Macy was trading stares at her computer screen and the files on her desk when she heard a loud knock on her office door. She shoved her research into her desk drawer and yelled, “Come in.” She needn’t have bothered because her boss, Jerry Silva, already had the door open. “You have to stop doing that. What if I wasn’t dressed?”
“Then you’d be having a helluva lot more fun than me.” He tossed a file onto her desk.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing a finger like it was an insect.
“I need you to cover a hearing this afternoon. That DPD officer Beck Ramsey, who ratted out her partner, is testifying at a hearing in Hernandez’s court. Jeff was covering it, but his kid’s sick and he has to go pick him up at school.”
Macy perked up at the mention of Beck’s name, but even the prospect of more eye candy wasn’t enough to entice her away from her current project. “Yawn. It’s a hearing. Can’t you send one of the other kids to cover?” she asked, referring to the junior reporters who would jump at the chance to get words in print. She vaguely remembered what that kind of enthusiasm was like. “I’m deep into research on the anniversary piece.”
“You’ve been doing ‘research,’” he used actual air quotes, “for weeks. I can’t sell research to the board as a reason to keep you around. You know how much pressure we’re under to show a profit if we want to keep from getting bought out and sold for parts. You need actual words formed into a compelling story for me if you want to keep your job. And I’d like to keep you around,” he added, kind of softening the blow. “Besides, Rob tells me you showed up on a dead body call out at White Rock this morning. He was pretty pissed, thinking I’d sent you to scoop him.”
She shrugged. “I was right there when the call came over the scanner. Beat Rob there, by the way. I figured you’d appreciate my initiative. Besides, he’d have to actually do some real reporting for me to be able to scoop him.”
“Let’s just say I’m a little suspicious of your so-called initiative. Is this more of your ‘research’?”
“Don’t use air quotes on me. I’m always looking for an angle. The call was about a body at White Rock Lake, so of course I’m going to check it out. Something wrong with that?”
“Not by me.” He shoved the folder at her again. “But today I need you to look for angles somewhere else. Sure, it’s just a hearing, but if you work it right, it’s a wedge into a bigger story about what makes a cop turn on one of their own.”
“Easy answer—it was the right thing to do. Didn’t her partner shoot an innocent guy?”
“Sure, but it happens all the time. Not everyone speaks up. Besides, have you seen her?”
Macy reached across the desk and opened the file. The picture inside was nothing more than a still of Beck in uniform, and she resisted the urge to comment she looked even better in person. “You think I’m going to fall for your attempt to lure me away from what I’m doing to go see Officer Model here testify? And quit objectifying women or I’ll tell your wife.”
“Like she’d care.” He pointed at the file. “She’s news and it’s your job to cover the news.” His voice took on a pleading tone. “Seriously, Mace. I need you to do this. We’re short-staffed this week, and I rarely ever insist.”
It was true, he didn’t. Mostly because he knew it was futile. Award-winning reporters like her could find other work, even go out on their own in the current market where everyone with a smartphone could host their own blog, and while the board might not want to spend the money it took to fund the really big stories, they loved the accolades when those stories won awards. She pulled the file closer and set aside the picture of Beck Ramsey. Ramsey had turned in her partner, Jack Staples, after a fatal shooting of a twenty-year-old young man they’d pulled over for allegedly driving erratically. Staples had insisted the kid had resisted arrest, but Ramsey refuted his story. Staples had failed to turn on his body cam, and the view from Ramsey’s wasn’t definitive, making her the key witness. Yes, what she’d done was the right thing to do, but it was rare to see a veteran cop turn on one of their own, no matter what the offense. Macy couldn’t help but be intrigued.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.” She reached for the file. “You know you’re the last person in the newsroom to keep using paper files?”
“I’ll stop when you punks stop crashing the network with your Tik Toks and Facetimes.”
Macy groaned. “Let’s grab lunch soon and I’ll teach you how not to talk like someone’s great-granddad.” She shooed him away. “Now go so I can read the file.”
He started toward the door, yelling over his shoulder. “You mean the paper file?”
He’d barely cleared the door and she was engrossed in the material. Beck Ramsey had started her career with the Austin Police Department after obtaining a degree in criminal justice from UT and had transferred to Dallas a few years ago. She’d been decorated several times and had recently taken the detective’s exam. If nothing else, her testimony should be interesting.
