Laura Caldwell - Red Blooded Murder

Every pair of eyes in the newsroom shot to mine. I felt a ferocious blush creeping over me.

“I’ve talked to them twice,” I said, with as much authority as I could muster. “I had nothing to do with it, and I’ve told them everything I know.”

C.J.’s mouth was hanging agape. She shook her head fiercely, then turned and stormed from the set.

I heard a producer in my ear. “They’re not taking questions. We’re going back to you in one… Uh, I guess.”

I saw Vaughn end the press conference. The reporters erupted with questions, but Vaughn shook his head and held up his hand, then left. The monitors shifted to a shot of Tom Bennett trying to hide his surprise while he wrapped up what had been said.

And then it was back to me. The person of interest.

I went to that spot I’d found a few days ago, when I’d first sat in the anchor chair. I saw the script in front of me. I heard words leaving my mouth. But it was as if someone else was speaking. I sank once again into a detached space in my mind, while I talked and read and talked some more.

No one looked at me during commercial breaks. No one seemed to know what to say. C.J. was gone from the set for the rest of the broadcast.

The minute it was over, she was next to the anchor desk, her face grim. “I need you in my office. Immediately.”

“I’ve been on the phone with Ari Adler,” C.J. said. “Discussing the fact that you’re a suspect in Jane’s death.”

“I am not a suspect! I’m a person of interest.” For some reason, the term came out with some pride. “It’s very different,” I rushed to explain. “It doesn’t mean anything. I’m not a suspect. I’m not even a witness except for after the fact.”

She straightened the lapel of her white jacket and squirmed a bit in her chair. “Tom Bennett has a source inside the CPD. It’s not official, and they don’t have enough yet to arrest you, but they’re looking at you as someone who could have killed Jane.”

I actually felt a falling sensation, as if I were tumbling backward into a gaping black hole. “C.J., I did not hurt Jane.”

“Of course you didn’t.” She didn’t sound convincing.

“I didn’t!” I said.

She held up two hands. “Izzy, we love you. You stepped up when this network needed you, when Jane needed you. And none of us will ever forget it. We think you’re great. You could have a career in broadcasting ahead of you. But it’s not at Trial TV.”

“What are you saying?”

“Look, for better or for worse, our ratings will probably skyrocket after this. From a business standpoint, I’d love to keep you, even for a few days. But from a human standpoint, we can’t have someone who’s a potential suspect in Jane’s murder sitting in Jane’s chair. Vanessa Bock, the afternoon anchor, is going to start headlining the morning, and we’re pulling a reporter in to cover afternoons and evenings on the desk.” C.J. shook her head, as if she could barely get the words out. But she got them out all right. “Izzy, we have to let you go.”

My eyes swam around her office, looking for solid ground. Like yesterday, the place was still packed with boxes filled with office stuff, personal items, coffee mugs, awards.

“Izzy, I believe you,” C.J. said. “And I believe in whatever you want to do with yourself and your career.”

What would I do with my career now? With myself? Then I realized it didn’t matter. Little mattered compared to what had happened to Jane. And the fact that I was being questioned about it.

My eyes finally settled on one of C.J.’s boxes stuffed with broadcast awards, plaques, trophies. I pointed at them. “I guess I won’t get a chance to win any of those.”

C.J.’s eyes stayed on me. “You might be able to find another gig in the business. But I won’t kid you. It’ll be tough to get someone to take you on after this. I’ll be a reference, of course.”

There was a knock on C.J.’s door. One of the interns stuck his head in. “We’ve got a crowd outside.”

“Other press?” C.J. asked.

He nodded. “Lots.”

“Damn.” She stood. “Izzy, I don’t want to usher you out, but you should go. It will only get worse.”

I stood with her. I extended my hand to C.J. and shook hers. “By the way, this is freaking baloney.” Nope, the swear replacement campaign wasn’t going to cut it today. “No, let me tell you, this is fucking bullshit.”

O utside Trial TV, a small crowd of photographers sprang into action, their click, click, click reminding me of Vaughn’s ballpoint pen.

“Izzy!” a reporter yelled. “How are you?”

I recognized him as Andrew Trammel, whose contract I had negotiated two years ago. It was so strange to see him in this environment, to be on the other side of the microphone-not as an attorney or a reporter but as the story.

Andy put his mike close to my face. “What’s your reaction to the news that you’ve been named a person of interest in the Augustine case?”

I knew that if Maggie could see me now, she would be yelling, No comment!

But I really wasn’t a no-comment kind of girl.

The rest of the reporters shoved their mikes forward.

“I was,” I said, “the one who found Jane Augustine on the night she died. I adored Jane. I know nothing other than what I’ve already told the police.”

Except about Jane’s scarfing games.

The reporters surged forward, blocking me in, yelling more questions. Video and TV cameras surrounded me.

“Izzy, over here!” The voice that cut through the others was familiar. I looked to the right. Mayburn. He pushed through the reporters, grabbed my arm and propelled me through the throng to a navy-blue Mercedes. “Get in!”

He opened the passenger door, practically shoved me inside and slammed it behind me.

Lucy was in the driver’s seat, her ivory-gold sweater matching her blond hair. “Hi, Iz,” she said with a smile.

Mayburn jumped in the backseat. “Go!” he yelled.

Lucy’s face set in a determined line, and she floored the car and squealed out of the Trial TV parking lot.

“Thank you!” I said. “How did you know to get me?”

“I’ve been watching you on Trial TV around the clock,” Lucy said. “When I saw the press conference, I told Mayburn you needed help.”

“Something else, too,” Mayburn said from behind. “I tailed Carina Fariello today-that accountant who used to work for Jackson Prince? She’s at home right now. And considering the press conference about you this morning, I think we better get over there and talk to her. Now.”

As we drove, I told them Trial TV had fired me.

“What?” Lucy was outraged. “You were great on that station.”

“Thanks. They said they had to let me go because of this person of interest thing and the fact that I happened to take over Jane’s job after she died.”

Mayburn grunted. “Yeah, that doesn’t look good.”

I shivered as a chill of fear raced through my body. “I’m scared.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Lucy said.

“I know that, but the cops don’t.”

Silence in the car.

“The upside is…” I trailed off. I always could find an upside to just about any scenario, but what was the upside here? “Okay, new topic. How do we approach Carina Fariello?”

We batted around a few ways to speak with her. Although Mayburn rarely shied away from subterfuge or a little creative license with the facts, we decided that we would be up-front with her and conversational. More than anything we wanted to get her talking.

I turned around and looked at Mayburn. “Hey,” I said, “what’s going on with the Fig Leaf case?”

“I need you to get a pearl thong.”