin talked fast and was clearly frustrated by the hospital putting up barriers to her request. “They don’t know who they’re talking to.”

  “No they don’t.”

  “But maybe the Times still carries enough clout for someone to listen to you?”

  I told her I was five minutes out. Then I said, “I figured out the meaning of why our guy chose the name, Loxley.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Who is the vigilante who steals from the rich and gives to the poor?”

  “Robin Hood?”

  I smiled. I knew Erin Tate was a smart cookie. “Robin of Loxley. Little John, second in command of the Merry Men.”

  “Listen to you.”

  “It makes sense, though, right?”

  “But is he stealing from the rich and giving to the poor? From what I recall, Loxley has only suggested he might be behind our victims’ deaths. He’s said nothing about giving back.”

  I had come to the same conclusion, and still didn’t have a clear answer to explain that missing piece of the puzzle. But it was the closest thing we had to explaining the name Loxley without knowing any other specifics about who exactly we were after.

  “Have you been on Twitter recently?” I asked.

  “You’re referring to the rumors people are spreading about Counts running a Ponzi scheme?”

  I said I was. “If this is true—”

  “Then Loxley knew about it.”

  We were getting ahead of ourselves. First, we needed to confirm Counts’s death was something other than an unfortunate accident. Getting our hands on the hospital reports could give us the answers we needed.

  Erin told me how she was monitoring the growing resentment toward both victims while she waited for me to arrive. “It’s all very interesting, Sam. Just like our message board, what these men are accused of doing seems to have angered a lot of people.”

  Including me, I thought. “What else is being said about Counts?”

  “Oh, they’re pissed, Sam. People who used his exchange can’t access their digital coins. Unless Counts left his passwords to someone close to him, the money will be stuck there forever.”

  Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach. Innocent bystanders were going to lose everything. Garcia’s off-the-cuff comment about Counts faking his own death suddenly made a whole lot more sense. At the time, it sounded like a farfetched conspiracy theory. Now it could be Counts’s way to keeping all that money for himself.

  We needed to get our hands on the hospital reports—at the very least, a death certificate—before this thing really spiraled out of control.

  Not more than five minutes later, I entered the hospital and found Erin still demanding to see Donny Counts’s chart at the counter. She never gave up, and I knew she wouldn’t. The nurse behind the desk recognized me. “Are you with her?” she asked me.

  “I am,” I said. “I’m sorry if she’s caused you any trouble.”

  Erin glared, then turned back to the nurse. “I told you I wasn’t lying.”

  “I’ll show you the chart,” the nurse said quietly when her colleagues weren’t looking. “But only because I liked your last story. I was one of the many people who gave to Richard Thompson thinking we were doing good.”

  “I’m sorry,” I told her.

  The nurse’s hard gaze softened, but only slightly. “This is all strictly off the record. My name won’t be anywhere and you can’t publish what I show you.”

  Her round eyes volleyed back and forth between me and Erin. “I promise.”

  Her knowing eyes held mine before she finally dipped down and opened a drawer. Donny Counts’s file was thin, but conclusive. “He overdosed on his own insulin pump,” the nurse said, after I read through the report.

  “Has that ever happened before?” Erin asked the nurse, her hands planted flat on the countertop.

  “First I heard of it.” The nurse raised her brows. “But with technology, anything is possible.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “Benjamin is going to take the job, I just know it.” Susan’s distant gaze traveled across the road and watched the traffic start and stop at the light. “And what makes it so hard is that I really like him.”

  Allison reached over and pressed her hand between her friend’s shoulders. “Does he know this?”

  Susan shrugged without looking. “I assume he does.”

  “But you haven’t told him?” Allison’s brow was pinched with concern for her friend.

  Susan shook her head no, still staring at the traffic coming and going. “I’m too afraid it might change things.” She turned and looked into Allison’s chestnut eyes. “You know how quickly things can go belly up once parameters have been established.”

  “Telling the man you like him isn’t a parameter, darling.”

  “No, maybe not. But defining our relationship would be. And I don’t want to scare him away by making things too serious.”

  Allison’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “You’re having fun.”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.” Susan lifted her chin and laughed. “And now I wonder if I waited too long to tell him how I really feel. If he takes
this job, it’s over.”

  “You wouldn’t follow him?”

  “To New England? And leave you and the girls behind?” Susan’s brow furrowed. “No way.”

  Allison squeezed Susan’s hand. “Your winters would certainly be colder.”

  “I’m not leaving Denver.” Susan flicked her gaze up the sidewalk, looking again for Damien Black, hoping he’d show soon. “I love Colorado.”

  “Me, too, sister.” Allison pushed up her sleeve and checked the time. Tapping her toes, she asked, “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  Susan’s eyes flashed with disbelief as she pointed to the sign above the door. “Do you know any other Backstage?”

  “Then why don’t we go inside? He can find us there.”

  “He told me to specifically meet him at the door.” Susan peered through the glass window behind her. Her reflection stared back. Through it, she saw occasional dark shadows of movement drift across the floor. There were people inside but it wasn’t Damien. They’d checked when they arrived, and now they were stuck waiting beneath the intense afternoon sun for someone they barely knew, wondering if he’d show at all.

  “I don’t get it, why would he do that?” Allison questioned.

  “I don’t know.” Susan palmed her cellphone and checked to see if Damien messaged back. “He made it sound like he wanted everything inside to be a surprise.”

  Allison looked her friend in the eye and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Susan’s tone hardened as if suddenly feeling offended.

  “First, you’re worried because he picks you up out of the blue and convinces you to meet him here. Now you’re filled with doubts he’ll even show by making you wait.”

  Susan crossed her arms, lowered her brow, and inched closer to Allison. “What’s your point?”