Tempting the Devil (12 page)

Mason Parker shook his head. “Ms. Stuart is not obligated at this point to reveal her source.”

“Then you will release it at some point?”

“That's up to Ms. Stuart.”

“She can be subpoenaed.”

“I think this conversation is over,” Mason Parker said as he stood.

Taylor leveled a stare at her that would have frozen hell. “Murder. Drugs. Prostitution. Corruption. Do you really want to protect that?”

“If I did, I wouldn't have written the story,” she said, ignoring the attorney. Anger seethed deep inside.

“Good intentions or not, you're impeding an investigation,” Taylor said sharply. “Someone else might die because of it.”

A suffocating sensation tightened her throat, but after a few seconds she defended herself. “There would have been no story if I had not promised,” she shot back. “Then you wouldn't have what you might have now.”

“Ms. Stuart,” the attorney cautioned.

“If someone didn't think they could hide behind you,” Taylor retorted, “they might have come to us.”

That, too, could be true. She'd watched Sandy's personal agony.

“We're through here,” Mason Parker said sharply. “If you have any more questions, bring them to me.”

Robin saw the anger in Taylor's face, the frustration. But he rose with his partner. “We'll keep in touch.” Then he walked out with the easy grace she'd noticed before, a grace that made her feel that much more awkward.

After the door closed, Richard Reese turned to her. “We'll support you in whatever you decide, but I think they'll try to compel you to talk. You could go to jail. Be aware of that. We wouldn't be able to help you there except to continue your salary.”

Mason Parker tapped his pencil on a notebook. “Try to get your source to come forward. Talk to the FBI about giving him protection.”

“He already said that wasn't an option. He said the bad guys go after families, and both he and his wife have large extended families in the county.”

“Ask him to think about it again.”

She stood, her legs as unsteady as the first time she'd stood after the accident. Still, the adrenaline was back.

“One more thing,” the attorney said. “We've been notified that the sheriff's department might file suit against us. You are no longer welcome in their offices.”

“They can't ban me. It's public space.”

“You won't get anything,” Reese broke in. “Wade, maybe you should put someone else with the sheriff's department. Ms. Stuart can work the county police department and other aspects of the case.”

“That's giving in to them,” she protested. “They shouldn't be able to decide what reporters—”

“Perhaps not, but unlike Atlanta, where politicians worry about public reaction, I don't think Meredith County people give a damn.” Reese shrugged. “I'll leave it up to Wade.” He grinned conspiratorially. “I suspect most of them hate our guts already. The liberal Atlanta press. Might as well give them more heartburn.”

Ben swore as he slammed down on the brake as the traffic light changed.

“That went well,” Mahoney quipped. “What do we do now?”

“Get her away from her minders.”

“You think charm will do it? Then better me than you,” Mahoney said with a sly smile.

“Holland indicated the same thing,” Ben said dryly. “I lost my temper. I'm so damned tired of reporters thinking they're above the law. They twist what you say, they cast blame without knowing what the hell they're talking about, then they sit snug and safe after they start their damn fires.”

“She was right, though. We wouldn't have even as little as we do without her story and anonymous source.”

“It's not enough. Her story doesn't officially put us on the case. It could be nothing but one person's suppositions or paranoia. Damn it, we need to interview that source to know whether the report is credible.”

“I'll start an extensive background check on her. Maybe our boss got the okay for a search warrant.”

“I'm not sure the U.S. attorney has the balls to take on the press.”

“He wants to take down Hydra as much as we do. It would be damned good for his career.” Mahoney didn't have to add what they all knew: that Joseph Ames would do almost anything to promote his own career. And right now press credibility wasn't that great.

“She's kinda pretty,” Mahoney added with a leer.

“Haven't noticed,” Ben lied. “Don't forget you're a married man.”

“I'm thinking about you,” Mahoney countered. “It's time you started thinking about women again.”

“I do think about them, but I'm too poor to do anything about it,” Ben said. “Every extra penny I have goes for Dani.”

“It's not just that, and you know it. You shouldn't feel so damned guilty.”

Ben silenced him with a look. “I'm content as I am. And if I were inclined to seek female companionship, I sure as hell wouldn't go after a reporter.”

“She's got a thing for you,” Mahoney said as the car slowed. “Betcha a beer.”

“You're wrong.”

“I know you hate the press, with good reason, but they're not all like Ceci Walker.”

“They're all a bunch of jackals,” Ben replied.

Mahoney grinned and spread his hands. “Okay. But you research her while I talk to U.S. Attorney Ames. He likes me better than you. We'll compare notes tonight. Over a beer.”

“Your wife approves?”

“She understands,” Mahoney corrected.

“Don't ever believe that, pal. You think they do. They think they do. Then one day you wake up and realize it's all been a myth.”

After the meeting with Wade and the other reporters, Robin went into the restroom and splashed cold water on her face.

The combativeness was gone. The adrenaline had faded. Mason had made it clear what she faced. And Ben Taylor's anger left its mark. She resented the contempt in his voice, but it struck home. Was she really doing the right thing?

She'd just defied the FBI. That was a big thing for the daughter of a man who lived for duty, honor, country. She didn't think he would approve.

Jack Ross would. She used her cell phone to call him.

He picked up immediately.

“Jack, this is Robin.”

“Great stuff, kid,” he said.

Some of the uncertainty left her. Jack Ross had been her mentor, a Pulitzer Prize winner, when she'd first joined the paper. He'd been the political editor and had taken her under his wing. It was one reason she'd moved up so quickly. It had been friendship only. She became part of his family, as close to his wife as she was to Jack.

