Текст книги "Striking Distance"
Автор книги: Pamela Clare
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
“Alton?” Tom’s gaze shifted.
“Windsor became the tenth Colorado town to ban fracking. I’d like to pull something together on the lawsuits challenging the bans and include the latest EPA studies on air and water pollution at fracking sites. Joaquin got some great shots of the rigs out along the Poudre River. I’d need probably fifteen to twenty inches.”
Tom looked into the camera. “How about you, Nilsson? Make any progress on that VA story?”
“I have an interview scheduled for later today with the regional VA director, and then I’ll be ready to pull it together.” Laura had never quite gotten the hang of thinking in column inches. She did a bit of mental math. “It will be a good twenty inches.”
“What about photos?” That was Syd.
Joaquin answered. “I’ve got shots of most of the soldiers she’s interviewed as well as the PTSD coordinator.”
“Carmichael—your turn. What’s the latest on the bombing investigation and last Thursday’s shooting?”
“That depends.” The camera moved until Laura found herself looking at Alex, who had a black eye and lacerations on his cheek. “Any word from the DPD as to whether yesterday’s shooting of your SEAL friend is related to the attacks on you?”
He already knew.
“No.”
Alex looked directly into the lens. “Are you sure about that?”
“Of course, I’m sure.”
“I’d really hate it if some other paper scooped us on any of these stories because you held out on your own coworkers.”
Laura’s face flamed. “If I knew something and sharing it wouldn’t place my life or his in danger, I would tell you. In this case, I haven’t heard anything. The shooter might have been just a random psycho.”
She understood now why Alex got punched in the face so often.
Alex looked up at Tom. “Javier Corbray, the SEAL who’s shacking up at Laura’s, was shot yesterday in broad daylight on Nineteenth Street between Chestnut and Wewatta. Minor wound. Corbray fired back and killed his assailant with two slugs to the chest. DPD is being very close-lipped about it. Also, my sources with the FBI says they’re getting close to making an arrest in the bombing.”
“What?” Laura hadn’t heard that. “Who told you that?”
But Alex ignored her. “I’m looking at six inches on both pieces.”
Laura was glad when the meeting was over. She walked to her bedroom to finish dressing, then found Javier sitting in his running pants on the sofa staring out the window at the mountains, his cell phone on the coffee table across from him.
She sat beside him. “Did your commander call?”
He shook his head, one hand coming to rest on her thigh. “I called him. I decided it was better he hear it from me than the newspapers.”
That made sense.
“What did he say?”
“He wants me to fly back to Coronado this afternoon.”
Laura felt the color drain from her face. She stood, turned her back to him, walked to the kitchen. “So . . . you’re leaving.”
“Laura, I—”
“It’s probably for the best. Since you got here, you’ve been filmed and photographed, had your name in the paper. You’ve been shot at—twice. You were almost killed yesterday.” She averted her gaze, not wanting him to see how upset she was. She’d never cared for women who used their emotions to blackmail. Javier needed to do what was right for him without pressure from her. “You came to Colorado to recover, not to get sucked into my mess.”
“I did not get
sucked
into anything.” He walked over to her and took her hands. “I made a choice,
bella
, and that choice was to stand by you. I’m not leaving now.”
She stared at him. “But your commander—”
“He didn’t give me an order. It was more like a strong suggestion.”
“A suggestion?” Laura shook her head. “I don’t want you putting your career on the line for me. You’ve already done so much for—”
He pressed his fingers to her lips. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m staying here with you until my leave is up.”
Laura sank into his open arms and held on tight, hoping with all of her heart he wouldn’t have a reason to regret his decision.
* * *
JAVIER LOOKED OUT over the rooftops of Denver, trying not to feel anything as he spoke. “We came across a shepherd and his two sons on our way in. You know the choice—kill them or let them live and risk them giving us away. I did what I felt was right. We gave them chocolate and water, even fixed blisters on one boy’s foot. The moment we left, they must have hightailed it to the village. We were ambushed by Taliban fighters. Eighteen men died.”
“You can’t blame yourself.” Nate stood beside him in his fleece barn jacket, cowboy hat pulled low to keep the wind from catching it. “I’d have done the same thing. Most of us would.”
Nate had called shortly after Javier and Laura had finished breakfast to say he’d heard about the shooting and was on his way over. The two of them had retreated to the rooftop so as not to distract Laura, who was still on the clock.
