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Friday, October 24, 2014, Seattle, Washington
Mac finally admitted changing his routine was futile. He ate breakfast with the early birds again, and rode into work with Janet. They talked over the day’s stories as they drove into the city. Commute time had replaced coffee, he thought. Even more productive because it was before deadline.
“So is your new house going to be for the two of you?” Mac asked.
Janet looked at him sharply, then sighed. “I’m trying to figure out how to ask Stan that,” she said.
“Just ask, Janet,” Mac said with some exasperation. “The man moved across country for you! What more of a clue do you need?”
She laughed. “Good point,” she admitted. “What about you? You and Angie look good together.”
He was silent. “Need to talk to my aunt,” he said. “And then, maybe I’ll have the same conversation with Angie.”
Janet smiled at him. “Good. So what the hell is going on with the computer team? And are they corrupting Tim?” she demanded.
“He’s of age,” Mac teased her. “Although I’m not sure he’s involved in the nighttime adventures. But I think that Joe Dunbar found a three-way cures depression just fine.”
“Mac!” she exclaimed and then she laughed. “Does it?”
Mac laughed. “It might,” he admitted.
Janet grinned, and reverted back to work topics. “You need to follow up on the swatting and no knock comment,” she said.
“On it, boss.”
They were walking through the parking structure, when Mac sighed. “Janet? You need to check with the publisher about finances. Today. Shorty thinks they’ll come for us this weekend.”
Janet stopped before she entered the building. “Does that mean they know where we are?”
“I’m sure they do,” he admitted. “So many of us, coming and going? I found a tracking device. Was it the only one? No, I think they’re waiting for the weekend when we’ll all be home.”
She nodded once. “Get your story written about Whalen,” she ordered. “I’ll set up a meeting with Leatherstocking to read for libel issues. And then I’ll meet with the publisher and managing editor.”
Mac didn’t say anything more. That was her job, not his. And he couldn’t figure out a way to wrangle an invite to the meeting. Well, there was always the commute home.
He finished the Whalen story first. When Joe Conte got through with the blotter items, Mac had him read it. Conte had suggestions and questions, and Mac thought they were good ones. He needed to remind Janet about reporting teams. Him, of all people!
Loner no more, he thought, somewhat wistfully.
Yesinia Vilchis, the courts reporter, came by when she got into the office. “I looked into the cases filed by the police union on behalf of their members,” she said, resting a hip on Joe Conte’s desk — Mac’s desk. Mac didn’t say anything. “Anthony Whalen’s is Monday — a mediation session. Closed to the likes of us, of course. But, there are two more next month. And one of them involves Captain Rourke as a witness for the officer. Thought you’d like the particulars on that case.”
“He testify a lot?” Mac asked.
Yesinia looked at him sourly. “I suppose you want me to find out?”
Mac tried a bit of charm in his smile. “If you would?”
He didn’t think she bought the charm, but she agreed to look into that.
“And Sgt. McBride,” Mac added.
“The courthouse was all abuzz about the assistant medical examiner,” she added. “He’s liked over there. They don’t think he could do such a thing! Falsify autopsy reports? He wouldn’t!”
Mac snorted. “Have you ever noticed that any serial killer has neighbors who can’t believe it? Think he’s a nice young man, keeps to himself. But very pleasant?” He mimicked the same incredulous tone Yesinia had used. She laughed.
“If he’s white,” she agreed.
“Most serial killers are,” Mac said.
He made a list, and then started a deep dive into the data about no knock warrants. He might be skeptical about all the internet devices, but he had to admit, tracking down data from his desk in the office, beat the hell out of walking up to the police station to get some clerk to pull it.
An hour later he wasn’t so sure that was true. The summary reports were written so badly he hadn’t a clue what they were saying. And he couldn’t tell if that was the point, or that the police department just needed to hire some coherent writers.
The data was jargon-filled. There were different levels of use of force, different investigations. He wasn’t sure whether the story was the number of police involved shootings, or that there was no way near as much violent crime as people thought. He frowned. So where had they buried the domestic violence stats? Wasn’t that violent crime?
He was going to have to talk with Mike Brewster about this. Mike seemed to know his way around these databases. His respect for the man grew. Mac decided to do what he knew how to do best. He called someone to ask questions.
He could have called Lorde back, he acknowledged. Instead he called Sgt. Scott McBride. He identified himself, and asked about no-knock warrants.
“You’ve got balls,” the man said. “No brains. But balls. Why the hell do you think I will answer anything after the stories you’ve run this week? Those suicide rulings were all legit!”
“Were they?” Mac asked, trying to sound indifferent. “Then it won’t hurt if someone double checks, right? Not really your problem, is it? That’s a problem in the Medical Examiner’s office.”
Mac paused and then added softly. “Or is there a tighter link to your office, Sergeant?”
