Tangled Vines (3 page)

Big Eddie shrugged his lack of interest. “A picture's worth a thousand words.”

“Some picture,” Phipps scoffed. “A pretty face in front of a camera pretending to be a reporter. Take it from me, everyone in television news is overrated and overpaid.”

Len Dougherty half listened to the exhange. He was confused, his thoughts jumbled. He started to lift his glass, then abruptly shoved it away and pushed off his stool. He needed to think.

Kelly did the final standup live. She held her pose and position until the signal came that the network feed was complete. The lights were killed and she lowered the mike dropping her calm, slightly grave on-air demeanor, a glow of triumph lighting her eyes and bringing a satisfied curve to her lips.

The producer, Brad Sommers, climbed out of the equipment-laden satellite van. Thirtyish, he was dressed in khakis and an L. L. Bean plaid shirt with short sleeves – New York country a concession to the sultry heat of an August night in the city. Kelly was still too pumped from the adrenaline rush of covering the story to feel the stickiness in the air.

Brad gave a thumbs-up sign to Kelly and the crew. “We made network news on the West Coast.” A version that was always updated with late-breaking stories to compensate for the three-hour time difference.

“We did it, guys.” Flushed with the feeling of success and eager to share it, Kelly grinned at her two cohorts. “Back in Iowa where I come from, this is what we call ‘walking in tall corn,'” she declared with a broad wink.

“Yeah, too bad it couldn't have been national, though.” A stocky, fortyish, and balding Rory Tubbs shifted the camera off his shoulder and set it down.

“Yeah, that woman's timing was inconvenient as hell,” the sound man, Larry Maklosky, mocked.

Rory flushed, realizing his innocent remark had sounded hard and insensitive to the tragic event that had left one policeman dead and a senator seriously wounded. Emotional detachment was necessary for anyone in the news business. It was his job to record events as they occurred, not react to them. That could come later.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he grumbled in defense. “It's just that I've never had any of my stuff on national news before.”

“You could still make tomorrow night's,” Larry said with a wicked grin, always quick to needle Rory about something. Now that he had him going, he didn't let up. “All you have to do is pray the senator dies.”

“Will you cut it out, for chrissake?” Rory glared the warning.

“Speaking of the senator, I'll see if there's any word from surgery yet,” Kelly said, fully aware the story wasn't over.

Brad Sommers stopped her. “I'll go. You take a breather. I need to call in anyway. We should have a name on the woman by now.”

Kelly didn't argue. Neither did she intend to completely let go of her high state of alertness. “Bring back some coffee. Black,” she called after him.

“And a pizza,” Rory added, jokingly.

Joining in, Larry cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted his order at the producer's retreating back. “I'll take a burger and fries and a chocolate shake!”

Kelly's stomach rumbled hungrily. She ignored it, something she had learned to do. In a business where the camera added ten pounds to anyone in front of it, dieting was a constant for all but a very few. Kelly wasn't one of those very few.

When she turned back, Larry shook a cigarette from his pack and offered it to her. She took it and bent close to the flame of his lighter. Tipping her head back, she blew out the smoke and lifted the heavy braid of auburn hair briefly off her neck.

“You shot some powerful footage, Rory.” The warmth and admiration in her voice were genuine.

He beamed a little, then shook his head. “Man, when I think about it, I still can't believe how much I managed to get. I remember when Melcher came out, waving and grinning, I panned right to the pickets to catch their reaction. And this woman bursts out of nowhere -” Pausing, he frowned. “How did she get past the cops? Did either of you see?”

“I didn't,” Kelly said with a touch of regret. “Unfortunately, I was looking the other way.”

“I think the cops were concentrating too much on the guy who looked like a wrestler with an attitude,” Larry offered, then glanced at the cameraman. “I saw some of the tape while they were editing it. Do you realize you even had the gun in the frame when she started shooting?”

“I thought she was carrying something, but I figured it was going to be a rotten tomato or an egg.” Rory grinned. “I was excited thinking I might get a shot of a tomato splatting on Melcher's puss. But a gun...” He shook his head again and sighed, his expression turning serious when he lifted his gaze to Kelly. “Do you know we almost didn't get any of it? If you hadn't wanted to swing by -“

She cut in, countering, “If you hadn't told me about the pickets.”