“That’s what I tell myself.” He’d been telling himself that for more than five months. “My squad agreed with my decision. No one wanted to put a bullet through those kids, man. The boys couldn’t have been much older than nine or ten. But then I see that helo flying in, getting blown to bits along with medics inside . . . They died trying to save our lives.”
He could still hear the rotors, feel the blast wave, smell the burning fuel oil.
“I tried to help Krasinski hold on, but . . . I took another round, lost consciousness, woke up in a hospital. In my dreams, Crazy K is lying beside me, bleeding out in the dirt.”
“Just like your brother.”
Javier nodded, his throat tight. “Krasinski trusted me. He was a tough kid, a hard charger. He gave it a hundred and ten percent. He was a warrior. I guess he reminded me of Yadiel—that enthusiasm, that deep loyalty, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
Javier drew a deep breath, then turned to look at his best friend. “You were right. I’ve been acting like an ass. I’m sorry, man.”
“You got no reason to apologize. You’ve always been there for me. I just wanted you to trust me enough to let me be there for you. I know it’s not easy for you to admit that you need anything from anyone. Thanks for opening up, for letting me in.”
And Javier finally understood.
He’d tried to be the one that everyone could count on, the one who didn’t need help. He’d felt that’s what he’d had to do to be strong. But this kind of brotherhood—it was a two-way street. It had been arrogant of him to try to help Nate when he refused to let Nate help him.
“Thanks, man.”
“You going to see a therapist when you get back?”
That was a completely different question. “I don’t know. The nightmares have always stopped eventually. If they don’t . . .”
If they didn’t, he might talk to someone then.
The conversation drifted. Nate shared his news. Megan had gotten into law school and would be starting at the University of Colorado School of Law in August. Jack was getting ready to head out for a forty-fifth reunion with his platoon of Army Rangers. Emily had lost her first tooth.
Then Javier told Nate about the commander’s phone call and his refusal to return to Coronado until his leave was up.
“He asked me if I was trying to make a name for myself as an individual by hanging with a celebrity. After fourteen years of service, a Silver Star, two Purple Hearts, and a half dozen other medals, I didn’t feel I deserved that kind of bullshit.” A handful of SEALs had risen to individual prominence in recent years, giving the Pentagon a headache when it came to national security, but Javier had never sought to cash in on his Trident. “I got pissed, told him I wasn’t doing this so someone could buy the book rights. I love her, Nate.”
Nate grinned. “Tell me something I don’t know. How does she feel?”
Javier wasn’t entirely sure. He knew she trusted him more than any other man. He knew she cared about him, felt sexual desire for him. She wanted to stay in touch after he left. For now, that was enough.
“She cares about me. She was really shaken up yesterday.”
“I don’t blame her.”
Javier’s cell rang. He fished it out of his pocket. “It’s McBride.”
“On my way over,” McBride said. “A couple of these puzzle pieces just came together.”
* * *
LAURA DIALED TED Hollis’s number to complete the interview that had been cut short by the car bomb and was relieved when he answered on the second ring. “Hi, Mr. Hollis. This is Laura Nilsson from the
Denver Independent
.”
“Hello, Laura. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“It’s been a while since we last spoke. I’m sorry our interview was interrupted. I meant to get back to you sooner, but things have been busy.”
He laughed. “You couldn’t help that.”
“How are you doing these days?”
“Oh, I’m hanging in there. I’m still having nightmares. I tried to quit drinking myself to sleep, but that just meant I didn’t sleep.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. I called to see if you had anything else you wanted to add to your interview.”
“Oh, well, I can’t remember what we talked about. How are you? You’ve had a lot happen in your life since we spoke. The bomb. Some guy trying to shoot you. That must be very scary. I watch the news at night. I saw your interview and saw how afraid you were when they showed you that footage. I never did like Gary Chapin.”
“I’m doing fine. The U.S. Marshals are keeping me safe.”
“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.”
Javier appeared beside her.
“McBride is here,” he whispered.
She said a quick farewell to Mr. Hollis, thanking him for his willingness to share his story with her readers, then ended the call. “Did they say why he’s come?”
He shook his head. “He’s waiting for you.”
She was glad he was here, regardless of the reason. She needed to speak with him about Ali. She got up from her desk and walked with Javier down the hallway. “Alex said this morning in the I-Team meeting that the FBI was close to making an arrest in the bombing case. Maybe that’s what they’ve come to tell us.”
She found Zach sitting in her living room.
He stood when she entered. “Sorry to interrupt your work, Laura, but I’ve got some news for both of you.”
