Deadly Blessings (42 page)

Or maybe a man, I thought, remembering
snippets of our conversation and the deep voice in the background
when I’d called him yesterday morning. Geez. Yesterday. It seemed
like a year ago.

“…
whatever. Dan somehow
got the goods on him and squeezed him for the Milla story.” Bass
met my eyes. “He knew you hadn’t given up on it.”

“
You pulled me off of it,”
I said, my voice raising in protest.

“
And see where it got you,”
he countered. “Why the hell did you call Jeff anyway?” Bass asked,
throwing his pencil down. “You could have been killed, you
know.”

I’d been biting the insides of my mouth to
keep from an outburst I might later regret. My healing cheek shot
out a zing of protest. “Where were you two when I needed you? Huh?
I tried to call you. At least ten times.” That was an exaggeration,
but the fury at them not being there for me, coupled with my
still-tenuous hold on calm made my voice come out a strangled
strain. “For crying out loud, I could have used a little help.”

“
You should never have
moved without my okay. And you’re never gonna move without my okay
again. Got that?”

I didn’t answer. But I did glare.

“
We were down here,” he
said in a softer voice. “I called William to the office,” Bass
said. “I’d thought of a way we might be able to use the interaction
with Candy at the hotel after all, and I needed him down here to
work it out.”

“
Without me?” I asked. My
shoulders gave an involuntary slump, and I hated that they did.
Bass and William had met without me. Purposely. I didn’t have any
idea why that fact should strike me so deeply, but it
did.

“
I didn’t think you’d
approve. You were so adamant about not using that damn
video.”

“
Fine,” I countered.
“You’re right, I wouldn’t have wanted to be here.” That was a lie.
“But why didn’t you answer the phone? I called and called.” The
hurt in my voice was obvious, even to me.

“
I shut the phones
off.”

“
Why, were you afraid I’d
find out? Afraid I’d come storming down here and mess up your
plan?”

“
Yeah, something like
that.” He had the decency to look embarrassed. “I know. Bad
move.”

The three of us looked three different
directions, silent for a long moment, deep in our own thoughts.

Bass broke in. “And here’s the bad news
…”

William and I looked up.

“
We’re left with no
story.”

“
No story? Come on.” I said
so angry I nearly jumped out of my chair. “We’ve got a huge story.
Hell, I was part of it.”

“
Dan’s got Bruno.” William
said.

“
What?”

“
An exclusive,” William
continued. “His portion airs live Friday night.”

“
No,” I said, hearing the
despair in my voice. “Can’t we do anything about this? Sue them?
Something?”

Bass shook his head.
“There’s nothing we can do to stop them. And no way we can come up
with an angle that’ll hold a candle to their story. Not with both
tapes and this interview with Father Bruno.” He heaved a deep sigh,
which went on pretty long for such a little man. “But, I’ve been in
contact with the general manager at
Up
Close Issues
all morning. They can’t do
the story without your name coming up,” he looked at me, “So
Midwest Focus
is being
named as affiliate for this feature and Alex St. James as Dan
Starck’s willing collaborator. It’s something, at
least.”

My mouth fell open.

“
What did you ever see in
that asshole, anyway?” Bass asked.

I sat back, hard, staring out the window. “I
have no idea.”

* * * * *

The three of us gathered in
Bass’s office again, Friday night. We had two screens going at
once. Tapes running to record both the hair care story on our
station and the “Scandal in the Catholic Church” story at
Up Close Issues
.

William and I sat next to one another on the
sofa. The big bandage I’d worn for the first few days had been
downgraded to three butterfly bandages. Bass sat in one of the
wooden chairs and leaned forward, positioned between the two
televisions, as though he could catch both programs at once. We’d
turned down the sound on ours. Hell, we’d been there for the
filming, we knew what it contained.

But Dan’s was another story, entirely.

He narrated the feature, conducting all the
interviews himself.

“
God damn it,” I whispered
under my breath.

