Читать книгу Vengeance Road - Rick Mofina, Rick Mofina - Страница 13

Gannon turned around to see the receptionist’s puzzled face.

“Aren’t you going to go in?” she asked, holding a stack of files she appeared to be delivering.

“No, I was just leaving.” He kept his voice down as he walked to the door. “I have to go.”

“Well, I forgot to have you sign in,” she said. “But if you’re done I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Gannon waved his thanks, headed to his car, hurrying when he got to the lot. He pulled away, a thousand concerns shotgunning through his mind as he struggled to concentrate on what he’d heard.

A detective was the prime suspect in Bernice Hogan’s murder.

This was big. Huge.

He wouldn’t alert the desk yet, not until he nailed it. He had to keep this to himself until he had it in the bag.

Never oversell a story.

First things first.

He had to confirm the name behind K.S. and the police department the suspect worked for. He had an idea and drove downtown to the headquarters of the Buffalo and Erie County Public Library system. The building took up two city blocks in Lafayette Square.

He went to the public computer terminals and logged into the databases for the city of Buffalo employee listings by department. The Buffalo Police Department was the area’s largest police force.

Let’s start here, he thought as he began searching the BPD’s directory for all officers whose surname started with an S.

Damn.

They were not ordered alphabetically but rather by seniority. With more than eight hundred officers to check, this would take time. Page after page of names blurred before he found a K.S.

Ken Smith. Then another. Kim Sailor. Then another. Kent Sanders. And another. Kevin Sydowski.

By the time he was done, he’d mined nine possibilities from the Buffalo Police Department. He moved on to the database for officers with the Erie County Sheriff’s Office. After searching some four hundred names there, he had three more candidates: Kal Seroudie, Kyle Sawchuk, and Keen Sanchez.

But there were numerous police departments that served greater Buffalo, like the Cheektowaga Police Department, the Amherst Police Department, Hamburg, North Tonawanda, West Seneca, and Ascension Park, to name a few.

He continued scouring the databases.

As time passed he realized that he would never get through them all. He stopped to think. So far, he had some sixteen possibilities, but this was turning out to be a needle-in-a-haystack search.

He needed help confirming the name.

He’d use another option.

He abandoned the computer, went to a public telephone and called the private number of the person he’d seen at the meeting. He hadn’t talked to his source for some time and was reluctant to push, but the stakes were high.

No one answered.

He left a message then returned to the newsroom, which was in full midday mode with reporters talking on phones, or typing at keyboards, or huddled with editors discussing stories. Gannon had grabbed a BLT in the cafeteria and was threading his way to his desk.

“Hey, Jack, what’ve you got?” Tim Derrick held up his clipboard listing the stories for tomorrow’s paper. “I’m heading into the meeting. I’ve got you skedded for a follow-up on the investigation into Hogan.”

“I’m expecting more information. I’ll let you know if it falls through.”

“Remember, Nate’s counting on you for a scoop.”

As Gannon settled in at his desk and prepared to eat his late lunch, his phone rang. He answered after getting two quick bites down.

“Jack Gannon, Buffalo Sentinel.”

“I got your message.”

The caller’s number was blocked but he knew the voice.

“Thanks. It’s been a while,” he said. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know me. Same old same old. And you?”

“I’m a bit under the gun. I need a favour,” he said.

“Something to do with Hogan?”

“I understand they’re looking at a cop for it?”

Silence hissed in his ear.

“Why ask me?” the caller asked.

“I figured you might know something. I’m poking around everywhere.”

Another stretch of silence passed.

“Listen,” Gannon said, “I need to confirm what I’ve learned. I think the suspect’s initial’s are K.S. and I need to clarify some details.”

After considering the situation, the caller said, “Jack, you have to guarantee that you will protect the source of this information.”

“You have my word.”

“You don’t give my name to anyone.”

“That’s right.”

“It’s true. Your information is solid.”

He stared at nothing. His breathing quickened.

“And this is from inside the investigation?” Gannon asked.

“Absolutely. I was at a case meeting today.”

“Who’s the cop?”

“A detective with the Ascension Park Police Department.”

“Got a name for me?”

“Karl Styebeck.”

Gannon thumbed the cap off of his pen, found a fresh page in his notebook and started writing, oblivious to the newsroom activity.

Styebeck.

“I’ve heard his name before,” Gannon said.

“Check your archives, he’s some kind of hero.”

“You’re absolutely sure we can go with this in the paper?”

“Dead certain.”

“Thank you.”

Pen clamped between his teeth, Gannon launched into a search of the Sentinel’s news databases, the archives of every community newspaper in the region, the Web site of the Ascension Park Police Department and various community sites online.

Soon, he had enough from community papers for a short biography.

Karl Styebeck was a decorated twelve-year veteran who coached children’s sports teams, volunteered for charity runs and gave stranger-awareness talks in Ascension Park schools. On Sundays, he went to church with his wife, Alice, and their son, Taylor. Occasionally, he sang in the choir.

This guy’s a saint.

Several years back Styebeck was off duty, returning from a Bills game, when he came upon a house fire. He’d rushed into the burning building and rescued four children. They’d been left alone by their parents who’d gone to a casino at the Falls. For his bravery, Styebeck was awarded a Chief’s Citation.

Now he’s suspected of murdering a nursing student.

Gannon had to confirm his information with the state police.

He called Clarence Barracks and asked them to convey an urgent message to Michael Brent, the lead investigator.

“What does this concern?” the duty trooper asked.

“Information about the Hogan homicide.”

“I’ll pass your message to him.”

Five minutes later, Gannon’s line rang.

“This is Mike Brent, New York State Police.”

“Thanks for getting back to me. Sir, I’m seeking your reaction for a story we’re preparing for tomorrow’s Sentinel that will report that Detective Karl Styebeck, of the Ascension Park Police Department, is the suspect in the murder of Bernice Hogan.”

Brent let several moments of icy silence pass.

“I cannot confirm your information,” Brent said.

“Is my information wrong?”

Silence.

“I would hold off writing anything like that and save yourself a lot of grief.”

“What? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“I can’t confirm your information.”

“But you don’t deny it?”

“I think we’re done here.”

“Sir, you have not denied the information that Styebeck is a suspect.”

Brent hung up.

Gannon circled the few notes he’d taken from Brent and weighed matters. Brent wouldn’t have warned him to hold off if his information was wrong. Because if it was wrong Brent wouldn’t have cared, which told Gannon that his information had to be dead on the money.

No way was he going to sit on a story this big and risk letting the Buffalo News scoop him.

There was only one more person to confront with the story.

Karl Styebeck.