She sat, her hand instinctively finding its way into Javier’s, his warm fingers closing reassuringly around hers. “Go ahead.”
“First, I wanted you to know that Derek Tower might pull through after all. He’s been upgraded to critical but stable. He hasn’t fully regained consciousness, and he’s not yet breathing on his own. Hopefully, we’ll be able to question him soon.”
That was good news.
“How’s Janet?” Laura hadn’t had time to call and check on her this morning.
“She may be looking at another surgery, but she’s recovering.” Zach took a photo out of a file folder and slid it across the coffee table toward Laura. “We’ve identified the man Corbray shot yesterday. Do you recognize him at all?”
Javier leaned in. “That’s him, all right.”
Laura looked at the image, feeling revulsion to think that this was the man who had tried to kill Javier. She looked at the man’s lifeless face and vacant eyes. He had lost most of his hair, his face fleshy, his mouth gaping open. “No, I don’t. Should I?”
“He was Sean Michael Edwards, age forty-one,” Zach said.
Sean Michael Edwards.
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t say why.
Zach went on. “DPD sent a team to do a search of his residence last night. They completed that search this morning, and what they found will interest both of you. In addition to an arsenal of
toy
firearms, we found an AR-15, an M110 sniper rifle, and two double-deuce pistols. We also found a wall covered with photos of you, Laura.”
“What?”
Laura’s stomach sank.
Javier gave her fingers a squeeze. “So he’s not just some random nut job. He’s a part of this somehow?”
“We can’t be sure of anything yet, but it certainly seems that he had an obsession with you. He had photos dating back three years. They’d been cut from newspapers and magazines and stuck on a bulletin board until they overlapped—dozens of them. Also, the rifle in the surveillance footage from the parking garage was an M110. It’s hard to imagine this could all be a coincidence.”
“Why would he go after Javier?”
“We can only speculate,” Zach said. “Given that Corbray was featured alongside you in news coverage of the sniper attack, perhaps he felt that getting Corbray out of the way might make it easier for him to get to you. We’re sending the weapons in to ballistics for testing and should have an answer by tomorrow.”
“Wait a sec.” Javier looked confused. “Are you saying
this guy
is our sniper? I just can’t believe that he could miss Laura’s head by less than an inch from more than two hundred yards and then almost miss me when he was standing just fifteen feet away.”
Zach shook his head. “There’s more. We did an extensive background check on him. He served two deployments as an RTO—a radio telephone operator—with the army infantry in Iraq. His first was in 2007, while you were there, Laura. He suffered a traumatic brain injury near the end of his second deployment and was given a medical discharge. What we found more interesting was the fact that he was disciplined for his involvement in a protection racket. It seems that he and a few of his fellow soldiers were shaking down residents in a neighborhood in Baghdad. You broke that story, Laura.”
Sean Michael Edwards.
Laura’s heart gave a hard knock.
“Oh, my God.”
She tried to remember the details of the investigation. It had been so long ago. Four soldiers had run a shakedown racket against residents of one Baghdad neighborhood, promising protection in exchange for money and other favors—cigarettes, liquor, sex. She’d been tipped off by a woman, a pediatrician, who lived in that neighborhood and had filmed the soldiers looting with her phone. They’d been disciplined—each of them sentenced to fines and a reduction in rank.
She glanced down at the photo again, his face that of a stranger. “His name sounded familiar, but I didn’t make the connection. I don’t recognize him at all.”
Javier looked down at the photo again. “A lot of us felt those guys got off easy. They should have gone to prison.”
Zach looked from Laura to Javier. “Clearly, this connection constitutes a motive for murder. We took the liberty of looking up the other soldiers who were a part of that scheme. One—Theodore Kimball—was reported MIA and declared dead not long after Laura’s investigation. The other two—Paul Mortimer and Tyler Robb—are in Miami and Detroit. We looked into them, but neither of them has been to Colorado, so it looks like Edwards was carrying this grudge on his own.”
Javier pointed to Edwards again. “So this guy is one of the soldiers Laura busted with that investigation, and he wanted revenge. I get that. But what I don’t get is where Derek Tower fits in—or how the guy I shot could be connected to Ali Al Zahrani.”
And then Laura felt pieces fall into place, insight riding on a surge of adrenaline. “He isn’t. I think Ali Al Zahrani was framed.”
The two men stared at her.
Javier spoke first. “I know you care about what happened to this kid, but you’ve got to have strong evidence to say something like that.”
