Майкл Коннелли - Fair Warning

“It can’t be your story. You have a conflict of interest.”

“What, because I knew a woman who was murdered a year later?”

“No, because you’re a person of interest in the case.”

“That’s bullshit. It’s pretty clear from what Lisa Hill told me before she hung up and my review of the victim’s social media that she dated a lot of guys. No judgment there, but all of them, including me, are persons of interest. That’s just the cops throwing out a big net. They have DNA from the crime scene because they took a sample from me and—”

“You conveniently left that out of your story just now.”

“I didn’t think it was important because it’s not. The point is I voluntarily gave it because I know that once it gets analyzed I will be in the clear. And free to write this story.”

“What story, Jack? We are a consumer watchdog, not the L.A. Times murder blog.”

“The story is not the murder. I mean, it is, but the real story is the cyberstalking and that gets us into the arena of consumer protection. Everybody has social media. This is a story about how vulnerable we are to cyber predators. How privacy is a thing of the past.”

Myron shook his head.

“That’s an old story,” he said. “It’s been done by every paper in the country. That’s not a story we can partner on and I can’t let you go off chasing it. We need stories that break new ground and draw a lot of eyes.”

“I guarantee it will be one of those stories.”

Myron shook his head. This was going sideways.

“What could you possibly bring to this that’s new?” he said.

“Well, I have to spend some time on it before I can fully answer that but—”

“Look, you are a great reporter who has a history with this kind of story. But it’s not what we do here, Jack. We have certain objectives in our reporting that need to be followed and fulfilled.”

I could tell Myron was extremely uncomfortable because we were peers. He wasn’t dressing down a kid fresh out of J-school.

“We have followers and we have a base,” he continued. “Our readers come to our site looking for what it says on our mission statement: tough watchdog reporting.”

“You’re saying that our readers and financial supporters determine what stories we pursue?” I asked.

“Look, don’t even go there. I didn’t mention our donors and you know that isn’t true. We are completely independent.”

“I’m not trying to start a fight. But you can’t go into every story knowing what the end result is. The best reporting starts out with a question. From who would break into the Democrats’ national headquarters to who killed my brother. Did cyberstalking get Christina Portrero killed? That’s my question. If the answer is yes, then that is a FairWarning story.”

Myron looked at his notes before answering.

“That’s a big ‘if,’” he finally said.

“I know,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t try to answer the question.”

“I still don’t like that you are knee-deep in this story. The cops took your DNA, for Chrissake!”

“Yeah, I gave it to them. I volunteered it. And do you think if I had anything to do with this I would say, Sure, guys, take my DNA. I don’t need a lawyer. I don’t need to hesitate. No, Myron, I wouldn’t. And I didn’t. I will be cleared of this, but if we wait for the police lab on it, we lose the momentum and we lose the story.”

Myron kept his eyes on his notes. I knew I was close.

“Look, let me just run with this for a few days. I’ll either find something or I won’t. If I don’t I’ll come back and work on whatever you put me on. Killer cribs, dangerous car seats — I’ll take over the whole baby beat, if you want.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. The baby-beat stuff gets more eyes than almost anything else we do.”

“I know. Because babies need protection.”

“All right, what are the next steps... if I let you run with this?”

I felt I had won the battle. Myron was going to give in.

“Her parents,” I said. “I want to see what she told them about being stalked. She also posted something on Instagram about finding her half sister. I don’t know what that means and want to find out.”

“Where are the parents?” Myron asked.

“Not sure yet. She told me she was from Chicago.”

“You’re not going to Chicago. We don’t have the funds for—”

“I know. I wasn’t asking to go to Chicago. There’s a thing, they call it the phone, Myron. I’m asking you for time. I’m not asking to spend money.”

Before Myron could respond, the door opened and Tally Galvin stuck her head in.

“Myron,” she said. “The police are here.”

I leaned back in my chair and looked out the window into the newsroom. I saw Mattson and Sakai standing at Tally’s desk at the public entrance to the office.

“Well,” Myron said. “Send them back.”

Tally went to get the two detectives and Myron looked across the table at me. He spoke in a low voice.

“Let me handle this,” he said. “You don’t say anything.”

Before I could protest, the conference-room door opened and Mattson and Sakai entered.

“Detectives,” Myron said. “I’m Myron Levin, founder and executive director of FairWarning. I believe I spoke to one of you this morning.”

“That was me,” Mattson said. “I’m Mattson and this is Detective Sakai.”

“Have a seat. What can we do for you?”

Sakai started to pull one of the chairs away from the table.

“We don’t need to sit down,” Mattson said.

Sakai froze, his hand still on the chair.

“What we need is for you to stand down,” Mattson continued. “We are conducting a murder investigation and the last thing we need is a couple of half-assed reporters poking around and screwing things up. Stand. Down. ”

“Half-assed reporters, Detective?” Myron said. “What does that mean?”

“It means you aren’t even the real thing and you’ve got this guy running around, talking to our witnesses and intimidating them.”

He gestured to me. I was ‘this guy.’

“That’s bullshit,” I said. “All I—”

Myron put his hand out to cut me off.

“Detective, my reporter was pursuing a story. And as far as you thinking we are half-assed anything, you should know we are a fully recognized and legitimate member of the media and enjoy all the freedoms of the press. We are not going to be intimidated while pursuing a valid news story.”

I was amazed by Myron’s calm demeanor and strong words. Five minutes earlier he was questioning my motives and the story I wanted to pursue. But now we had closed ranks and were standing strong. This was why I went to work for Myron in the first place.

“You won’t have much of a story if your reporter ends up in jail,” Mattson said. “How will that look to all your media brethren out there?”

“You are saying that if we continue to look into this story, you will jail our reporter?” Myron asked.

“I’m saying he could go from reporter to prime suspect pretty quick and then freedom of the press won’t matter much, will it?”

“Detective, if you arrest my reporter, I guarantee you it will be a story of widespread interest. It will make news across the country. Just as it will do when you are forced to release him and admit publicly that you and your department were wrong and trumped up a case against a reporter because you were afraid he might find the answers you could not.”

Mattson seemed to hesitate in responding. Finally he spoke, looking directly at me since he now understood that Myron was a solid wall. But he no longer had the hard edge in his words.