She reached for her messenger bag and took a moment to appreciate the rich leather that had developed a lush patina with age. Wayne had gifted her the bag when she’d graduated from Richards University, and she carried it with her on every reporting gig like a lucky talisman. She made a mental note to give him a call, and then loaded her phone and Beck’s file—apparently, they were on a first-name basis now—into the bag and left the office.
The courthouse was just on the other side of downtown, but the trip could take five minutes or thirty, depending on traffic. She made it in fifteen and pulled into the parking garage next to the building, praying the usually full garage would have an open spot considering afternoon hearings were rare. On the second swing through the floors, she managed to tuck her Mini Cooper between two giant SUVs. She took the stairs down to the side entrance for the courthouse and rushed her way to the security line, thankful to find it almost empty. Despite the lack of a line, the guards were still painfully slow, and she barely held back the urge to yell at them to hurry. Finally free, she raced to the courtroom, but a quick glance at the camera crew filming just outside told her the hearing was already in progress.
“Hey, Macy, you lost?”
She rolled her eyes at Joan Brown, the courthouse correspondent for one of the local news outlets and a former flame. “Thought I’d show up and see what’s shakin’.”
“Tired of missing out on the fun stuff?”
Macy shrugged, refusing to be goaded about the fact she wasn’t in the thick of courthouse reporting anymore. “All a matter of perspective.”
“Seriously, where’s Jeff?”
“Kid trouble. Besides, this used to be my beat.” She pointed at the small windows on the courtroom door. “Anything happening yet?”
“Judge just took the bench. You better get a seat if you want to hear the bombshells.”
“You think there’s going to be some?”
“How often do you see one of their own crossing the line?” Joan leaned close. “Besides, she’s super-hot. Count yourself lucky for drawing this assignment. There are worse ways to spend the afternoon than sitting around staring at a hot cop.”
Was she the only one who was interested in an actual story more than the opportunity to leer at Beck Ramsey? “Yeah, okay.” She waved at Joan and pushed through the doors. The courtroom was packed—unusual for an afternoon any day of the week, but especially a Friday when juries wrapped up and judges and prosecutors ditched early to head to happy hour. The first thing Macy noticed was the composition of the audience. Cops in uniform were packed into one side, behind defense counsel table, and the rows behind the prosecutor were full of what appeared to be subdued, for now, protestors, judging by the many T-shirts with slogans like Black Lives Matter and Defund the Police. Hernandez, a Democrat, was way more lenient about political fashion statements than most judges, but she was surprised he was allowing such a display for what was sure to be a contentious hearing.
She slid into a tight spot in the back row and pulled out a pencil and notebook, eschewing the notes app on her phone for analog since the presence of phones made bailiffs edgy. She scribbled a few first impressions. Cops and protestors seated on either side of the aisle like a wedding party, except at the end of the day no one would be getting married. In fact, instead of bringing these two sides together, whatever happened here today was likely to widen the divide between them.
She wrote a few more paragraphs, and then tapped her pencil on the notebook while she envisioned Jerry cutting her flowery notes to a fraction of their length and reminded herself she was here to report on a simple story. Just the facts. She’d been writing features for so long, it was hard to remember to pare her account down to fit a simple metro piece, but it was a good exercise for keeping her writing tight and brief. She jotted down a few words to capture the feeling in the room—tense, taut, anxious—and then stared at the bench with the rest of the crowd, captured by the growing fever pitch.
“Call your first witness,” Judge Hernandez said, staring fiercely at the gallery as if daring anyone to make a sound. He needn’t have worried. The air in the room was sucked away when ADA Neely rose from his chair. “The state calls Detective Rebecca Ramsey.”
Beck Ramsey, the only person seated in the front row behind the prosecutor, stood and started walking to the witness stand to the right of the judge. She settled into the seat confidently, like she’d occupied it dozens of times, which she probably had. Nothing remarkable here, but when she looked up and faced the packed room, Macy sucked in a breath at the sight of her eyes, no longer hidden behind reflective lenses. Wow. Deep, dark brown and decidedly fierce. Even from the back of the room, she could feel the force of the unwavering gaze, and when Beck Ramsey scanned the room, she sent up a mental wave: look at me, look at me.
And Beck did. A long, hard stare that shook her to her core.