Читать книгу Thicker Than Water - Maggie Shayne, Maggie Shayne - Страница 11

When Sean returned to the newsroom, he noticed three things. First, the early-morning bustle of the place had slowed to a hum. Reporters were making calls from their partition-separated desks, and several had already left to cover stories. Second, his office door was marked for him by the handful of foil balloons tied to the knob. It was just past the newsroom on the right. An office hadn’t been part of the initial offer, but he’d insisted on one as part of the deal, then been surprised that WSNY had agreed readily to that and everything else he’d asked for. Jones would probably be livid when she found out.

The third thing he noticed, after walking into his new digs, was the new suit hanging from a hook in the wall. A red tie, white shirt, navy jacket. They’d even included the pants. He pursed his lips and leaned back into the hallway, glancing toward the glass-enclosed office attached to the newsroom. The news director was inside at his desk, the phone to his ear. He gave Sean a smile and a thumbs-up.

Sean took two steps in that direction before his beeper went off. “Hell.” He took it out, glanced at it and read the text message. Then he sighed and hurried across the hall to Jones’s office, reminding himself that now that they were partners, scooping her was no longer the goal. Getting dirt on her would still be fun, but it would be purely for entertainment purposes. He walked in without knocking.

She looked up from her computer as if irritated. “What now?”

“Blackwood’s name is being released. We got the go. They’re holding a press conference in…” He glanced at his watch. “Forty minutes.”

“Call them, get the details and meet me in the studio.” She was already around the desk, pushing past him into the hall and running for the newsroom, shouting Allan’s name.

Five minutes later, Sean headed into the studio with a sheet of scribbled notes.

Jones was at the anchor desk, a hand mirror propped in front of her, wielding a hairbrush with one hand and a makeup brush with the other. She dropped the brushes and dug in her bag. “Where the hell is my mascara?”

Amazing. A few minutes ago she’d looked scattered, sleep deprived and a little wild. Now she looked smooth, composed and flawless. She’d tamed her hair into a respectable bun and slapped on a coat of makeup so fast it made his head spin.

He handed her the sheet of notes and sat down in the chair next to her.

“Sean, you need to change!” called a fresh-faced kid he didn’t know, the one who’d given up his seat at that morning’s meeting and now stood nearby with the blue suit in his hand. “Just from the waist up. Hurry.”

From the control booth, a tinny voice announced, “Thirty seconds.”

Sean glanced at the kid, licked his lips. Might as well get fired now as later, he thought. “Look, you guys need to get used to this. I don’t do the suit thing. I’m not that kind of newsman.” As he spoke, he stuck a tiny microphone up underneath his shirt, out the neck and clipped it to his collar.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jones said, scowling at him. “You don’t need to be here at all.”

“Standby one.”

“I’m here, and I’m staying,” he said. “You just read the report and don’t sweat it.”

She frowned so hard he thought her face would break.

“Roll one!”

The transformation was instant and nothing less than amazing. Her frown vanished as she lifted her eyes to the camera in front of her. The monitor, which Sean could see off to the left, switched from a “News-Four Special Report” screen to her poised, elegant, no-nonsense face—a face that said “You can trust me” without a single word. She began to read almost without glancing down.

“This is a News-Channel Four Exclusive Special Report. Police have just confirmed the identity of the man found lying dead in an Armory Square hotel room last night as Harry Blackwood, brother of New York’s own Senator Martin Blackwood. The death is listed as suspicious and is under investigation. I was on the scene of this story last night,” she read, “with invaluable assistance from Team Four’s newest member, and my new partner, Sean MacKenzie. Sean?”

“Roll Two!” the control room announced.

The red light on camera one blinked out, and the one on camera two came on. Sean knew the monitor now showed both of them, and he tried to look serious as he recited the lines he’d planned on the way down the hall. “Thanks, partner,” he said. He saw sparks flying from her eyes, knew they were invisible to everyone but him and deflected them with a smug half smile. Then, facing the camera, “Team Four will have full coverage and late-breaking details of this tragedy as they unfold. Keep it here, folks. This is where you’ll get the inside stuff. Until then, this is Sean MacKenzie…” He looked her way.

“And Julie Jones for News Channel Four,” she said, not missing a beat.

The light went out.

“You’re clear.”

Jones yanked the microphone from her lapel, tugged it out from the back of her blouse—he hadn’t thought of running the wire up his back, good tip—and got to her feet. “Invaluable assistance?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“That was not necessary,” she told him.

“No, but it was perfect.”

“What the hell was that ‘inside stuff’ comment, anyway? I hope you don’t think you can bring your tabloid techniques here with you, MacKenzie, because we won’t tolerate that at this station.”

