I headed west, toward the newsroom. It was only a block away, but it was a long block, almost the distance of two regular city blocks. I would need the stroll to get my thoughts together, to get my feelings in line.
I felt sick inside, sick with fury. Sheila shouldn’t have died that way. I was angry at myself for not having kept closer tabs on her, angry at her for being so damned naïve, angry at the dirty rat who’d killed her.
If only I’d stayed in the room with her. Or talked to Sam … or talked to Blackie. If only …
A car honked loudly. It was Selena, driving past. She slowed down just long enough to give me an ugly grin, then hit the gas. She sure was in a rush to get back to the newsroom. Of course, it was Wednesday. Maybe she just wanted to make that evening’s deadline. But if it was all about beating me, then she needn’t have bothered.
I mulled over my predicament. If I walked into the newsroom, then I’d have to talk to Sam, talk to the newspaper’s attorney. Getting backup from a mouthpiece, that was probably the smartest thing to do. Why didn’t I feel good about it? Because I knew these guys. They wouldn’t be out to defend me. Their first interest would be in defending the paper, and if that meant feeding me to the lions, then that’s what they’d do.
From what Blackie told me, it would be a matter of he said, I said. Maybe not even that. To me, it was obvious that I had nothing to do with this caper, but to others … I didn’t have proof that the box was left at my doorstep. I didn’t have proof that Sheila called me. I didn’t even have the letter that prompted her call.
Everything that had led me to suspect that the kidnapping was a fake could lead others to conclude that I was in on it. That maybe I’d even helped come up with the idea so I’d have a big story to cover.
The more I thought about it, the less I liked it. It was the perfect frame, and I’d walked right into it. Dr. Bernard had always resented my involvement. He’d seen his chance to get rid of me and taken it.
Across the street was the police station. I eyed it and turned up my coat collar, my decision made. I would talk to Blackie, with or without the company lawyer. In the meantime, I would keep my mind on the story. I resumed walking.
Olmo would contact the Bernards, and when he did, they would keep quiet. Blackie was dreaming if he thought otherwise. I reached the corner and paused for a car to pass. Sheila’s murder would shake them up, but it wouldn’t send them to the police. If anything, it would make them more determined than ever to handle this on their own.
As I stepped off the curb, a car pulled in front of me. A smoky window rolled down and a gruff voice said, “Get in.”
I froze. Then I realized that it wasn’t a gun sticking out of the window, just a hand in a black glove. “Who are you? What do you want?”
I leaned down and saw the face.
“Stax?” I was stunned to see him, especially half a block away from a police station.
He opened the passenger door for me to enter. I took a step back. I was cold and frightened. But I was angry too. So angry I couldn’t think straight. How did I know that Olmo wasn’t working for Stax? I’d simply taken his word, hadn’t I? Common sense said I should run, that I should run and call for help. Instead, I asked, “Did you kill Sheila?”
“Get. In.”
My rational side told me to scream. You’re only a few feet from the police station. Scream. But I couldn’t move. “If you had anything to do with … I believed you. I kept my word—”
“Get in!” Stax hissed between gritted teeth.
I didn’t move.
“I’ve found Olmo,” he finally said.
“Olmo?”
He nodded and that did it. I glanced over my shoulder at the police station and down the street to the news office. I imagined Blackie grilling me for something I hadn’t done, and Selena typing her version of my story. I don’t think so. I climbed into the car, slammed the door shut, and sat back as the car shot away.