Although her office door and blinds were open, Laura barely noticed the activity in the newsroom outside. She leaned forward in her chair, her body tense, her eyes focused on one of her wall monitors, which was broadcasting a live press conference. The Washington, DC, mayor and police chief were discussing the murder of James Spenser. With the seal of the city hung on the wall, the police chief stood behind a lectern addressing members of the press.
Five days ago, he explained, James Spenser was the victim of a beating and robbery by an armed assailant. When the victim resisted, the assailant fatally shot him, then fled. The police recovered a bullet from the crime scene, and they were hunting for the killer. They also were beefing up security in the neighborhood where the crime was committed. If anyone had information concerning this case, the chief gave a number to call. He then took questions from the reporters.
Taninger News' reporter, Vita Simpson, asked, "Is anyone investigating whether James Spenser, a high-level official in the president's administration, could have been specifically targeted?"
The mayor tapped the police chief on the shoulder. The chief moved aside to let his boss handle the question. The mayor waved his arm dismissively.
"There are some wild fillies out there that rear up and whinny about conspiracy theories, but we have no evidence of this being anything other than a random street robbery turned tragic," he said, smiling contemptuously. "Now if anybody else has a question—"
Vita, however, persisted. Like a small bird with a mighty song, her bellowing voice belied her petite frame. She asked, "Mr. Mayor, can you tell us if James Spenser was being monitored at work?"
The mayor laughed, saying, "We're not a police state, Ms. Simpson, despite some people's paranoia."
"Did anyone suspect James Spenser of being a whistleblower? Did anyone know who he was about to meet and what he was about to say when he was killed?"
"You'll have to ask the Feds that," the mayor replied.
Laura watched with pride as the unflappable Vita continued.
"I already have," she said. "I asked the people at Justice and the Bureau of Elections. They said this was a law-enforcement matter, and I should ask you."
"And you have your answer." He placed his arm around the police chief's shoulder protectively. "Now if you think our city's great men in blue aren't doing their job to your standards—"
"I was not attacking the police, Mr. Mayor."
"If you have a complaint about the city, you can take it up with the department of consumer affairs."
He looked away from Vita and called on another reporter.
Laura watched the officials field a few more questions before ending the meeting, but nothing of note was revealed.
She turned off the monitor and leaned back, mulling over the issue. In the five days since Spenser's death, she had tried to obtain more information about the matter, but to no avail.
After repeated calls to the director of the Bureau of Elections, she had succeeded in speaking only to an assistant.
"If you tell us what James Spenser wanted to meet with you about, maybe we can answer your questions," the staff member had said.
"I don't have to tell you anything," Laura replied in her calm but frank manner. "Your job is to give me information, not the other way around."
"Why do you want this information?" the assistant asked.
"I don't have to give you a reason."
"Did Spenser say anything to you before he died?"
"Did he say anything to you? Or to any of his co-workers?"
"I'll call you back after I speak to my supervisor."
The call never came.
Laura had sent Vita to question employees at the Bureau of Elections, but the agency's staff had been instructed not to speak to reporters.
In the weeks before her communication with Spenser, Laura had tried to get information about the $400 million discrepancy she had found. She had contacted the Department of the Budget, which listed the itemized expenses for various agencies, including the Bureau of Elections, and where she had found the $400 million line item for the development of the SafeVote system.
"You'll have to ask Elections about that," the person on the phone told her.
"But Elections doesn't list that item, and you do. It's in your posted report."
"We can't speak for it. If it's on our report, then we got it from Elections."
"But shouldn't your accounting and their accounting match?"
"You'll need to talk to them about that."
When she had inquired with the Bureau of Elections, she was told that someone would look into the matter and get back to her.
"Who? When?" she asked.
"We'll call you back," she was told.
The call never came.
She'd then turned the matter over to Samuel Quinn, the company's attorney, whom she was to meet with at that hour. Like clockwork, Sam appeared at her door.
"Ready for our meeting?" Sam asked.
"Yes, Sam, come in."
He closed the door behind him and sat down. A pin-striped suit and starched white shirt made the 60-year-old attorney look elegant. Wary eyes behind black-rimmed glasses on an unsmiling face made him look tough. Laura knew him as a fierce fighter for the Taninger companies. For decades, Sam was her father's and grandfather's trusted advisor, and he was the man she called to handle important legal matters for Taninger News.
"What do you have for me, Sam?"
"I sent inquiries to the director of the Bureau of Elections—by phone, email, special courier—but Sandra Frank is ignoring us. Because you have only a limited time to investigate this matter before Election Day, I'd say it's time we file a Public Disclosure Request."
"I figured it would come to that."
Every agency of the federal government was required by law to reply promptly to a Public Disclosure Request, which was a formal document submitted by a member of the media seeking information about a matter involving that department. The Public Disclosure Request was meant to show the government's commitment to full transparency, disclosure, and cooperation with the press and the public.
"I'll request information on the contractors being used by the Bureau of Elections for the planning, development, testing, and roll out of SafeVote," Sam Quinn explained. "I'll ask for the company names, addresses, key personnel, and complete contact information, as well as a description of the work that has been done, is being done, and will be done, as well as the payment for it. I'll request a full accounting of the $400 million item noted without a recipient in the Department of the Budget's list of Elections' expenditures in developing SafeVote."
"Okay, Sam. Maybe that will get them to respond, along with the segments I'll do on my show. I'll let my audience know that we're being stonewalled and that we're waiting for important information in this matter."
He nodded and rose to go. As he walked toward the door, he turned back to her with a final thought. "When your grandfather was attacked by his critics, I remember him saying, 'The more important the truth of a matter is, the more likely you are to be shot down for exposing it.'"
"That sounds like something he would say."
"You still want to go ahead?"
"I'll wear a bullet-proof vest."
"Then we'll get to the bottom of this." The attorney with a reputation for being hard-boiled winked at her with the warmth of an uncle.
She smiled at him fondly in return.