“Fuck you,” the man said coldly. “Did you ask your publisher if he’s got the cash to cover the stories you’re writing?” He hung up.
Mac frowned. Same phrasing. Oh, he knew it was a play on the old line ‘don’t let your mouth write checks your ass can’t cover.’ A line he’d used on occasion as it was meant to be used: in a bar, when a drunk asshole started saying things to provoke a fight. Mac had in the past cautioned the man — usually a sailor — and then preceded to beat the shit out of him. He sent Janet a text. She looked over at him and nodded. She looked troubled too.
Were they going to get blindsided on this?
He called Captain Rourke who said no comment and hung up. Mac grimaced and called the PIO and asked for the information he wanted. “I’ll have to call you back,” the PIO said. “Interesting question.”
And that was why Mac talked to people instead of doing data dives.
He was restless. He got up, stretched, went to see if Angie was in the photo department. She’d been sent out on an assignment. He wanted to shake the photo editor. The man glanced at him, and apparently read him correctly.
“She insisted,” the editor said. “I know she’s in danger. Janet talked to me. But she’s as restless as you are, and quite frankly I’d rather face you down than her. So don’t snarl at me.”
Mac was amused by that, and he laughed. He decided to go for a walk himself, and think. And maybe he could call Lindy about household arrangements while he was out. If nothing else, he’d come back with a clear head to meet with the newspaper’s attorney.
He’d gotten about three blocks when he knew he was being followed. He used a bench to tie his shoe, and looked around. Craig Anderson grinned at him from across the street. He crossed, and came up to him. Mac headed off again.
“Not bad,” Anderson said. “You’re more aware than you were on Monday.”
“Yeah, people shooting at you will do that to you,” Mac said, sourly. “What are you following me for?”
“Makes everyone think I’m being a team player and they get off my back,” Craig said trying for lightness. Mac snorted, but he suspected that was the truth.
“And what does the team think they’re doing?”
“Now that’s a good question,” Craig said after a pause. “And hell of a thing that I don’t have an answer. I mean, they want you dead. They want to finish the job on Rodriguez and Dunbar. They’ve added a few others to their list. Agents Warren and Nickerson. Your editor — why I’m not sure. And whoever is your tech team. Do you have a tech team?”
“Yeah, we have a tech team,” Mac said. “You do, right? Some rich guy who thinks he’s hot shit?”
“He’s older than I am,” Craig said dismissively. “No one that old knows a thing about tech even if they think they do. But he’s got money to hire tech staff. And maybe it runs in the family. I dunno.”
“If they do kill that list — do they think they’ll get away with it?” Mac asked frustrated with the whole thing. “Jesus, Craig. The powers that be at the PD know who they are. We’re writing about what we find out. Don’t they realize they’re dead if we get hit? I mean if we don’t fire back and get them, the law will.”
“They think they’re above the law,” Craig said seriously. “Scary fuckers. I stay clean. Mostly,” he added with a grin. “I know if I bring the law down on me, I’m done. But the tech guru is arrogant. He thinks he’s above the law. And he’s infused that thinking in the others. An easy sell really. Some of them are the law, and they’ve been getting away with this shit for years.”
“Killing a Black man and dumping him isn’t the same thing as killing two FBI agents and a newspaper editor,” Mac said. “It should be, perhaps. But let’s face it, no one noticed the suicides for years. Two FBI agents will be on page one.”
“And then what?” Craig asked. “Have you looked at how many cops actually do jail time?”
Mac was silent on that one. Very few.
Craig walked another block with him. “Stay safe, Mac,” he said seriously. “And don’t let that girl go out on assignments alone like she is. They’re watching. And when this is over, come see me. I’ve still got a Mountain Dew in the cooler for you.”
“Go home, Craig,” Mac said, worried by his comment about Angie. “When they come for us, don’t be with them.”
“Not if I can help it,” Craig assured him. “I know an impending clusterfuck when I see one.”
Mac snorted, and turned back toward the office. Craig kept walking on, a big man, intimidating because anger radiated from him.
Mac laughed at the description. Not all that different from how people described him, he admitted. He headed back to the office to check on Angie. And he still needed to call Lindy.
A sandwich would be good too.
The meeting with Leatherstocking went as their meetings usually did. Janet and the managing editor were there. The unusual person was the publisher. Mac just nodded a greeting to them all. He didn’t see the ME or the publisher all that often.
Leatherstocking read the story. Then he asked Mac for his documentation on a few points. He suggested alternative wording in two spots. He read it again, and shrugged. “Seems solid enough,” Leatherstocking said. “I’ll happily defend it, if necessary. You’ve got the courthouse swarming by the way.”
“Oh?” Mac asked. “Anything interesting?”
