Читать книгу Every Second - Rick Mofina - Страница 20
ОглавлениеRoseoak Park, New York
Kate spotted the woman.
She was hugging her cat in the back of a police car, amid the tangle of emergency vehicles just inside the tape.
Why have they isolated her? What does she know?
Kate had noticed her from a vantage point outside the line where she and Gabe Atwater, a Newslead photographer, had watched ESU do its work on the house.
“Got some dramatic images.” Gabe’s face was clenched behind his camera and he was gently rolling its long lens, shooting the SWAT team in the distance.
“Get one of her. In the back of the car, see? Look tight between the vans,” Kate said, nodding to the cat lady. “I want to get to her later.” She kept an eye on the woman while talking on her phone to Craig in the newsroom. He’d been monitoring ESU’s play-by-play on the scanners.
“Sounds like it’s winding down,” he said. “No one’s in the house.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Kate hung up and gave Gabe the update.
“So the mystery deepens.” He’d resumed shooting the SWAT team after a few shots of the cat lady.
“Do you see a name on a mailbox or anything?”
“Nothing.”
Kate bit her bottom lip.
Who is this family? Where are they now? And why would a manager rob his own bank?
Thanks to her years as a crime reporter, Kate knew how to read a scene, knew what to glean from it to give her stories depth and accuracy. She’d studied the same textbooks detectives studied to pass their exams. She’d researched and reported on enough homicides, fires, robberies, kidnappings, trials and a spectrum of other crimes to know the anatomy of an investigation.
Police radios that had been muted began crackling again with dispatches leaking from the emergency crews at the outer perimeter. A few dozen residents and rubberneckers from streets nearby had gathered at the line with about a dozen news types clustered at the row of TV cameras.
Kate anticipated that at any moment the perimeter tape would come down, police would rope off the house and the crime scene techs would begin to process it. While the NYPD was all over this, she knew that bank robberies also fell to the FBI’s jurisdiction. Investigators would take statements from witnesses, friends and neighbors, getting their accounts here and at the bank, or any other location that was a factor.
Some of the marked units began moving out to let traffic flow as uniformed officers began pulling down the tape.
“It’s all over, folks,” an officer said, collecting the tape. “All clear, you’re free to go.”
“What’s going on?” A TV reporter, face encased in makeup, had thrust a microphone into the officer’s face. “Can you give me a statement?”
“I don’t have any information right now.”
“Come on, we need a spokesperson on camera!”
“They’ll put out a press release later.”
Kate and Gabe walked quickly down the street toward the house. Kate was determined to stay ahead of their competition. They’d already overheard other reporters interviewing people, but getting nothing substantial.
“Police just told us to leave.”
“We had to get out.”
“We don’t know who lives down there.”
“Not sure what’s going on.”
“You know more than us.”
Kate needed someone who could give her a sense of the family, an idea of what the real story was. She couldn’t get to the cat lady in the back of the squad car, which had now moved to a distant stretch of the street.
Something’s going on with her.
Kate noticed two uniformed officers were talking to the woman. She’d have to hold off approaching her. Besides, Kate was certain no other press people had seen her so far.
Kate’s phone rang and she answered.
“Who told you to go to Queens?” Reeka asked.
“This story was breaking. Didn’t Thane tell you?”
“Thane Dolan’s not your supervisor. What you have is a local bank robbery, not a national story. I want you to do what I assigned you to do.”
“Reeka, the elements here are significant. A bank manager has robbed his own bank and there’re indications his family was taken hostage.”
A tense silence passed.
“Do you have it confirmed on the record? Is this just another case of someone passing an exaggerated note at a run-of-the-mill robbery?”
“No, I don’t have it confirmed yet, but I have a gut feeling—”
“A gut feeling?”
“Reeka, this one’s different. Why don’t you let me check this out? Unless you want AP or Reuters to break the story?”
Reeka let another few seconds pass.
“All right, you’ve got a few hours to nail this down. Otherwise you’ll be at the Hyatt covering the conference. Is that clear, Kate?”
“Crystalline.”