“If park security hadn't mentioned the pickets,” Larry chimed in, adding another in the string of ifs.

“Face it,” Kelly stated wryly. “It was luck.”

Rory gave her a long considering look, then smiled. “I don't know...I think there was some pretty sound instincts involved. Yours.”

That was high praise coming from him. Kelly smiled back, moved by it, yet made uncomfortable by it, too. “I'm immune to flattery, Rory. Let's compromise and call it lucky instincts.”

“You're right, Tubbs,” Larry piped up. “It seems she has a nose for news. Guess that means we'll have to stop calling her Legs and start calling her Nose.”

Kelly winced at that and complained, “What is it with you guys? Why do you always pick out nicknames that refer to some part of the body? Here it's Legs. In St. Louis, they took one look at my hair and started calling me Red.”

“Very unimaginative,” Larry said to Rory. “But that's St. Louis for you.”

“And Legs is more imaginative, I suppose,” she mocked, enjoying the exchange and the camaraderie. It kept her sharp, yet relaxed her, too.

“It's sexier.” Rory grinned.

“I'll tell Donna you said that.” Kelly made the threat with a straight face and only the faintest gleam in her eyes.

“Geez, don't do that,” Rory protested, then started digging in his pocket. “I'd better call her while I got the chance. Rory Junior's been dealing her fits. He's cutting teeth.”

He headed into the hospital. Kelly watched him dodge an arriving ambulance, and thought back to his compliment on her instincts. She wasn't sure that's what it had been. Getting some tape on the pickets had seemed merely logical.

They were already at Central Park doing a remote for the “Live at Five” report. It was part of the station's summer campaign to celebrate New York. Periodically the newscast was done partly from the studio and partly on location somewhere in New York. Previously they had used the Bronx Zoo and Shea Stadium in Queens. This time, the site had been Central Park, with Kelly and the weatherman on hand, and the remote had gone off without a single glitch.

While they were tearing down and packing up, Rory had started chatting with one of the security officers. In passing, the guard mentioned that pickets were gathering at the Tavern on the Green restaurant in the park. He was headed there as soon as the TV people were packed up and gone.

When Kelly climbed into the station wagon to ride back to the studio, Rory relayed the information to her, treating it as a bit of interesting gossip.

Kelly suggested immediately, “Why don't we swing by since we're this close? We don't have to get to the studio right away.”

If Kelly had taken the time to analyze her reasons for suggesting it, they would have been sound ones: Melcher was a controversial figure in New York politics; rumors abounded that he had his sights set on the governor's mansion; and his ultraliberal views had inflamed the state's conservative element. All of which meant State Senator Dan Melcher was an ongoing story, with the potential to become a major one in the future. Tape of the protest could be useful file footage for some later, in-depth story on the senator even if it didn't prove to be sufficiently newsworthy on its own.

As producer, Brad Sommers could have vetoed the idea, but he shrugged an indifferent “Go ahead.”

Rory and Larry loaded the camera and sound gear into the station wagon and climbed in with Kelly and the driver. Taking Center Drive, they made the swing around to the Tavern on the Green restaurant.

Two dozen protesters, most carrying placards, milled in front of the building, kept away from the entrance by a mounted patrolman and two park security officers. Just as they arrived on the scene, a police cruiser pulled up and two more patrolmen stepped out to join the others.

Any hope the officers had of persuading the protesters to voluntarily end the demonstration died the instant the group saw the television crew drag their equipment from the wagon. Kelly dug a notebook, pen, and her press credentials out of the shoulder bag that served as a repository for a small clutch purse, her work notes, makeup, hair spray, and assorted paraphernalia. She spotted a patrolman conferring with a harried-looking man in formal dress near the restaurant entrance. With pad in hand, Kelly approached the pair. Neither looked particularly happy to see her.

“Hi. I'm Kelly Douglas with -“

The patrolman cut her off. “I know who you are, Miss Douglas.” His expression was suitably grim but his glance was appreciative as it skimmed her face.

“What's going on?” She deliberately asked the obvious as she pocketed her press credentials and glanced back at the demonstrators.