Zach’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve got a feeling you’ve been investigating this on your own. Maybe you should start talking.”
CHAPTER
25
JAVIER WAITED WITH McBride for Laura to explain. When in the hell had she reached this conclusion? She hadn’t said a word about it to him.
She sat up straighter and looked from him to McBride. “You should know that I won’t divulge my sources, so don’t even ask.”
McBride’s gaze grew hard. “I could subpoena that information under federal law, and the state’s journalism shield law wouldn’t protect you. You’d be forced by the court to divulge your sources or face prison time.”
She nodded. “It wouldn’t do you any good. I’d choose prison.”
The two of them sat in silence, their gazes locked, and Javier knew they both meant what they’d said, the tension between them seeming to fill the room.
It was McBride who blinked. “I don’t want to go that route. Just be sure you don’t impede our investigation or give the wrong information to the wrong person. Then I might not have a choice.”
“I understand.” She excused herself and went to get her notebook from her office, then sat beside Javier again and glanced through what she’d written. “I reviewed all the available documents on Ali Al Zahrani, and I discovered that he could not have made those incriminating Internet searches.”
“Why do you say that?” McBride asked. “They were on his computer. They all originated at his IP address. No other prints were found on his keyboard or his computer.”
“I’m aware of all of that. Just hear me out.” Laura began to explain. “Ali worked at his uncle’s halal grocery store after class every weekday afternoon except Fridays and all day on the weekends. His uncle says he was very dedicated and never missed a day. He also said Ali didn’t leave during his shifts. The Internet searches began abruptly two months ago. They all originated from his home IP address, but here’s the problem. They all occurred during hours when he was known to be at work—never on Fridays when the store is closed and never on weekends when his parents were home.”
That
was
strange.
“Are you sure?” There was a note of doubt in McBride’s voice.
“I went through the documents four times, checked each and every search. But there’s more.” She looked at her notes. “The terrorism-related searches were all saved in a browser under a different user identity on his computer. Investigators probably think that serves to incriminate him because it looks like he was trying to hide his activity from his parents. But what if someone was trying to hide those searches from
him
?”
“You got any proof of that?” McBride asked.
“No,” she admitted. “But stay with me for a minute, okay?”
“I’m listening.”
As Laura went on, Javier felt himself growing more impressed with her intel abilities. None of the evidence she presented was the obvious sort that would have jumped out at investigators. It required some thought. Like the fact that the kid’s browser had recorded searches pertaining only to explosives, jihad, and terrorism—no T&A, no music, no sports, nothing about Laura or Al-Nassar. And the fact that Ali had visited some of the sites for only a handful of seconds—just long enough for the page to load—before he’d apparently moved on.
“I read fast,” Laura said, “but even I can’t absorb the content of a web page in a single glance.”
McBride was still playing devil’s advocate, but it was clear to Javier that he saw where she was going with this. “Maybe he was downloading the pages to a flash drive that we haven’t found. Or maybe he was printing them. There could easily be a logical explanation.”
“If you find one, let me know.” Laura looked down at her notes again. “As I see it, there are two possibilities. Either his uncle is lying and Ali wasn’t at the store when he was supposed to be, or someone else was using his computer during hours when no one in the family was home, creating an Internet history to make him seem guilty.”
“You’re forgetting that the explosives were found in his car, along with his body,” McBride added.
“True.” She frowned and seemed to mull this over. “What if that setup was just another part of the plot to leave the blame at Ali’s feet? Investigators found no trace of explosives at the Al Zahrani home. If he’d actually built the bomb, wouldn’t they have found
something
? And don’t forget that he’d been dead for hours before the explosion. Someone might have set him up to look guilty and then murdered him to put both him and his car at the center of the crime. What better way to hide a motive than to make it look like the explosion was the result of Al-Nassar’s call to kill me?”
The hair stood up on Javier’s neck, his instincts telling him she was right. “What you’re saying is that the kid might not have had anything to do with this.”
Laura nodded. “When I realized that he couldn’t have been responsible for those Internet searches, I began to wonder. Now that we have Edwards here, I’m almost certain.”
“I don’t often find myself in the position of defending the FBI,” McBride said, “but don’t you think they’ve checked into some of this?”