After hanging up, Kate nudged Gabe.
A man and woman had emerged from the curved end of the street, far down where the command post had been. They looked as though they were in their late sixties or early seventies. They went to the driveway of the house directly across from the one the SWAT team had stormed.
“Excuse me,” Kate said before anyone else saw them. “Kate Page and Gabe Atwater, we’re with Newslead.” Kate held up her press ID. “Will you talk to us a minute about what’s happened?”
The two people exchanged looks before the woman, bothered by the faint ammonia-like traces of tear gas lingering in the air, fanned her face and said: “Yes, but let’s go in the back.”
Their backyard had a glorious flower garden with mature oak trees that shaded the lush manicured lawn. A dog emerged to give Kate and Gabe a friendly greeting.
“May I get your names?” Kate asked, starting her recorder and holding her pen over a clean page in her notebook.
The man looked at the notebook and rubbed his chin, adding to the worry etched deeply in his face. Kate couldn’t tell if it was the gas, emotion or both, but the woman was fighting tears.
“Do you really need our names?” he asked. “Things are a little unsettling.”
“I understand, but in situations like this, people often accuse reporters of making things up. They don’t believe we actually talk to real people, like you.”
The man looked at the woman. “I don’t suppose giving our names could be any worse than what’s going on?”
“That’s true. I don’t care, it’s all so horrible.” The woman turned to Kate. “I’m Violet Selway and this is my husband, Ward.”
After Kate got her to spell their names, she asked: “Do you know the people next door?”
“Dan and Lori Fulton,” Ward said. “They have a son, Billy.”
“Any chance you’d know their ages?”
“Well, Billy’s nine,” Ward said.
“Dan just turned thirty-six,” Violet said. “We went to a backyard party for him, and Lori’s thirty-four.”
“Thanks. What do you think happened?”
Violet shook her head.
“Police asked us the same thing,” Ward said. “We don’t know anything. Whatever happened must’ve happened in the night. We didn’t see or hear anything. I woke up this morning, and Sam, here, Billy’s dog, was in our backyard. I thought it was strange, that he must’ve got out in the night. I took him with me and went to ring their bell this morning. No one was home. We’ll keep Sam with us until we know what’s going on.”
“How well do you know the Fultons?”
“They’re dear friends.” Violet’s voice quivered. “I drew the inside of their house for police.”
“Where do the Fultons work?”
“Dan’s the manager of the SkyNational Trust branch, and Lori’s a claims adjuster at Dixon Donlevy Mutual Life Insurance.”
“What kind of people are they, how would you characterize them?”
“The salt of the earth,” Ward said.
“Dan’s a family man,” Violet said. “Lori’s a devoted mom, and young Billy’s just a joy.”
“Any idea of trouble, stress? Or if anyone would want to harm them?”
“Absolutely not,” Ward said.
“What do you think happened?”
“We wish we knew, so we could help,” Violet said. “All we know is what police told us.”
Kate’s radar locked on that as Ward shot his wife a cautionary glance. But Kate remained casual. She was skilled at extracting information.
“That Dan robbed his own bank this morning,” Kate said, “and that there was supposedly a hostage situation at his home,” she added, inviting the Selways to elaborate. “It’s so troubling, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Violet said. “Especially since they all had bombs strapped to them.”
Kate shot a look to Violet then Ward.
“Really?”
“According to police,” Ward said.
“Did they give any indication of who’s behind it?”
“No. And now they can’t find Dan, or Lori, or Billy!” Violet sobbed into her hands and Ward put his arms around her. “I pray they’re okay!”
“I’m sorry,” Ward said. “This is too upsetting. We’ll have to end it there.”
After thanking them, Kate and Gabe returned to the street. Kate exhaled, stopped to check her notes and her recording.
Gabe, who’d stepped back during Kate’s interview, angled his camera to her, displaying the pictures he’d taken, favoring one of Violet Selway, anguished face buried in her hands, Ward’s arm around her, Sam at their feet looking up at them with big eyes.
“Distraught neighbors and the Fultons’ dog,” Gabe said.