They were all there. Lisa, turning her head
from the cameras, the bright lights shoved in her face, escorted on
both sides by Federal Agents. Her pimping service evidently crossed
state lines and she faced significant prison time if found guilty.
The authorities were going easy on the immigrant girls, as long as
they agreed to testify. From the sound of Dan’s report, most of
them recognized the lifeline being thrown to them and were eager to
jump on the opportunity. I talked with Sophie earlier in the week,
and knew she’d agreed, too. She’d be their star witness.

And Father Trip, bless his heart, had
stepped up to work with the local girls, helping find them jobs.
He’d called me yesterday to let me know that he’d already placed
two girls in full-time positions. A long way to go yet, but he
seemed determined.

Emil held his head up as he passed through
the media gauntlet. I wondered again if the slimy little guy hadn’t
helped us by slowing Ro down enough to give us the chance to get
away. Maybe I’d never know.

During a commercial break, I let my gaze
wander to the other TV. Tammy Larken onscreen. I turned the sound
up. Gabriela interviewed her, woman to woman, on soft cushy seats
instead of at the newsdesk. “Warmer,” the director had told us.
“Makes the audience cozy up to the victims.”

Sure.

William had been right. Her story was
intense. She’d been accidentally cut, jabbed in the neck with the
point of sharp scissors. A tiny nick, but one that the salon didn’t
treat properly. It became severely infected and required
prescription antibiotics for nearly a half year. Tammy lost her
job, and then her husband. She sued the salon, successfully, but
what she really wanted, she said tearfully to the camera, was to
have her life back.

I almost didn’t want to turn back to Dan’s
station. But I cut the sound, glancing at William as I did. “So,” I
asked, “you seeing her?”

His eyes flicked over to Tammy’s sorrowful
face, then came back to mine as they registered my query. “No.”

“
Good,” I said.

Bruno came on, Dan seated across from him. I
didn’t recognize the lavish surroundings of the room they were in.
Purple velvet draperies hung heavy over windows in the background
behind Bruno’s pudgy smiling face. The walls were pale gold, and
those furnishings I could see onscreen, ornate. Could be the
Cardinal’s residence, or some other fancy church meeting place. I
knew it wasn’t Bruno’s rectory.

Dan’s handsome face smiled, taking up the
whole screen. “We’re here at the Vatican Embassy in Chicago,
speaking with The Reverend Father Bruno Creighter …” he went on.
Listening, I had to grudgingly admit that he did a decent job of
setting the story up and making reference to Bruno’s former
position as media spokesperson for the Chicago church. After a
brief interchange of small talk, Dan directed the conversation to
matters at hand.

“
I soundly deny all
allegations of the Church’s involvement in this affair,” Bruno
said, answering Dan’s inquiry. His fat hand played with something.
The lighter, I supposed. But he evidently opted not to smoke on
camera.

Dan pressed the issue, asking him how this
latest scandal would affect the credibility of the Roman Catholic
Church.

Bruno smiled. “Mr. Starck,”
he said in that patronizing voice of his. “All organizations of any
merit, or any significance, occasionally have a bad apple
infiltrate their midst.” I’d gotten to know this man so intimately
that I could
feel
his need for a cigarette. “Father Carlos fled the country.
Rodero, unfortunately, has gone to God and cannot be here to defend
himself. But like any other eminent organization, our mother Church
will survive the few who would use her protection for their own
evil devices. Remember, Mr. Starck, Rodero, and Emil were merely
employees. Their actions cannot reflect upon our mother
church.”

“
What about
you?”

“
What about me?” His hands
moved again, and his lower lip worked. His eyes, his face, his body
language, exuded calm, but I knew he forced it.

“
What about your
involvement in the prostitution scandal?”

His hands fanned outward. “I am but a
supernumerary in this little drama,” he said, smiling. “That means
‘bit player,’ you know.”

A second camera flashed Dan’s reaction.
Dryly, he answered, “Yes, I’m familiar with the term.” The first
camera focused on Bruno again as Dan asked, “Father, I have another
question for you.”