A six-foot-two, muscled hulk of a man with a shaved head and a Fu Manchu mustache was arguing stridently with one of the officers. Rory Tubbs had his camera aimed at the confrontation, one eye tight to the viewfinder. Larry was behind him, trailing wires and a sound recorder.

“Miss Douglas, please,” the tuxedoed man interposed, pulling her attention back. A nameplate on his breast pocket identified him as the assistant manager. He looked impatient, irritated, and more than a little anxious. “Don't let your cameraman take any shots of the restaurant. It can hardly matter where the banquet for the senator is being held.”

She promised nothing. “Is the senator inside? I'd like to get a statement from him.”

“He hasn't arrived yet.” The patrolman volunteered the information, to the man's abject dismay.

Kelly seized on that immediately, aware it meant there could be an opportunity to get some footage of a face-off between the senator and the protesters. “When is he expected to arrive?”

The patrolman shrugged. “Any time.”

A black Lincoln Town Car, polished to a high gleam, swung into the restaurant's drive. The assistant manager immediately tensed, his gaze fixing on the vehicle's darkly tinted windows in an unconscious attempt to penetrate the reflective glass and identify the occupants within.

Taking no chances, Kelly rushed over to alert Rory to the possible arrival of the senator. As the car pulled to a stop, he hurriedly changed position and angle to focus the camera on the Lincoln's rear passenger door.

Long seconds dragged by before the uniformed driver climbed out and moved to the rear door on the camera's side, opening it. An aide emerged first, followed closely by the senator. As usual, he wasn't accompanied by his wife, a wheelchair-bound victim of a drunk driver.

Recognizing their quarry, the protesters gave voice to their anger. The senator ignored them, his expression never losing its affable look as he paused to speak briefly to his aide. But he tugged at the cuffs of his white dress shirt, a nervous gesture Kelly had seen him make on previous occasions when something wasn't going well.

With the skill of an actor, he pretended not to notice the camera as he started forward. Flashing a confident smile, he waved. His former campaign manager and close adviser, Arthur Trent, climbed out of the car's front seat, catching Kelly's eye and nodding.

In her peripheral vision, she was aware of the forward surge by the protesters and the effort by the police to block them. She didn't see the woman slip past them, she was just suddenly there. Kelly saw the gun in her hand before she realized the sound she'd heard had been a gunshot.

The scene erupted in a flurry of frantic action – people scrambling for cover, the aide catching the falling senator, an officer reeling backward, someone struggling with the woman, police rushing to assist, and Rory maneuvering to capture it all on videotape. Kelly watched, thinking only professionally, allowing no other thoughts to intrude, yet aware all the while that they were the only camera crew on the scene.

Almost as suddenly as it began, it was over. The woman was facedown on the pavement, held there by an angry, white-faced cop hurriedly cuffing her. The aide had the senator cradled in his arms, a bloodied hand pressed to the wound in his chest.

“He's been hit!” he shouted, tears running down his cheeks. “Somebody get an ambulance!”

Kelly saw the mounted patrolman kneeling beside the downed officer, still holding the reins to his restive horse. She glanced at the blood oozing from a corner of the officer's mouth. Some part of her mind registered that it wasn't the officer she had spoken to. Rory had the camera aimed at the now sobbing woman, his fingers on the zoom.

Kelly laid a hand on his shoulder. “How much did you get?”

“All of it,” he said, his concentration never breaking.

Hearing that, she raced inside to a pay phone and called the story to the news desk.

Contacted by cellular phone, the satellite van with Brad Sommers and its two-man technical crew arrived on the scene within minutes. By then, paramedics were loading the senator in an ambulance. A second one with the wounded officer on board was just pulling out, its siren screaming. The police had the immediate area sealed off and were methodically collecting the names and addresses of witnesses. Two other TV crews along with half a dozen print press, reporters and photographers, were there, adding to the confusion.

Flashing his credentials, Brad shouldered his way to them. “What's the latest?”

“I heard one of the paramedics say he didn't think the cop was going to make it,” Larry answered.

“And Melcher?”

“Nobody is saying anything.” Kelly had a glimpse of a paramedic holding an IV drip aloft as the stretcher carrying the senator was eased into the back of the ambulance. “We can't even get anyone to confirm he was shot.”