She'd learned writing, and reporting, and regret from him. Years earlier, he'd authored a series on prisons, using a number of anonymous sources. He gave one up, and that person was killed in prison. He'd never completely recovered from it, and he'd started drinking heavily, a habit that eventually forced him from the paper.

“Whatever you do, kid,” he told her over and over again, “never give up your source. In this business, if you don't have trust, you don't have anything.”

“They say they're going to subpoena me,” she said.

“They won't keep you long. Public pressure's too strong. Hang in there, Robin.”

The words were a balm, an affirmation.

“Another thing,” he said. “Make sure your notes are safe. That's what got me.”

After she ended the call, she weighed how to protect and preserve her notes and the tape she had. She considered destroying them, but if the paper were sued or she needed proof of the conversation for some reason …

She couldn't use a safe-deposit box. If she refused to answer questions, they might try to subpoena her notes. She couldn't send them to one of her sisters, not without drawing them into this. Same thing, friends. She could try to bury them somewhere, but she didn't like that idea, either.

She compromised. She left the office and stopped at a pay phone in a convenience store. She called information and found the number of a former classmate and friend. A mutual acquaintance had told her he had a law practice in Santa Rosa, California.

In minutes, she'd found him and even got him on the line.

“Shelby, this is Robin Stuart.”

“Robin—God, it's been years. Where are you?”

“Atlanta. The
Observer
.”

“What you always wanted.”

So he remembered. “Yes.”

“Is this a hello call or something else?”

“Something else. I would like to hire you.”

“In California?”

“Particularly in California.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “Am I to ask any questions?”

“No. But it's nothing illegal. What would you suggest as a retainer?” A retainer would establish the attorney-client relationship.

“What services do you need?” he replied cautiously.

“To hold on to a package.”

“That's it?”

“Yep.”

“Then five dollars will do. A bargain-basement price for you.”

“Thanks. I'll send the package along with a five-dollar bill.”

“I'll need your signature. I can e-mail you the document.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Not here.”

“Where?”

She thought a moment. “I'll call you back as to where to send it. What's your address?”

He gave it to her.

“Keep it safe,” she said. “It could be important.”

“It's a pleasure serving you,” he said with mock humility. “When are you going to be in town?”

“I don't know.”

“Robin, it's good to hear from you.” His voice turned serious. “I don't know what you're involved with, but be careful.”

She drove home, gathered her tapes and written notes, and put them into a large, padded envelope, adding a five-dollar bill. She carefully wrote Shelby Mann's address on it. Then she erased every address from her computer address book, as well as most on her cell phone.

On her way to the office, she slipped the envelope into a post office collection box. Once back at the office she started calling all her sources for the next day's story. She quickly learned her earlier story had made an impression. The sheriff refused to take her call, as did every other source she tried. Some just hung up on her. Others explained they could no longer talk to her.

Bob Greene was working all his police sources. The investigative reporter, Cleve Andrews, was trying to trace down the ownership of the land where the officers were killed.

She wrapped up the report at six after being on the phone for four hours. She led with the blanket denial from the sheriff's office that it had any connection to the shooting, or that any deputy was told not to go by the crime scene the night of the murders.

Much of the rest was a retelling of facts.

Her phone rang.

“Hi, it's Michael. We met a few nights ago at Charlie's.”

“I remember.”

“I was hoping I could take you to dinner tonight. To celebrate the story.”

Surprised, she considered the offer. She hadn't had a real date in two years. Since she'd returned, she tired much too quickly at night.

Michael Caldwell. She'd liked him. He hadn't made her heart jump or raised the temperature when he was in close proximity, but she was comfortable with him.

“Sorry,” she said with real regret. “I'm really beat.”

“Tomorrow?” he asked hopefully.

“I'm not sure. Depends on the story.”

“I'll check with you again soon.”

She hung up. Part of her regretted the refusal. It would be nice to be normal. But she desperately needed some sleep. Perhaps tonight she wouldn't see the bodies in her dreams, or nightmares.

Bob Greene approached her desk. “Great job. What about a beer?”

She stretched. “I'm heading home.”

“This source,” he said, “you're sure of him?”

“Or her,” she corrected. “Yes, I am.”

He waited, obviously hoping she would share more information. She wanted to. She didn't want to keep this to herself. It was becoming a far greater burden than she'd envisioned when Sandy had extracted his promise.

“Be careful,” he said. “If your source is right and it is Hydra, they'll want to eliminate anyone who might know something about them. They thrive in the dark.”

“Tell me more about Hydra.” She'd researched it on the computer, but there was very little of substance.

“Nobody knows much. Neither the locals nor the feds have been able to penetrate the organization. At least that's what I've heard. No one really knows how big it is. The rumors are out there. Fear's out there.”

“Then every crime could be attributed to it,” she said. “The myth grows.”

“Could be. Could also be it's all true.”

“It could corrupt a whole sheriff's department?”

“Corrupt some members. Scare others.”

“What do you think?”

“I think three dead policemen say someone is real serious about concealing something.”

“Thanks.”

“It's an important story. I'm glad to be working with you.”

She didn't believe a syllable of it. His eyes said he wanted the story himself.

She wasn't going to let go of any of it.

Ben turned off the computer. He looked outside. It was nearly seven and daylight still streamed in through the windows.

Mahoney had already left. He had received a “maybe” on a subpoena from U.S. Attorney Ames in Atlanta after explaining what breaking the Hydra would do for his career. But Ames wanted to talk to the woman himself before making a decision.

Ben had spent the last several hours finding out everything he could about Robin Stuart. He'd brought up all the articles she'd written for the paper, finding an astounding cross section. The one that interested him most was a story about an autistic child. There was compassion in every word. Then there was a series on autism and lack of facilities for its victims. She'd parlayed a story into a front-page series.