“I have no idea.” Laura shrugged. “Why would they? A VBIED goes off outside the newspaper near my window a short time after Al-Nassar called on his followers to kill me. A young Muslim man is found in the car, making the blast look like a suicide bombing. The suspect’s computer reveals a browsing history of do-it-yourself bomb and terrorism sites. In other words, investigators found
exactly
what they expected to find. Why dig any further?”
McBride seemed to consider this.
Laura went on. “They have a dead body, a car packed with explosives, and these Internet searches. But they don’t know where the ANFO was mixed. They can’t find any ties between Ali and any known terrorist elements. They can’t explain why he was shot before the bomb went off or find the man who killed him and detonated the explosives. They’re ignoring the missing and contradictory evidence because the rest of it fits together so nicely.”
Javier’s gaze dropped from Laura to the photo of the man he’d killed yesterday, Laura’s theory opening up all kinds of new possibilities. “Maybe this has nothing to do with Al-Nassar at all.”
For a moment, there was silence.
McBride chuckled. “I can’t wait to see Agent Petras’s face when I go over this with him. I can’t stand that son of a bitch.”
Neither could Javier. “That makes two of us, bro.”
“So you’ll take this to the task force?” Laura asked.
“You’ve painted a compelling picture. I’m impressed. Yesterday’s shooting adds weight to your theory. You bet I’m taking it to the task force.”
“Do you think they’ll listen?”
McBride grinned. “I’m the chief deputy U.S. Marshal for the Colorado territory. They have no choice
but
to listen.”
* * *
THE MEETING WITH Zach had left Laura on edge. It wasn’t just the revelation that a man she’d exposed five years ago had tried to kill Javier and might have been behind the plot to kill her, too. It was also the investigation of Ali Al Zahrani. Her mind kept drifting back to the boy—and the horrible thought that he might have been murdered just to serve as a kind of decoy.
She did her best to focus on her work, answering a few e-mails from Tom and Syd and reviewing her questions for her interview with the regional VA director. The interview itself turned out to be as unrevealing as it was brief. She’d just hung up the phone when Javier came up behind her, his big hands resting on her shoulders.
“How did it go?”
“Short and uninformative.” Laura swiveled her chair and stood, sliding into his embrace. “He basically read me a press release over the phone and then declined to say anything else. I might as well have interviewed a rock.”
“I’ve got some news that will cheer you up.” He smiled down at her. “You’ve got company.”
She found Sophie, Matt, Alex, Kat, Joaquin, Holly, and Megan whispering together in the living room, carryout Thai food spread out in containers across her coffee table.
“Surprise!” Sophie gave Laura a bright smile. “We brought lunch for you both.”
Laura felt a swell of happiness to see them, even Alex.
Javier leaned down and spoke for Laura’s ears alone. “You have a good time with your friends. Mind if I borrow your computer to catch up on e-mail?”
“Feel free. The browser should be open.”
He thanked Sophie and the others for the food, then disappeared down the hallway. Laura soon found herself enjoying panang curry with chicken, spring rolls, and rice—and catching up with her coworkers about events at the paper.
Repairs had been completed so that no one could tell there’d ever been a car bomb. The cafeteria’s new healthier lunch menu had everyone in an uproar—everyone except Holly, who said she no longer had to feel jealous of what the others were eating. Matt and Tom had gotten into a blowout in the newsroom over a headline. Alex had been roughed up by a few members of a prison gang who were living on the outside and hadn’t appreciated his questions. Kat and Gabe would be leaving for two weeks on the Navajo reservation to help with the
kinaalda
, or coming-of-age ceremony, of one of Kat’s nieces. Joaquin had put together a photo spread of some of the working girls from Candy’s, but the publisher and Tom were fighting over whether the package could run, given what the women did for a living.
“It’s bullshit, man.” Joaquin was clearly furious. “Since when is our job only to pass on G-rated news?”
This led to a long discussion about editorial autonomy.
Then Megan announced that she’d been accepted into law school.
Laura felt a rush of joy for her. “Oh, that’s wonderful! When do classes start?”
“They start in August, but I’ve got a reading list that I’m going to work through this spring and summer.”
Megan talked a bit about her plans after graduating, how she planned to open a resource center that provided guidance and support to women who were being released on parole in hopes that fewer of them would wind up behind bars again.
Laura was struck by Megan’s courage, her moral fiber. “What a beautiful way to turn your own suffering into something positive.”
“How are you doing, Laura?” Sophie asked. “We all know what happened to Javier yesterday. I’m so glad he wasn’t seriously hurt.”