“Bullshit. Viewers are twice as intrigued now, and you can bet they’ll be tuning in later. As for my techniques, I’m pretty sure they’re what got me hired.”

She didn’t growl at him, but he thought it was close. Then she swung her gaze away, pinning the news director to the floor with her eyes.

Allan returned a slow smile while rubbing his hands. “You two are dynamite together. Now, grab a cameraman and get to that press conference, pronto.”

“Both of us?” Jones asked.

“Julie, from now on everything you do, you do together. You follow?”

She closed her eyes, clenched her fists and left the studio.

Sean had to give her credit for speed. She didn’t mess around—just dashed into her office, grabbed her jacket and a larger bag, and then joined him in the white SUV in the parking lot, sliding into the passenger seat, then turning to look at him as if he shouldn’t be there.

“You keep frowning every time you look at me and you’re gonna get wrinkles, Jones.”

“The photographers usually drive,” she said. “You’re going to piss off whoever is coming with us.”

“No chance of that.” He started the car, put it in reverse, backed out of the parking space. “No one was available. All out on assignment, and we haven’t got time to wait. Allan told me to handle it.”

She lifted her brows. “Sean MacKenzie saves the day, huh?”

He pulled into traffic. “You wanna hold the camera and let me do the report, I’ll be more than happy to let you.” He glanced her way. “Buckle up, Jones.”

She pulled on her seat belt as he drove. “Where’s the press conference? And who will be there?”

“Outside City Hall. Chief Strong, Senator Blackwood naturally, I don’t know who else.”

“Those cops from last night, I hope.”

He glanced at her. “No word on your keys yet?”

She shook her head.

“You ever get your car outta there?”

“Allan said he’d send one of the interns for it this afternoon. I left my spare set of keys with him.”

“So it doesn’t matter so much—about the other set, I mean.”

It did, he could see it did, but he didn’t know why. “No,” she told him, and he knew it was a lie. “Doesn’t matter at all.”

They arrived at City Hall. Several other news stations had reporters on the scene, setting up to cover the press conference, but none, he was pleased to see, had sent their evening anchors. To them, it had been just another murder in a year that had already broken the record for violent crime in Central New York. They hadn’t been prepared, and the press conference was being given on very short notice.

“Perfect,” he whispered, pulling the Jeep into a parking spot at an odd angle and jumping out. He opened the back door, yanked out the camera and balanced it on his shoulder. With his free hand, he snapped on the headphone.

“You just stay behind the camera where you belong,” Jones said, adjusting her earphone, picking up the microphone case and getting out, as well.

She took the lead, shouldering her way through the other reporters, most of whom were, he guessed, a little too starstruck to call her on her rudeness. There was no question who was top dog among those present. No other local celebs stood around. None. The sea of bodies parted, grudgingly, to let them pass. Jones commandeered a spot near the podium that had been set up on the front stairs, then turned to face him and almost bumped into the camera.

He backed up two paces, looked through the lens at her, wondered who the hell had ever sculpted a face that perfect or eyes that full of mystery. He saw secrets in those eyes and wondered how the hell he’d missed them up to now.

“How do I look?” she asked, and he knew she wasn’t fishing for compliments. She wanted him to tell her if there was spinach in her teeth or a hair standing up straight on top of her head. There wasn’t.

“You’ll do.”

She narrowed her eyes on him, brought the microphone to her lips, adjusted her own nearly invisible earpiece. “You ready back there?”

“Going live in thirty. Stand by.”

She cleared her throat, licked her lips.

“Ten seconds, Julie.”

She lifted her chin, faced the camera.

“Roll Live-Eye.”

“This is Julie Jones, coming to you live outside City Hall, where Senator Blackwood and Syracuse Police Chief Strong are expected to deliver a press conference any minute now. As some of you may already know, late last night, News-Channel Four had the only team on the scene when a man was found dead in an Armory Square hotel room. In a News-Four Exclusive, just under an hour ago, we were the first to report his name—Harry Blackwood, brother of Senator Martin Blackwood.”

Sean knew she was watching him, waiting for him to signal her as soon as anyone appeared at that podium up the stairs at her back, but no one had. He thought she was running out of things to say and worried about how she would fill the time if the press conference started late.

“Most Central New Yorkers know Harry Blackwood as a controversial figure, one who had numerous scrapes with the law and a less than stellar reputation. This leaves many of us to speculate on whether his lifestyle and known underworld associates could have any connection to his untimely death, a death police are calling suspicious, though I suspect we’ll be hearing more on that shortly. Officially, I can say only that having been at the crime scene before Blackwood’s body was removed, there was little doubt in my mind as to the cause of death. Without official permission, I cannot tell you much beyond that, except that the scene was a disturbing one that I’ll see in my mind’s eye for a long time to come.”