Here it comes, I thought.

Damn, damn, damn. This was my story. I
should be the one nailing this guy.

“
Yes?”

“
Do the
words,
tabula rasa
mean anything to you?”

Father Bruno blanched. His mouth moved as if
to speak, but no words came out.

“
Let me play you a tape,
Father.”

Dan had handled the trap perfectly. Just
like I would have done.

We listened.

I replayed the scene in my mind as the words
came through—with utter clarity. Just like Jeff had promised. I
became aware of my own breathing as I remembered the terror that
had followed Bruno’s admission.

Dead silence for a long moment after the
tape ended.

“
My
associate, Alex St. James from
Midwest Focus
conducted that
interview,” Dan said to the camera before turning back to Bruno.
“Do you have any comment, Father?”

Associate. That burned.

Bruno shook his head, stood. “I’m finished
here.”

The camera angle widened to capture both
men.

I ached. It should have been me on this
story. It should have been me. I must have said it aloud, because
Bass grunted, “Yeah, this is the kind of story that could wins
journalistic awards.”

“
Not quite,” Dan said,
standing with him. “We’ve notified the authorities, and word is
that your rectory assistant, Emil Schober is ready to turn state’s
evidence. There are rumors flying about a warrant being issued for
your arrest.”

“
I don’t think so,” Bruno
said. I swore a smile twitched on the man’s pudgy lips. “I’m quite
innocent of all the charges. And I would be gratified to be able to
address these issues. Alas, I’m scheduled to return to Italy
tomorrow. And, unfortunately, as a citizen of the Vatican, your
laws have no jurisdiction to hold me.”

My jaw dropped. I looked over to William and
Bass, feeling hot angry frustration sear through my body. “That
bastard.”

* * * * *

The hub long silent, I worked within the
warm comforting beam of my tiffany lamp, paying no attention to the
bright night lights of the city outside my window. I wanted to get
all my thoughts, all my impressions down in my journal before this
day was through.

Bass stopped by, leaning into my office, his
hand on the doorjamb. “Got a minute?”

I waved him in.

He wore his charcoal gray wool overcoat, it
fell far enough below his kneecaps to make him appear even shorter
than he usually did. “Your buddy William stop by yet?” he
asked.

“
No.”

He shrugged, then leaned back to look across
the hub. Peering over him, I could see William’s office light
spilling onto the floor outside his door. “Said he was going to
come talk to you.”

“
Yeah?”

“
If you two …” he pointed
his head toward William’s office. Then fixed me with a meaningful
stare, “You know …”

I shook my head. Let him say it.

“
Well,” he pointed a finger
at me, “just be discreet, okay?”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s what you came in
to tell me?”

Bass heaved a huge sigh. “No,” he said,
grabbing the back of one of my chairs.

“
You look tired,” I
said.

He sat, making the seat
“huff” as he did so. “I
am
tired. I spent the whole goddamn week fighting
with the GM of
Up Close Issues
over their underhanded ways of stealing our
scoop.” Frustration worked over Bass’s features and he looked away,
as though reliving some of the discussions. “We shoulda had that
one to ourselves. It would of put us on top. Right on
top.”

“
Where’s Jeff been through
all of this, anyway?”

Bass shot his attention back my direction.
“Fired him,” he said. “Soon as he came sniveling in with his sob
story.”

That, at least, was good news.

Bass rearranged himself in the seat, but he
looked even less comfortable after squirming. “What I really came
in here to tell you is that I can’t fire Fenton.”

That one kind of took me by surprise. “I
didn’t expect you would. He’s got connections.”

“
He’s
useless. Spent the whole week whining that we should of kept him
involved. Told me he’d have never let us lose the
story.
Yeah.
Right.
” Bass grit his teeth and shook his
head again.
“You know,” he said, sighing
deeply. “I should never have taken you off the Milla Voight story
in the first place.”