“Sorry to interrupt.” Alex stood. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Down the hall and on your left.” Laura returned to Sophie’s question. “I’m fine, I guess. I was pretty shaken up when I heard. I’m just glad Javier was able to defend himself. If he hadn’t been armed . . .”
She didn’t want to think about that.
“Do they have any idea why this guy tried to shoot him?” Matt asked. “It must be related to the attacks on you, right?”
And Laura remembered that her friends were reporters.
She answered carefully. “We assume so, but we don’t know anything for sure.”
Holly leaned forward, looking gorgeous in a blue and white Prada print suit. “So have you and your sexy SEAL
reconnected
?”
“Holly!” Sophie rolled her eyes.
Kat looked up from her lunch. “That’s your business, Laura, not ours. Please don’t feel you need to answer.”
Then Laura heard Javier’s voice.
“Hey, get the hell out of here. Are you wearing a wire, man?”
She set her plate on the coffee table and hurried down the hallway to find Javier standing face-to-face with Alex in the doorway to her office, his fists clenched.
“What’s going on?”
“I was sitting at your computer, and he walks in, starts asking questions about the shooting, pretending to give a shit. I look up to find him looking over my shoulder at the files on your desk, and I start asking myself whether he’s just talking to me because he’s your friend or whether he’s trying to grab a quote.”
Laura took one look at Alex, and she knew that was exactly what he’d been doing. She touched a hand to Javier’s arm. “Javier can’t give interviews. You know that. Give me the recorder. Give it to me!”
Javier moved closer, crowding Alex. “You’d better do what the lady asks.”
Alex drew a digital recorder out of his pocket and handed it over. “This is bullshit, Laura. I’m just doing my job.”
It was one thing to wear a digital recorder in an interview. It was another to wear it into someone’s home when no interview was taking place in hopes of stealing a quote or two in the guise of casual conversation.
She scrolled back, deleted the file, then handed it back to him. “I thought you were a friend coming into my home, Alex, not a journalist working a story. I guess I was wrong. You need to leave. Now.”
Alex walked off, muttering profanity.
Laura turned to find the others standing down at the end of the hallway, watching, looks of astonishment on their faces.
“I guess it’s time for us to go,” Alex said.
Sophie glared at him, crossed her arms over her chest. “No, just you.”
Joaquin glared at him. “What the hell were you thinking, man?”
And Laura felt a rush of relief to know that the rest of her friends from the paper hadn’t been a part of Alex’s scheme.
* * *
JAVIER AND LAURA had a quiet dinner, did the dishes together, then settled on the couch, Laura’s head resting on Javier’s lap.
“I’m sorry Alex was such a jerk today. In the I-Team meeting this morning he implied that I was keeping information from him—which I suppose I am. I didn’t think he’d join us for lunch only as a pretext to snoop in my office or to try to steal a quote from you. That’s low.”
Javier stroked her hair, the feel of it like silk, being close to her making it impossible for him to feel angry. “The stupid
cabrón
is lucky I didn’t give him another black eye to match the one he already has.”
“Can you imagine what might have happened if you hadn’t been in my office? He would have been free to look around and read everything. He might have found the FBI file. What would I tell Zach then?”
“Why aren’t you like that? I always say that I can’t stand the media. You’re part of the media, but you’re not like him or that
pendejo
Gary Chapin.”
“Gary and to some degree Alex live to break a story. It’s not the content of the story that matters to them. It’s the thrill of being first, of winning that race to make news. For me, journalism is about people. It’s about the human element.”
“I guess that’s what sets you apart, why you’re so good at what you do.”
“When I was a new reporter straight out of college, I was sent with a cameraman to a house where a father had just run over and killed his own eighteen-month-old daughter. He’d been pulling out of the driveway on his way to work and didn’t know that she’d gotten outside. She died before they reached the hospital. My job was to stake out the house and try to get an interview with him or the child’s mother.
“When I got there, the place was already surrounded by reporters and photographers. They stood in the driveway, on the sidewalk in front of the house, and spilled into the street. After a few hours, the parents returned from the hospital to find that they couldn’t even get into their own driveway. They ended up having to park down the street and walk through a media gauntlet to their own front door.
“The mother was so grief-stricken she could barely walk. And the reporters—they didn’t seem to care. They kept shouting questions. ‘When did you realize you’d run over your daughter?’ ‘Where were you in the house when you heard that your husband had run over your daughter?’ ‘Did your little girl scream or cry out?’ ‘Was she alive when you discovered her under your vehicle?’