Sean lifted his eyes from the camera to look at her directly and gave her a slow nod of approval. Sell it, he thought. For someone who claimed to dislike sensationalism, she sure was a master at it.

“News-Four will continue to bring you complete coverage of this investigation as the day unfolds, and—”

The doors behind her opened, and Sean lifted a hand, finger pointed in that direction.

“And now it looks as if the press conference is about to begin.”

Sean turned the camera’s eye on the podium, as Julie said, “Senator Martin Blackwood.”

Blackwood cleared his throat. He looked as if he’d had a long night without much sleep, but he’d shaved and slicked up for the event. “Good afternoon. It grieves me to have to be here to tell you that my brother, Harold Blackwood, was killed last night. The police have told me that they do suspect foul play, but I’ll let them comment on that. I only want to say that this is a difficult time for my family. No matter what people may have thought about my brother, he remained just that—my brother. I would be very grateful to all of the members of the press if you would allow me and my family the time and privacy to grieve the loss of a man we loved very much. That’s all I have for you today.”

Immediately reporters began shouting questions. Jones, though, had the advantage of being dead center of the senator’s line of sight, and probably, Sean added silently, the advantage of being stunning enough to stop any man’s eyes from looking past her. Besides, her face was a familiar one.

“Senator, can you tell us anything about the funeral arrangements?”

The senator sighed, nodded once. “We’re having a private ceremony, Julie, and we’ve chosen not to disclose the particulars, as I’m sure you understand.”

While she had his full attention, she said, “Of course. Who do you think is responsible for this, Senator?”

He was surprised. She’d slid the real question right on the heels of the mundane, boring one and nailed him with it. He replied before he could censure himself. “I only wish I knew.”

Then, licking his lips, he let one of his aides hustle him away from the microphone, with the press still shouting questions.

Chief Strong, a burly man with a salt-and-pepper crew cut and a face like granite, stepped up to the podium, holding up his hands for silence. “The Syracuse Police Department have several strong leads in this investigation, which is being headed up by Lieutenant Cassandra Jackson. We are not releasing any details regarding cause of death at this time. To do so could impede and hamper the investigation. We will keep the press fully informed, so long as you all cooperate with us in our efforts. Thank you.”

“Do you have any suspects?” someone shouted.

He turned to give a reply that was not an answer. Sean kept taping, but as he did, he noticed one of the uniformed cops from last night sidling up to Julie, tapping her shoulder, and speaking near her ear. She nodded at him, then glanced back at Sean and crooked her finger. He put the camera back on her.

“There you have it, the official statement from Senator Blackwood, requesting privacy for his family to grieve this tragic loss. Chief Strong is playing this one very close to the vest—but if doing so will help catch a killer, then News-Four applauds him in that decision.”

Sean scowled over the camera at her and then made kissing-up lips at her.

“One thing is obvious from what Chief Strong had to say here, and that is that this case is being treated as a homicide investigation. Lieutenant Jackson, named by the chief as the detective heading up this investigation, is one of the Syracuse P.D.’s top homicide detectives. We’ll have more on this as the story develops. This is Julie Jones for News-Channel Four.”

Sean flicked off the camera and lowered it from his shoulder. “Not kissing up to the Police Department or anything, are we?”

She said, “I figured it couldn’t hurt. They want to see us both inside.”

“Now?”

She nodded, turned and led the way back through the crowd, around to a side entrance, where a uniformed cop waited to take them inside. He paused at a reception desk. “You can leave the camera here,” he told Sean.

Sean lifted his brows but complied. Then they were taken into an interrogation room, where Lieutenant Jackson waited. She sat at a table, wearing a pair of shapeless navy-blue slacks and a white button-down blouse. A blazer hung over the back of the wooden chair, and she got up when they walked in. Her hair, long and butterscotch-blond, was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore no makeup. How the hell a woman could dress that blandly and look that good was beyond Sean, but he did enjoy her. She was a good cop, an honest one, and she didn’t hate his guts, always a quality he admired in a woman.

Jax smiled very slightly at Sean; then her eyes met Julie’s and turned chilly. She cleared her throat. “Sit. This won’t take long.”

Jones sat. So did Jax. Sean stayed standing, interested in the slight animosity he sensed between the two women. He hadn’t noticed it before and wondered about it.

“I assume you can both make a pretty fair guess at the cause of death in the Blackwood case, being that you were there when it happened,” Jax said.

