Michael Connelly - The Scarecrow

“Can we get that confirmed so we can put it in one of the stories?”

“Yeah, I’ll confirm it. I’m probably the only reporter they’ll take a call from. How many inches are you giving me for the story?”

“Uh, Jack, that was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”

I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.

“I’m writing the main story, right?”

“We’re going to go big with this. Main and sidebar on the front going to a double-truck inside. For once, we have a lot of space.”

Double-truck meant two full inside pages. It was a lot of space but it took one of the paper’s own reporters getting murdered to get it.

Dorothy continued the plan.

“Jerry Spencer is already on the ground in Las Vegas and Jill Meyerson is on her way up to Ely State Prison to try to talk to Brian Oglevy. In L.A., we’ve got GoGo Gonzmart writing the sidebar, which will be on Angela, and Teri Sparks down in South L.A. working on a piece on the kid charged with the Babbit murder. We have art on Angela and are looking for more.”

“Is Alonzo Winslow getting out of juvy jail today?”

“We’re not sure yet. Hopefully, it will take another day and we’ll have that to run with tomorrow.”

Even without Winslow getting out, they were going big. Sending Metro reporters out across the west and putting multiple writers on it locally was something I had not seen done by the Times since the fires ravaged the state the year before. It was exciting to be part of it, but not so exciting when considering what caused it.

“All right,” I said. “I have stuff to contribute to almost all of those stories and I’ll still pull together and write the main.”

Dorothy nodded, hesitated and then dropped the bomb.

“Larry Bernard is writing the main, Jack.”

I reacted swiftly and loudly.

“What the fuck are you talking about? This is my story, Dorothy! Actually, me and Angela’s story.”

Dorothy looked up over my shoulder and out to the newsroom. I suspected that my outburst had been heard through the glass. I didn’t care.

“Jack, calm down and watch your language. I’m not going to let you talk to me the way you talked to Prendo yesterday.”

I tried to pace my breathing and speak calmly.

“Okay, I apologize for the language. To you and Prendo. But you can’t take this story away from me. It’s my story. I started it, I’m writing it.”

“Jack, you can’t write it and you know it. You are the story. I need to get you with Larry so he can interview you and then write the story. The switchboard’s taken more than thirty messages from reporters wanting to interview you, including the New York Times, Katie Couric, even Craig Ferguson from the Late Late Show .”

“ Ferguson ’s not a reporter.”

“Doesn’t matter. The point is, you are the story, Jack. That’s a fact. Now, we certainly need your help and your knowledge of everything related, but we can’t let the subject of a major breaking story also write it. You were in police custody for eight hours today. What you told them is the basis of their investigation. How are you going to write about that? Are you going to interview yourself? Write it in first person?”

She paused to let me answer but I didn’t.

“That’s right,” she continued. “Not going to happen. You can’t do this, and I know you understand that.”

I leaned forward and put my face in my hands. I knew she was right. I’d known it before I even entered the newsroom.

“This was supposed to be my big exit. Get that kid out of jail and go out in a blaze of glory. Put the big three-oh on my career.”

“You’re still going to get credit. There is no way the story can be anything but about you. Katie Couric, the Late Late Show -I’d say that’s going out in a blaze of glory.”

“I wanted to write it, not tell it to somebody else.”

“Look, let’s get this done today and then we can talk about doing a first-person piece when the dust settles. I promise you, you will get to write something about all of this at some point.”

I finally sat back up and looked at her. For the first time I noticed the photo taped to the wall behind her. It was a still shot from The Wizard of Oz that showed Dorothy skipping down the yellow brick road with the Tin Man, the Lion and the Scarecrow. Beneath the characters someone had printed in Magic Marker:

YOU’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE, DOROTHY

I had forgotten that Dorothy Fowler had come to the paper from the Wichita Eagle .

“All right, if you promise me that story.”

“I promise, Jack.”

“Okay. I’ll tell Larry what I know.”

I still felt defeated.

“Before you do, I need to make sure of one last thing,” Dorothy said. “Are you comfortable going on the record with another reporter? Do you want to consult a lawyer first or anything like that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jack, I want to make sure you’re protected. It’s an ongoing investigation. I don’t want something you say in the paper to be possibly used by the police to hurt you later.”

I stood up but maintained composure and control.

“In other words, you don’t believe any of this. You believe what he was hoping you would believe. That I killed her in some sort of psychotic breakdown over getting fired.”

“No, Jack. I believe you. I just want you protected. And who is he that you’re talking about?”

I pointed out the glass toward the newsroom.

“Who do you think? The guy! The Unsub! The killer who took Angela and the others.”

“Okay, okay. I understand. I’m sorry I brought up the legal aspects of this. Let me get you with Larry in the conference room so you can have some privacy, okay?”

She stood up and rushed by me to leave the office and look for Larry Bernard. I stepped out and surveyed the newsroom. My eyes eventually came to Angela’s empty cubicle. I walked over and saw that someone had placed a bouquet of flowers wrapped in cellophane diagonally across her desk. Immediately I was struck by the clear plastic wrapping around the flowers and it reminded me of the bag that had been used to suffocate her. Once again I saw Angela’s face disappearing into the darkness beneath the bed.

“Excuse me, Jack?”

I almost jumped. I turned and saw it was Emily Gomez-Gonzmart. She was one of the best reporters on the Metro staff. Always hustling, always going after a story.

“Hey, GoGo.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt but I’m putting together the story on Angela and wondered if I could get a little help from you. And maybe a quote I could use.”

She was holding a pen and reporter’s notebook. I went with the quote first.

“Uh, yeah, but I didn’t really know her,” I said. “I was just getting to know her, but from what I saw I could tell she was going to be a great reporter. She had the right mix of curiosity and drive and determination that a good reporter needs. She is going to be missed. Who knows what stories she would have written and what people she could have helped with those stories?”

I gave GoGo a moment to finish writing.

“How’s that?”

“Good, Jack, thanks. Anybody you can suggest I talk to over in the cop shop?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know. She had just started and I don’t think she had made an impression on anybody yet. I heard she had a blog. Have you looked at that?”

“Yeah, I’ve got the blog and it’s got some contacts on it. I talked to a Professor Foley back at the University of Florida and a few others. I should be fine there. I was just looking for somebody local and outside the paper who might have something to say about her more recently.”