L Sellers - The Suicide Effect

“I’ll call you as soon as I get into the R amp;D database.”

Sula folded the printouts and slipped them into her purse. She was still amazed by the information that could be gathered online in twenty minutes or less. She kissed Paul’s forehead, then headed back across town.

At home when she plugged her cell phone into the charger, she realized she’d missed a call. She connected to voice mail and braced herself, thinking Rudker may have left an intimidating message.

Instead, a pleasant male voice said, “Hi Sula. This is Aaron DeSpain. We had the little fender bender the other day. I’m calling to see if you’d like to get together for coffee or something. If you do, I’m at 686-4597.”

Monday, April 19th, 2:10 p. m

Trina’s phone rang, breaking her concentration. She wanted to ignore it and keep working on her story, but she could no more ignore a ringing phone than she could go on the air without makeup. She believed in the ripple effect of everything she did or didn’t do. The one time she didn’t answer the phone, she would miss the hottest story of the year. The one time she didn’t look her best, a talent scout would be watching her newscast. She picked up the phone.

“Trina Waterman,” she said with a touch of impatience.

“This is Allen Sebring with the accounting firm of Anderson and Shire. I think I have a story for you. Will you meet me this afternoon?”

“I can’t make it today. I’m on deadline. What’s the story?” She had no time for this, and yet she was intrigued.

“I can’t talk about it over the phone, but I guarantee, you’ll like the lead.”

“Tomorrow morning at 10:30. Starbucks on the corner of 7th and Washington. You know what I look like, right?”

“Of course. But I need to do this now, before I lose my courage.”

Trina couldn’t resist. He seemed to be suffering from the stress holding it all in, and she loved a ripe story.

“Okay. Same place, in forty minutes.”

“Thanks. See you then.”

Trina would have liked to walk the short mile to the coffee shop-any opportunity to exercise-but she didn’t have time today. She spent another ten minutes crafting her follow-up report about the murdered woman found near the river, then hurriedly ate the fruit salad she’d brought for lunch.

This better be good, she thought as she headed out.

Allen Sebring didn’t look like an accountant. He was tall and thin with a long angular face. Hunched over the small coffee shop table, Trina thought if he swapped his brown tweed jacket for a black overcoat, he could play Lurch. Out of habit, she visualized him from the lens of a camera. Compelling, in a freak show sort of way, she thought.

After the introductions, he held out his hand and she reluctantly shook it. Hand-to-hand contact was the best way to catch a cold, and she could not afford to get sick. The camera was not kind to virus-infected faces. She excused herself to go order a single-shot Americana and wash her hands in the restroom.

When she returned to the table, Sebring leaned in and spoke in a quiet voice. “Are you familiar with Prolabs?”

Trina felt the little charge of electricity she experienced when stories started to come together. She had just been writing about a murdered woman who worked for Prolabs, and now she was about to hear company secrets. Were the events connected? Even if not, talking about them together would make good coverage.

She kept her face deadpan. “Of course. They’re the city’s biggest employer and they plan to get bigger.”

“You know the city council just voted to change the zoning so the company could expand.”

“Yes. I know.” Trina sipped her coffee. It was still too hot.

“Did it strike you as odd that Walter Krumble, who has never voted to change anything, sided with the business?”

“That is odd. So?” She wished he would just spit it out.

“Neil Barstow, the company’s chief financial officer, withdrew fifteen thousand dollars in company funds and made a notation on the withdrawal slip that said Walter Krumble.

Another shot of electricity. “A bribe?”

“What else?”

“Why are you telling me? Are you his accountant?”

“I’m one of Prolabs’ accountants.” Sebring’s eyes darted around before he continued. “I’m telling you because their books are a mess-largely illegal-and if the JB Pharma deal doesn’t go through, the company will collapse.”

Trina sat back and gave herself a moment to digest it. She was excited and distressed at the same time. Prolabs was local success story. It employed hundreds of people, including her brother. Exposing its seedy side might bring it down. She didn’t want to be responsible for that. Yet, what else could she do? She had a responsibility to her viewers, many of whom owned Prolabs stock. Besides, bribery and illegal bookkeeping were the stuff of a scandal. If she exposed it now, she might actually help save the company. “Can you provide any documentation?”

“I made a photocopy of the withdrawal slip.” He pulled it out of his jacket pocket and pushed it across the small table. The paper unfolded and revealed itself to be exactly as Sebring had described.

Gotcha! she thought with glee. She couldn’t hold back a smile. “What about the bogus bookkeeping?”

Sebring squirmed. “I don’t know. I could get fired for divulging client information.”

“I can’t do much with the accounting story without some type of evidence.”

“You can contact the Securities and Exchange Commission. Call for an investigation.” Sebring started to button his jacket.

“I have to give them something to go on.”

“I’ll fax you a document. It lists a loan to KJR Inc., which is a specialty enterprise set up as a tax shelter. In reality, it functions as a personal line of credit to Karl Rudker. The first repayment is five months overdue.”

“How much did he borrow?”

Sebring stood and silently mouthed, “Two point seven mil.”

Trina liked the number. She heard herself saying it on air. She wanted more, but Sebring was leaving. “Thanks for the tip. Can I contact you?”

“Please don’t.” He started to walk away, then turned back. “Good luck.”

Trina nodded. The story would require some serious digging, but it could be well worth it. Especially if the dead woman was connected to Prolabs’ accounting scandal. Had she threatened to expose Karl Rudker? Was he prone to violence?

Trina decided to skip the coffee. Her energy level was already pulsating. This kind of story never happened in Eugene. Bankruptcies, identity theft, and an occasional scam on senior citizens were about all the white-collar crime the local folks came up with. She tossed her mostly full cup, exited the warm coffee shop, and headed back to the station. Karl Rudker’s life was about to undergo a scrutiny that would make even an honest man blush.

He was in a foreign country and hordes of people lined the sheer cliffs over a mile-wide river. Without hesitation, they all jumped, splashing into the icy water. Robbie knew he should follow, yet he hesitated. He eased up close to the edge and peered over. The water seemed to be moving slowly but it looked incredibly deep. He filled his lungs with air and prepared to push off.

His leap was cut short by the sound of the alarm. Robbie sat up and slammed off the noise. He swung his legs out of bed and planted his feet on the floor. A moment later, he was up and moving toward the bathroom. Halfway there, he became aware of his actions. He’d never come awake so quickly before. It was the first time in years he’d gotten out of bed without hitting the snooze button at least twice. He could not remember ever getting up to face the day without at least some reservation.