Rick Mofina - Full Tilt

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I’m working on it, Chuck.

Kate was still checking her messages when a new one arrived from Reeka.

Could you please come to my office?

Reeka had her face in her phone, texting, when Kate tapped softly on her open door. She’d noticed how small Reeka seemed behind her desk, as if it, or her position, was oversize for her.

“Please sit down.” Reeka kept her face in her phone. Kate saw that the flat-screen TV in the corner was frozen on footage of the Rampart case. “So…” Reeka exhaled and put the phone down. “How’d things go for you?”

“Okay.” Kate was guarded. “Considering everything.”

“And how’re you holding up, considering everything?”

“I’m okay.”

“Your stories are solid.”

“Thanks.” Kate remained wary, the way a mongoose is wary of a cobra.

“But you do have the inside track.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wanted to show you something.” Reeka played the footage of Kate being interviewed at Rampart, then froze it. “You’re aware of Newslead policy about reporters giving interviews to other press?”

“Yes.”

“Reporters don’t comment on the news without prior permission from a supervising editor. It’s decided on a case-by-case basis. You needed prior permission.”

“Reeka, what is this? You do know what this story’s about? You’re aware of what was agreed to in my covering the case with Chuck, Morris and Ben Sussman? You were part of it. I’ve been digging my ass off. You’re aware of what I’m going through here, and how my ‘inside track,’ as you call it, my personal anguish, is being exploited by Newslead?”

“Of course. And I couldn’t begin to imagine the heartache you’re enduring, but I have to keep in mind what happened in London. That situation eroded our credibility and our integrity. I have to insure we do things by the book, Kate.”

“This is not the same thing as what happened in London, Reeka, and you know that.”

A knock sounded at the door and both women turned to see Sussman standing at it.

“There you are, Kate. I just wanted to say pickup rates on this story are sky-high. We understand how hard this must be personally for you, Kate. We’re all praying for you, so whatever you need, you let us know.”

“Thank you, Ben.”

“Be assured, Newslead’s behind you. By the way, I’ve heard through the grapevine Good Morning America and the Today show, are showing interest in having you on soon. So let’s see how things go.”

After Sussman left, Kate turned to Reeka.

“I’d like to get back to work.”

Kate detoured to the restroom to check her face and contend with the corporate hypocrisy. We’re all praying for you. A few days ago they all wanted me fired. If I didn’t love the job here-if Chuck didn’t have my back I’d-calm down. Just calm down and stop thinking about yourself.

Back in the newsroom, Kate was struck with an idea.

She went to the business section and the desk of Hugh Davidson, who reported on computer technology. Hugh was otherwise known as Newslead’s Emperor Nerd. He was partial to bow ties and pastel shirts.

“Hey, Hugh, got a sec? I need your help.”

He swiveled in his chair, crossed his arms.

“Shoot, Kate. I got five minutes before I have to go talk to some Apple honchos.”

“You’ve written about hackers and the best of the best out there.”

“That’s correct. Nice that you’re familiar with my work.”

“You’ve got contacts in hackerdom, or whatever it’s called.”

“Correct.”

“You know about my situation?”

“Yes, I also read your work.”

“Do you think you could put me in touch with some of your hacker friends? I want to write a deep bio on Carl Nelson.”

Hugh touched one finger to his lips.

“I do know of some entities in the cyber mists who’re remarkably skilled and would be up to the challenge.”

Kate’s cell phone rang.

“Great. I’ve got to take this, Hugh.”

“I’ll put some feelers out there and get back to you.”

Kate’s phone rang a second time.

“Thanks, Hugh. Kate Page,” she said into her phone.

“Hello. This is Will Goodsill in Denver. I got a call from a cousin who said you were trying to reach me.”

“Yes, Will, thanks for calling. This concerns a story you wrote fifteen years ago for the Denver Star-Times , about a missing Canadian girl.”

“So you said in your message. I looked you up and your current work. You’re looking for a connection to Alberta, Denver and New York?”

“Exactly, yes.” Kate was impressed. “Can you help me?”

“I’m a hoarder of files and notebooks, but we had some flooding a few years back, so I can’t say if I’ve still got everything from that time. I remember that story, and I did some digging on it myself. I’ll have to look to see if it survived and get back to you, Kate.”

Rampart, New York

Lori Koller, the woman on the phone from Utica, was uneasy.

“You’re certain you sold your van to the man in the photograph, Carl Nelson?” asked Ed.

“Yes. Only he said his name was John Feeney from Rochester. But I swear that’s him in the picture. Please don’t give out my name.”

“No, ma’am. Now, you posted your van on a buy-and-sell site. He responded, paid cash, and this was four months ago?”

“Yes.”

“How did he take the van away? Did he have a friend with him?”

“No, he had a pickup truck pulling a trailer.”

“Okay, good. Now, I’ve got your contact information. Someone’s going to be in touch with you real soon.”

“Who?”

“Likely someone from the Utica police, or state police or the FBI. They’ll take a statement from you and we’re going to need the VIN and-”

“The VIN?”

“It’s the Vehicle Identification Number. It’ll be on your papers. We’ll need your documents to verify the registration history for the vehicle. We’ll also want all your maintenance records, showing what kind of tires you had on the vehicle. Do you still have the records, or the name of the shop where you had your van serviced?”

“I do.”

“Do you have a recent photo of the van?”

“The one I used on the site.”

“Can you send it to me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, someone will be in touch shortly.”

“Please don’t give my name to the public. I’m a little scared.”

“No, ma’am.”

After hanging up, Brennan called Utica police, the state police, the FBI and then he alerted his lieutenant.

“This one’s good,” Brennan told him before he began submitting details of the lead into the case data file.

Since the news conference and public appeal, the investigators had received more than one hundred tips, but most of the callers were vague: “I think it’s my new neighbor. He’s creepy.” Or, “I met this guy at a bar, who said he knew a guy, who thinks he knows where Carl Nelson is, but I can’t remember the bar-I was pretty loaded.”

The Utica lead was different. It was solid and could be supported by official records. It held the potential to be physical evidence that would stand up in court. It also fit with the theory that Nelson had used a second vehicle to leave the area. At the scene, they’d found tire impressions that didn’t come from his pickup truck or the car belonging to the teens who’d discovered the fire.

It would be a major break if we could match the impressions with the Utica van. Once the information was verified, details about the van and its link to the case would be submitted to regional, state and national crime databases, like the National Crime Information Center and Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. Bulletins for the van would go to every law enforcement agency in the country.