“The betting pool is running two to three against you,” the attorney said. “More people are saying you’ll be in jail by the end of next week than the number who say you will have blown up something again. And there’s a small set of people who point out that it’s possible for both to happen.”
Mac snorted. He suspected Leatherstocking wasn’t joking. “I don’t blow things up!” he protested.
His bosses just looked at him. “No, sometimes you shoot people instead,” Leatherstocking agreed. “Have to admit defending journalism’s finest newspaper has been a lot more interesting since you got hired.”
Mac rolled his eyes. “So we’re good to go?” he asked, looking around the table.
Janet was watching the managing editor. The managing editor was looking at the publisher. The publisher looked tired.
“Publish it,” he said finally. “It’s a good piece, and it’s what we do. Publish it, and to hell with him.” He got up and walked out of the room.
Leatherstocking looked at the managing editor. “Want to tell me what that was about?”
“No,” the managing editor said, and followed his boss out the door. “Sunday paper, Janet?”
“Yes,” she said. “We’ll have more on the suicides then too.”
He paused. “Are they linked, these two stories?” He had his back to the room.
Janet considered that. “Maybe not directly, but they’re all linked to the attack on Lt. Rodriguez.”
He nodded and kept on walking.
Leatherstocking looked at Janet. “Not good to keep your attorney in the dark,” he warned.
She nodded. “I know. So do they. But I’m not sure the recourse is legal.” She shrugged and ran her hand through her hair. Mac grinned briefly at the expression on Leatherstocking’s face as he watched the tell.
“Here’s what I know. Finances are rocky, and they have been for some time. About 10 years ago, the publisher turned to investors to keep the newspaper afloat. Minority non-voting shareholders. All private, because this is a private family-owned company. Mostly. But one of those investors was Whalen. I think. No one is talking. I don’t know if it was a loan? Or if he owns a part of the company. Like I said, no one is talking. But you heard the man. We print the story.”
Leatherstocking nodded, and stood up. He was a lean, well-groomed man who favored expensive suits — he and Stan Warren ought to get along just fine. Leatherstocking looked like the high-priced legal talent he was.
But he’d stuck his neck out for Mac on that first big story regarding Howard Parker. He and Janet both had when the publisher hesitated to run it.
He hoped the publisher wouldn’t hesitate now.
“Let’s go home,” Janet said after Leatherstocking left.
“Need to track down Angie,” Mac said. “She went out on an assignment!”
“And I’m back,” Angie called from the photo department. “I’ll head home shortly. Go! Leave me alone. Let me get some work done.”
Mac grinned and shrugged. “You heard her,” he said. Janet laughed.
Mac called Lindy from the car. Lindy was happy to chatter away at him, and he just listened. It made him happy to listen to the antics of Lindy and her friends. He’d miss that if he moved out.
“Lindy?” he said finally, with a glance at Janet. “If I wanted to live with Angie, what would you think? Can you handle the house payments without my rent? Is there room for us as a couple upstairs and you downstairs? Talk to me.”
There was a hesitation. “I was going to talk to you about that, actually,” Lindy said slowly. “Anna Marie and I are actually getting along this time. Normally by this point I would be pulling my hair out and demanding that I be allowed to go home. Is there any reason I can’t, by the way?”
“Best not to, not yet,” Mac said, used to the detours a conversation with Lindy took. “Soon.”
Janet glanced at him at that.
“If I stayed here with Anna Marie, could you and Angie cover the house payment and such? Take on the house? Would you want to?”
That settled the restlessness he’d been battling, Mac discovered. “Let me get back to you on that,” he promised.
He listened to Lindy for a bit longer, as she thought through the logistics in a stream of consciousness way. She speculated that she might leave her room at the house intact as a studio in case she did need a break from Anna Marie. That was doable, Mac thought. He wondered whether they would be paying her rent, or buying her out. Well that could be hammered out after he worked up the courage to talk to Angie about this.
He got off the phone when Janet headed over the 520 bridge.
“Does Angie know what you’re thinking?” she asked without looking at him.
“Not yet,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure what I was thinking. But....” He thought about it for a moment. “Living at the Parker house? It’s like I finally have a family, you know? I belong to these people, and they belong to me.”
She nodded. Belonging was a word that resonated for them both.
“And last night, I realized I didn’t want to be without Angie,” he said. “It just feels right.”
She looked over and smiled, as if she was proud of him. He took a deep breath and smiled back.
“Don’t wait, Mac,” she warned as she turned into the property and rolled her windows down for the guard to see. The gates slowly opened. “This feels like the eye of the storm. Take advantage of it, and ask her.”
“And are you going to do that with Stan?” he asked. He’d been skeptical about the two of them at the beginning. But being around them now, it was obvious that they worked as a couple. Stan was an OK guy — if you could overlook the FBI thing.
She gave a half-laugh. “Yeah,” she said as she parked. “I think I am.”