“After it happened,” Jones corrected, maybe a little too quickly.

“That’s what I meant.”

Sean didn’t think that was what she’d meant at all. Especially if the way she’d been watching Jones’s face as she’d said it was any indication.

“Just what is it you want, Lieutenant Jackson?” Jones asked.

The cop frowned. “Your cooperation. I want you to keep the cause of death to yourselves. Say nothing about the crime scene. Not even little hints like the one you just dropped on the air, Ms. Jones, about how gruesome it was.”

Julie seemed to be thinking that over. “Can I ask why?”

“Because only a handful of people outside the police know the details. You two, the hotel employee who found the body—and the killer.”

Sean nodded. “I get it. You’ll be able to rule out false confessions by nutcases who don’t guess right on how Blackwood was killed. I think my partner and I would be glad to make you that promise, Jax, but we’d really like something in return.”

He saw Jones flinch and grimace a little when he called the woman by her nickname.

“Why am I not surprised? You always want something in return, Sean.”

“Oh, come on, I’m not demanding a date.”

“Not this time, anyway.” The lieutenant, smiling a little, lowered her sky-blue eyes, and shook her head. “There’s nothing I can release just yet, Sean.”

“You have any suspects?” Sean asked.

“Everyone Harry knew is a suspect.”

“But you’ve narrowed it down.”

The lieutenant nodded. “Yes.”

“To?”

Jax looked from one of them to the other. “You didn’t release the name last night, even though you knew who he was. You haven’t mentioned the cause of death. So far, you’ve kept your word. You can’t release this tidbit, either, not until I give you the okay. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Sean said. He glanced at Julie, but instead of sitting on the edge of her seat in glee, she looked pale, a little pinched around the mouth. Almost scared.

“We think it was a woman.”

Sean was still looking at Julie when Jax said that, but he could see both women, and he knew Jax was watching Jones like a hawk watching a wounded rabbit. He thought Jones flinched and hoped the hell the lieutenant hadn’t noticed.

“What makes you think so?” he asked Jackson.

“We found some makeup in the bathroom. I can’t say any more than that.”

Jones closed her eyes, but only very briefly. To Sean, her body language said “Oh, shit,” but aloud she said nothing, and he doubted Jax was picking up her subtle signals as clearly as he was—and then wondered why he was so tuned in.

“Keep your promise,” Jax warned. “Quite frankly, News-Four is the only station in town that hasn’t burned us. We’ll work with you if you keep it that way.”

“Not so much because you like us as to teach the others a lesson?”

“You’re a sharp one, MacKenzie. Just don’t let it go to your head.” Jax glanced at Jones. “You all right? You look a little pale.”

“Yeah. I just—It was quite a scene last night. I’m still not over it.”

“Understandable.” The lieutenant got to her feet. “Best get her out of here, MacKenzie. And remember what you agreed to here.”

“Will do.” Sean slid a protective arm around Julie, drawing her to her feet as if she were the poor, traumatized little female and he the big strong protective male.

That was all it took. Her head came up fast, and she snapped right the hell out of her little daze. “I’m fine,” she snapped. “And not in need of help, Lieutenant, though your concern is touching.”

With that, she headed for the door under her own steam, yanked it open and started down the hall. Sean caught up to her after retrieving the camera from the reception desk. “Hey, someone set your shoes on fire or what?”

“I just want to get out of here.” She stalked to the SUV and didn’t even try to get behind the wheel.

Sean set the camera in the back seat, then got in beside her. “What’s wrong? What did she say in there that knocked you on your ass like that?”

“Nothing. Nothing knocked me anywhere. I’m fine.”

“To hell you are. You didn’t even remember to pop in on Officer Friendly to ask if he found your car keys.”

She dug in her blazer pocket, pulled out a gold key-ring shaped like a pair of J’s and let the keys dangle from it. They were labeled. There was the magnetic strip that unlocked the doors at the station, a key marked “car,” another marked “office,” another marked “files.”

“He gave them to me when he told me about our invitation to see the token female,” she said.

“Me-ow.” She scowled, but Sean wasn’t going to let that remark go. “Jax is no token, she’s a damn good cop. And it wouldn’t hurt you any to treat her a little better. She can be a reporter’s best friend.”

“Oh, is that what she is? Your best friend?”

He gaped, totally thrown by this side of Jones and at a loss for words.

“Screw it,” she said. “At least I got my keys back. The officer said someone turned them in at the hotel’s front desk. Which doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense, but at least they’re—oh, shit!”

“What?” He glanced at her, saw her staring at the keys, her eyes wider than they had been two seconds ago. “What?”