Cole got up, stretched wearily, and walked out of the office, closing the door behind him. Fwam was still in the building and he argued with Cole to come over for dinner with he, Mary, and the kids and to be their guest for the night. But Cole insisted he would not impose on his friend. He settled for a ride to the Dousman Hotel.
Two hours later, Cole lay on top of the hotel bed’s plain white comforter. The grand three-story hotel was located on St. Feriole Island, with great views of the Mississippi River. The sturdy brick building was more than a hundred and fifty five years old and had been neglected for more than two decades before being recently rehabbed to its former glory and reopened.
He was stripped-down to his boxers, T-shirt, and socks. He’d hung his suit in the closet and his dress shoes sat neatly at the side of the bed. After the sheriff dropped him off at the hotel, Cole checked in and headed for the workout room. He shot for four hard workouts a week, alternating between biking and running, throwing in a long swim when he really needed to think. He longed for a lap pool. Instead, he rode a stationary bike for an hour and then ran five miles on the treadmill at a six-and-a-half-minute-per-mile pace. After a quick shower, he lay on the bed. The TV was on and he flicked the remote, flitting from channel to channel. He skipped through a couple minutes of a M*A*S*H rerun, the Property Brothers, and the day’s sports highlights. Thanks to Father Wagner he had a four-pack of Toppling Goliath’s King Sue double IPA. He had just drained the first when he heard two sharp raps on the door. He groaned as he rolled out of bed and went to answer it. After a quick look through the peephole, he opened the door enough to grab the pizza from the delivery kid, and gave him twenty bucks for the sixteen dollar pie. By the time he closed the door and got situated on the bed again, this time sitting up with two pillows propped behind his back, the national Fox nine o’clock news was coming on the air. He had cracked open his second pale ale when his ex-wife, Janet Stone, came on the screen. It was a tight close-up and she looked beautiful. Cole shook his head. She hadn’t aged at all in the past five years. Only gotten better looking. Her full medium-length blonde hair framed her face, letting viewers admire the effect of her high cheekbones, delicate nose, and full red lips. He was still drawn to her large, round, sky-blue eyes. She was confident and witty when they’d been together and, as she introduced the news lineup for the evening, he could see she still possessed those traits. If anything, she was even more self-assured. In a lot of ways he still missed her. There was a reason they fell for each other and got married all those years ago. He was starting to feel sorry for himself when she announced her first guest and the camera panned back to show Michele Fields across the desk from his ex.
Some people’s good looks don’t translate well to television, but the cameras on the Fox set loved Michele Fields as much as they did Janet Stone. She looked gorgeous, and intelligent at the same time. She had discarded the navy suit she’d worn earlier in the day and was wearing a deep red dress that was both modest and sexy. Cole grinned, thinking of her trying on different dresses in Manhattan before heading for the bright lights. He was proud of her, and excited, too.
A guy could do worse than to end up with either of those two women. Cole realized he’d been lucky to have a chance with one and wondered what it would be like to have a chance with the other. He wondered even more if he could do better this time. He munched on a slice of pepperoni, sausage and green olives as his ex-wife brought up the topic of the physician murders in Wisconsin. She congratulated Fields on the outstanding coverage she was providing not just Milwaukee and Wisconsin, but to a riveted national and world audience. She asked Michele to describe how the murders took place and what law enforcement was doing to apprehend the killer or killers. Michele was also able to talk about how these killings were both similar to and different from other abortion violence that had taken place in the nation’s history. She then dropped the bombshell that the killer had emailed her twice to explain his reasons for the murders.
Janet leaned forward in her chair, engrossed in the conversation. “How did you feel when the killer reached out to you directly to tell his story?”
“It was unnerving. Unsettling. Those are the best words I can use to describe my response,” she said. “He feels righteous and is sure these killings are the will of God. He thinks he’s saving innocent children. He wants to be understood, but what he’s doing is incomprehensible.”
“Do you think the clinic firebombing in Baton Rouge is related to the murders of physicians in Wisconsin?” Janet asked.
“I haven’t been read in on the firebombing today,” Michele said. “I was traveling much of the day and all I’ve seen of that city’s tragedy is what I was able to see on your station before coming on with you tonight. My heart goes out to the victims’ families and to the state of Louisiana.”
“But, from what you know, do you see a link between the abortion violence in these two disparate geographic regions of our country?” Janet pressed.
“It’s conjecture on my part, ill informed maybe…but I’d say no. I don’t see any similarities between the Wisconsin shootings and today’s Louisiana firebombing…aside from the fact that both involve the cold-blooded murders of dedicated health care professionals.”
Janet leaned even further across the desk and locked eyes with Michele. “There’s one more question I need to get out there and it’s not an easy one. You’ve been forced to work closely on this case with the lead FBI agent in Milwaukee. Is your relationship with that agent, Cole Huebsch, strictly professional?”
Cole choked and spat out a mouthful of beer as the question was put to Michele. He lost the handle on his second slice of pizza and it fell topping-side down on the white comforter.
In New York, the camera came in tight on Michele, her face full in the lens. Her head was cocked to the side and she had a quizzical look on her face. She shook her head side to side slowly and squinted. “What?”
“I asked if your relationship with FBI agent Cole Huebsch is strictly professional,” Janet repeated coolly.
Michele went from startled and confused to angry as if a switch had been flipped. She tried to control it. “Are you asking this as a news anchor or as the FBI agent in question’s ex-wife?”
Both women’s faces moved quickly from pink to crimson. Janet responded, “If one of the lead agents in this historic investigation is distracted, it could be catastrophic. I think the question’s relevant.”
“Our relationship is strictly professional,” Michele said, her eyes never breaking contact with Janet’s. “Which is more than I can say for this interview.”
Janet turned to look directly into the camera. “We’ll be right back after a commercial break,” she said. Michele unclipped her microphone and was getting up from the desk before the camera cut away.