Rick Mofina - Full Tilt

A number of vehicles from Rampart PD, Rampart Fire and county and state police were parked at the far side. Keeping to the edge of the woods, Kate moved toward them, where she was able to get closer without anyone noticing her.

The air carried the smell of charcoal and the memory of death.

As the forensic people worked with funereal care the reality hit Kate full force.

Did Vanessa die here?

Anguish swelled in Kate’s throat as an image came to her:

Vanessa is young and they’re crossing the street. Kate’s taking her hand; the earth shakes as a huge rig thunders by. Fear rises on Vanessa’s little face, but she trusts her big sister, loves her, worships her, as her little fingers tighten around Kate’s.

Needing to be closer to the ruins, Kate reached into her bag for her compact digital camera. It had a high-quality lens and she zoomed in on the jagged black tangles of planks and trestles. With each picture Kate stepped closer, and with each photo her heart broke a little more. Moving in, she scoured the burned rubble, her camera offering more detail the nearer she got. She focused on a series of charred beams jutting from the aftermath. They were tagged, indicating they’d been processed. On patches of the wood that were not burned, Kate saw crude markings scratched into the surface. To see them better she needed to get closer-she needed to do the unthinkable.

Kate lifted the tape to step into the scene but hesitated.

She’d be breaking the law.

But this could be the last thing my sister touched.

Her heart raced.

She might never be this close again.

Kate stepped into the scene, taking more photos. Moving in deeper, she looked beyond the beams, noticing pockets within the devastation that appeared to be gridded, cleared and tagged. She concentrated on those areas, zooming in, taking-

“Hey!” Keys jingled as a uniformed officer trotted from one of the vehicles. “Step out of there now! You’re under arrest!”

Rampart, New York

Kate could hear her pulse thudding in her ears.

Over that, she heard the police radio dispatches.

She was in the backseat of Rampart Officer Len Reddick’s patrol car. He was in the front verifying her Newslead ID, which he held in his hand. She could smell his cologne and peppermint gum. His jaw muscles pumped away, letting her know that he was still pissed.

“That’s right, Kate Page,” Reddick chawed into his microphone. “Page. Poppa Alpha Golf Echo. Employee number seven-two-six-six.”

Kate’s wrists throbbed against the metal handcuffs. The cuffs were an overreaction because Reddick was angry that he’d failed to spot her. She’d seen the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition splayed on the front seat when he put her in his car.

He’d seized her camera, her phone and her bag, then read Kate her rights.

As his radio crackled, she looked out the window.

This morning she’d kissed Grace goodbye; now she was handcuffed and facing charges. She knew that it was wrong to step into a crime scene, but she was compelled by a raw feeling that her sister had been here.

I can feel it, I can just feel it.

As Reddick pawed through her things she endured the sting of humiliation and, when he found Detective Brennan’s card, braced for what was to come.

Reddick’s inquiries to his dispatcher had launched a train of trouble. Calls were made to Newslead to alert her editors. Brennan was called and was en route. He’d insisted on questioning her, as it was his scene. Reddick meantime had waved over one of the forensic technicians to examine Kate’s camera and phone to review the pictures Kate had taken.

Kate’s heart was racing. So far, Reddick hadn’t patted her down.

She’d taken precautions to save her photos. The instant Reddick had discovered her inside the crime scene, she immediately removed her camera’s stamp-sized memory card, slid it into her sock, then, moving as fast as she could, installed a new card and resumed taking more photos. If the police didn’t find her hidden card, she could look at the images later.

At that moment, Reddick’s cell phone rang.

“Your people in New York.”

Kate raised her cuffed hands and Reddick passed his phone to her. He stepped out of the car to show the technician Kate’s phone, allowing her some privacy.

“It’s Reeka. What’s happened?”

Kate’s stomach tensed.

“I think I should talk to Chuck, Reeka.”

“He had to go to an emergency meeting in Chicago. I’m your supervisor, talk to me.”

“Didn’t Chuck tell you why I’m here?”

“He told me nothing. You should’ve advised me if you were assigned something on your day off. Why are you under arrest in Rampart?”

Kate explained everything to Reeka, exposing the fact she’d gone over her head to Chuck.

“So, from what the police just told me,” the temperature of Reeka’s voice plummeted to a prosecutorial level, “and from what you’re telling me, you go up there on your time for personal reasons, then present yourself as a Newslead reporter to try to gain access to a crime scene, are refused, then you later breach the scene and are now facing charges.”

Kate admitted that was correct.

“You’re aware of Newslead’s policy on how our reporters are to represent the organization and conduct themselves, especially at crime scenes? You’re aware of that, Kate?”

“Of course.”

“Yet, you’ve clearly violated it.”

Kate said nothing.

“I’ll be discussing your situation with senior management. Until then, I suggest you get yourself an attorney.”

The call ended.

This was Kate’s fault and she chastised herself when she thought of Grace. What would happen to her if she was jailed? Would social services be called?

Why didn’t I think this through?

She scanned the scene again, unable to deny its emotional pull. Decades of guilt, of being haunted by Vanessa’s ghost, had clouded her judgment.

Brennan had arrived and was near the car with Reddick and the technician, huddled over Kate’s camera and phone, while Reddick continued searching the contents of her bag. Occasionally Reddick pointed to the scene, with the technician nodding, before Brennan approached the car and helped Kate out.

“I asked you not to come here, Kate. You know full well we have to protect this scene. Anything and everything is considered evidence.” He shook his head. “You misrepresented yourself to the state trooper, you breached our scene and tromped though it, contaminating it, or, possibly planting evidence. You’re facing possible interference and criminal trespass charges. I can’t understand why you did this.”

“Why?” Adrenaline and fury coursed through her and she let go. “I can’t believe you have to ask me that! You found my sister’s necklace out there in that-that killing ground and she’s-”

“We haven’t confirmed it’s hers yet.”

“You know and I know it’s hers!”

“No, we don’t. Kate, everything we have to this point is circumstantial. Nothing’s conclusive.”

“You found her necklace out there! My God, she was supposed to have drowned twenty years ago in Canada! So you tell me how did it get there?”

“We don’t know and we don’t know that it’s your sister’s. You of all people should understand the huge emotional and legal consequences of making assumptions that result in misidentification.”

“Then tell me why you have contacted Canadian police.”

“I’m not discussing this case with you.”

“Yeah. Remember, Ed, you called me to help you! That’s why I’m here. I’ve lived with this for twenty years! I deserve to know the truth! That’s why I did what I did!”