“It’s good,” Kate said, noticing that down the block the situation had changed with the cat lady. “Let’s talk to her.”
The woman was now out of the patrol car, leaning against it, holding her cat. The officers with her had moved off to consult other cops at a van nearby.
Kate approached, smiling once the woman noticed her.
“That’s a pretty cat,” she said. “What’s her name?”
“Lacey Lou.”
“Very cute.” Kate, bearing in mind the officers were near, kept her voice soft. “I’m Kate Page, and this is Gabe Atwater. We’re with Newslead. Some neighbors of the Fultons’ have been sharing their thoughts with us. Can we talk to you briefly?”
The woman looked around as if seeking permission.
“It’ll only take a second.” Kate opened her notebook and shrugged. “You could summarize what you told police, like the other neighbors did.”
“Well, I guess it would be all right.”
“What’s your name?”
“Charlene Biddle.”
Kate took down the spelling.
“Charlene, do you know the Fultons?”
“No, I don’t. I live around the block.”
“What did you tell police?”
“Well, last night Lacey didn’t come home at her usual time. I waited and waited until I got worried. So I got up and looked for her around the block because I thought that’s where she’d gone.”
“What time was this?”
“Oh, about two or two-thirty, I’m not sure.”
“You went alone?”
“This is a good neighborhood. I wasn’t afraid.”
Gabe nudged Kate. Two men in suits had left the Selway house and were heading up the street, staring directly at Kate and Charlene Biddle.
“What happened when you went looking for Lacey?” Kate asked.
“When we got near the house there, Lacey was in the yard beside it. I called her, and she wouldn’t come—this stubborn cat has a mind of her own. I tiptoed into the yard to get her. When I did, I saw a van parked in the driveway.” Charlene nodded to the Fultons’ house. “And people were getting into it. It looked like two men were sort of...pushing a woman and smaller person into the van. It was all quiet and quick and then they drove off.”
“Do you recall—” Kate glanced at the approaching men “—do you recall any details, like a license plate?”
“I didn’t see anything clearly. It was dark. I know it was odd, but I thought it was people going home from a party, and a few of them were drunk, kidding around. I got Lacey and went home. Then this morning police came knocking on everyone’s door to move us out because of something happening, and so I told them what I saw. They wanted me to wait right here so I could talk to the detectives.”
“Okay, thanks, Charlene.” Kate closed her notebook, turned to leave.
“Hold up there!” A big-chested man, the older of the two, stepped into Kate’s space. “Who’re you?”
“Kate Page, Newslead.” She held up her ID. “This is Gabe Atwater, Newslead.” Kate tried to read the badge hanging from the older man’s chain. “Who’re you guys?”
“Detective Tilden, NYPD.”
Kate glanced at the younger man, who had a Brad Pitt thing going.
“Nick Varner, FBI. Over here, please.”
The two men took Kate and Gabe aside to talk privately.
“What’ve you got?” Kate opened her notebook, pen poised.
“We’ve got a problem,” Tilden said.
“What problem?”
“Well, for one, we don’t want you talking to our witnesses before we do,” Tilden said.
“What’d you mean? I’m exercising my right, freedom of the press.”
“Exercise it carefully,” Tilden said.
“Excuse me?”
“We’ve got a very dangerous situation here, Ms. Page,” Varner said.
“I kinda figured that, what with the SWAT team and the street sealed.”
The grim-faced men said nothing.
“Can you elaborate on dangerous?” Kate asked.
“We’ll put out a release later,” Varner said.
“Can you confirm that bombs were strapped to the Fultons?”
“I told you, we’ll put out a press release.”
“But you’re not denying that bombs were strapped to the family?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Agent Varner, can we stop this ‘can’t confirm or deny’ game?”
“Is this a game to you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Maybe before you go ahead and print anything, you should run it by us,” Tilden said.
“You’re kidding, right?”
The two men said nothing.
“Look.” Kate stared at both of them. “Why don’t you guys do your job, and I’ll do mine,” she said, closing her notebook.
