Макс Коллинз - You Can’t Stop Me

In Casper, Wyoming, at the state crime lab, Harrow met up with the last candidate on his Dream Team list — Jenny Blake.

A petite blonde with blue eyes, Blake was painfully shy, and Harrow was well aware that her limited social skills could hamper her in the over-the-top world of television.

That limitation aside, the twenty-five-year-old had tremendous computer skills. As a teenager, she had used those skills to lure child predators to her foster parents’ house in Casper, Wyoming, before calling the local police. Her legend spread to the Wyoming state crime lab, where a friend had passed the story on to Harrow. After college, Blake joined that same Wyoming crime lab.

Of all the potential members of the team, the shy Blake would likely be the hardest to convince to join up.

Their mutual friend introduced the pair over coffee in the crime lab’s breakroom, then excused herself.

Harrow laid out his pitch with quiet intensity and what he felt was sincere eloquence... and Jenny Blake turned him down cold.

Her shyness made her tremendously uneasy about the whole television aspect of the job, but having been raised in foster care, she had as much empathy for a parent who had lost a child as she did for the children who were preyed upon by adults.

“Jenny, this isn’t about television,” he told her. “That’s only a means to an end. Thanks to the network, we can afford the best people in their fields — like you.”

“I’m happy here,” she said.

“I just need to borrow you for a while. Jenny, this person, these persons...”

“Unsub,” she said.

“Yes, this unknown subject killed my wife and my son. David had a great future in front of him, and it was taken from him, stolen from him, and... we believe this unsub has killed many others, young people like my son, children too. And this is my chance to stop him.”

“Here,” she said. She was handing him a napkin.

“What?”

“You’re crying.”

He didn’t realize. He dried his eyes.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

Harrow had seldom set foot in the conference room used by the top UBC execs and, for that matter, the board itself. You could have played touch football in here, if it weren’t for the long narrow table of dark polished wood bisecting the space. The walls were beige and blank, lacking even framed posters bragging of hit shows, not that UBC had many. Tables in a back corner held shining stainless steel urns of coffee, orange juice, ice water; and offered baskets of breakfast pastries, fresh fruit, and yogurt cups on ice.

At the front of the room, behind Harrow, was a mammoth plasma screen that could display one huge image or dozens of smaller ones. Just behind Harrow at his left was a cameraman capturing his every move, and at his right, a female audio guy’s boom was a sword of Damocles over his head. Two more cameramen were positioned on either side of the table — not directly across from each other, of course — and a male sound guy with a boom was catching the talk at the table.

Way at the back, near the craft service area, stood network president Dennis Byrnes in a light gray Brooks Brothers, black shirt, and charcoal tie, arms Superman-style at his waist; next to him, of course, was Nicole Strickland, arms folded across the admirable shelf of her breasts, like a bodyguard in Donna Karan.

Harrow turned his attention to the people seated at the table. Nearest were the five forensics experts that made up his dream team; farther down were Carmen Garcia and a contingent of top production personnel.

They were chatting among themselves, the ones already acquainted taking the lead. One thing law enforcement professionals and TV/film people had in common was an affinity for taking advantage of any free food and drink on deck, and this group was no exception.

“All right, everyone,” Harrow said, loud, firm, but not unfriendly, and the group settled down. “I’ll start with my thanks to all of you for walking away from other work, at short notice, to be part of this innovative, and likely history-making investigation.”

He gestured toward the back of the room.

“I also want to introduce you to the two people who have made this possible — network president Dennis Byrnes and our executive producer, Nicole Strickland.”

Polite applause rang in the room, like friendly fire, the faces of the new people turning toward the execs.

Harrow gestured. “Would you like to join me, Dennis?”

The cameraman closest to the execs swung his attention their way, as did the boom operator.

Byrnes smiled and shook his head and raised a palm. “No, J.C. I’d just like to say that UBC — from Nicole and me to every member of the board — is behind the Killer TV team all the way.”

Some curious frowns appeared, and the faces turned toward Harrow again.

“That’s how our remote segment is labeled,” Harrow told them, his embarrassment showing through. “ Killer TV ... we’re a kind of show within the show. It may be a little undignified, but Dennis tells me it’s tested well...”

“Certainly has,” the exec affirmed.

“...and of course that’s the be-all-and-end-all in television.” Harrow gave up a wry smile. “And, anyway, it’s a small concession, considering the financial support the network’s providing.”

Nicole spoke up, her alto a musical, lovely thing (at least when she wasn’t berating or firing somebody): “You’ll all receive directories of the numbers back here at home base, including mine. While I’d appreciate you staying, whenever possible, within the chain of command... I have five assistants, who would also appreciate you helping justify their salaries...”

A few polite laughs.

“...do not hesitate to call me directly, if there is a matter of urgency. Six o’clock Friday night comes promptly at six o’clock every Friday night... meaning we do not stand on ceremony. We don’t have that luxury.”

“And now,” Byrnes said, “we’re going to do our job, which is to get out of your way and let you do yours.”

The execs made their exit to one last nice round of applause, the enthusiasm of which may have been influenced by relief to see them go.

Harrow took the seat at the head of the long, narrow table. “Now that the two two-hundred-pound gorillas are gone, we should start by acknowledging the four-hundred-pound gorilla still in the room.”

No one said anything, but their eyes were on him like magnets on metal.

“I’m heading up an investigation into a crime in which I carry an enormous emotional stake. It breaks a rule so basic, hardly anybody bothers formulating it as a rule.”

Kind smiles.

“So here is your fallback, people. If the need arises, Plan B is to remove me from the case, and Laurene Chase will take over as lead investigator. Laurene?”

Nearest him at right, she stood, and nodded at him, and then at everyone around her.

Harrow went on: “I can be replaced at the network’s whim... no, no! No argument there, that was a basic part of the agreement to fund our efforts. And I can be removed at Laurene’s directive.”

Laurene said, “The man speaks the truth.”

Harrow said, “If you have concerns that you don’t feel comfortable expressing to me, I understand — you won’t be going behind my back, because we’ll just call it part of that chain of command Ms. Strickland mentioned. Go straight to Laurene.”

Billy Choi said, “Laurene, fire J.C.’s ass, would you?”

Everybody laughed. Harrow gave Choi a tiny look that said, Thank you , for breaking the ice.

“The second thing,” Harrow said, “is that we’re going to be on camera pretty much every second we’re working. You will not be followed into restaurants, your hotel rooms, or restrooms. And your free time, what little there’ll be of it, will be your own. Everything else is fair game...” He looked right at the camera. “...unless either Laurene or I say otherwise.”