Rick Mofina - Every Second

After he’d gone several miles, he was careful to keep his eyes on the road while he retrieved the second item from his pocket, lowered his left hand and slowly pulled up the trouser cuff of his left leg. Keeping the rest of his body still, he positioned the item he’d stolen from the tool box and tucked it into his left sock.

His heart was pounding as he replaced his hand on the wheel, confident Vic hadn’t seen the actions he’d taken, now or back at the gas station.

As he drove farther upstate, he tightened his grip on the wheel.

I’m not going down without a fight.

Manhattan, New York

Kate’s cab moved along West 40th Street.

Her mystery caller had provided no details on Lori Fulton over the phone but was willing to meet in Bryant Park, only a short cab ride from Newslead.

Kate didn’t know what to make of the woman’s call. Over the years she’d encountered all sorts of “tipsters”-people who were lonely, people demanding money, conspiracy nuts, mystics, weirdoes and creeps. Kate had seen all kinds.

Most were a waste of time.

In every case, when callers insisted on meeting, Kate weighed the circumstances carefully. Tips were the lifeblood of any news operation. No reporter, if they were any good, dismissed them. You never knew which tip, no matter how it came to you, could break a story wide-open.

And time was ticking on the Fulton story.

It had been several hours since the robbery that morning, and they still hadn’t found a trace of the family or the money. Kate needed to take readers deeper into the story, but while she had some threads on the Fultons, she had no firm leads.

Trusting her instincts, she decided to meet this woman who claimed to know the “truth” about Lori Fulton. Other than wasting her time, the risk was low. They would be at a public place and it was midday. Still, she remained a bit wary when she got out of the cab on Sixth Avenue.

Bryant Park sat in the heart of Midtown behind the New York Public Library’s main branch, on ten acres of beautiful green lawn. It was bordered with gardens and trees sheltering tables and chairs, offering a tranquil outdoor café setting, an urban oasis amid glass and steel skyscrapers. People dotted the great lawn, reading or napping; some were picnicking.

Kate searched the tables near the carousel. Her caller had said that she’d be alone there, with a white bag on the table and reading a hardcover copy of Great Expectations .

After scanning a few families at tables near the carousel, Kate approached an older woman who was wearing casual white pants and a mint-colored top. She was at a table with a white bag on it and-as promised-was reading Great Expectations . Kate stood at the table until the book was lowered and the woman removed her sunglasses.

“Kate Page?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Please, sit down.”

The woman closed her book and placed her sunglasses on it.

“I don’t want you to use my name or take my picture. Will you give me that assurance?”

“I’ll see how this goes. Remember, you called me, and I don’t even know your name. Look, I don’t have much time. What do you know about Lori Fulton?”

The woman repositioned herself in her chair.

“The news reports portray the Fultons as the epitome of a wholesome, all-American family-pillars of the community.”

“And you think they’re not?”

“I didn’t say that. Don’t get me wrong. I’m sympathetic to what’s happening to them. I hope they’re safe, of course-they have a little boy! But I think-I mean, I know there’s more to the story and I believe people should know about it.”

Kate put her recorder on the table and her notebook.

The woman hesitated.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Kate said, “if you’re telling me the truth.”

The woman considered the situation.

“And I don’t have much time,” Kate added.

“Before he died, my husband worked for Dixon Donlevy Mutual Life Insurance as a claims adjuster. He was due for a promotion to be a senior investigator of fraudulent claims out of the office in Queens, where we were living at the time.”

Kate made notes.

“But the job went to Lori Fulton. My husband was crushed. He’d been with the company over twenty years. To make room for Lori, he was given a lateral position, which meant a grinding commute into Manhattan.”

“Okay.” Kate stopped. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure this is the information I’m looking for. What’s this got to do with what’s happening now?”

“My husband’s boss had a connection with the bank and Lori’s husband, so when they were moving from California, he’d arranged for Lori to get the job that should’ve gone to my husband.”

“All right, so he was passed over for a promotion. I still don’t think this has any relevance to the current situation.” Kate checked the time. This was a mistake. This was a case of a woman who’d held a grudge and was looking to vent, and it all seemed rather petty.

“Sorry, I’m complicating this. I still get a bit emotional. The reason Lori got the job as a fraud investigator is because in California she’d been a police officer.”

“A police officer?” Kate sat up and made a note underlining it.

“Yes, and… I think that may be connected to what’s happened now.”

“That’s quite a leap,” Kate said. “How does her being a police officer have anything to do with her husband robbing his bank-or with her and her son being held hostage?”

“Well, I don’t know. That’s for the police to figure out.”

“And did you contact them with your suspicion?”

“No, but I’m sure they must know that she was a cop. Police have access to these things. My husband’s boss was an ex-cop and favored hiring ex-cops for investigations.” The woman pulled a tissue from her bag. “It’s understandable, I know. But my Jackie had put in twenty-two years and had an exemplary record with the company. Then this Lori, who’d done nothing for Dixon Donlevy, aside from showing up, is handed his job on a platter. Jack never complained. He was loyal to the company. He made the commute every day…until his heart attack.”

“Do you know where in California Lori Fulton was a cop?”

The woman shrugged. “I don’t know. But one night, Jack told me that he’d heard that Lori Fulton was involved in something terrible. Something happened when she was a cop that forced her to quit, to leave the force-and that was the reason the Fultons had moved to New York.”

“I need something that proves you have a connection to this. How can I be sure you’re not making this up?”

The woman reached into her bag.

“I knew you might ask.” She pulled out a small stack of papers and photos and put them on the table. “This is me and my husband, Jack, on our last vacation in South Carolina,” she said, pointing to the photo at the top of the pile.

It was a photo of the woman and man smiling on a beach.

“And here’s a photo of our last Dixon Donlevy Christmas party. That’s me with Jack, and there…you see? Lori and Dan Fulton.”

Kate saw the faces of several smiling people, including the Fultons.

“And here,” the woman continued, pulling a piece of paper from the bottom of the stack, “is the staff notice Dixon Donlevy put out when Lori got the job and Jack got his transfer. Jack brought it home and showed me-he was so disappointed. We kept it in our files.”

“May I take pictures of this material to show my editors that it supports what you’ve told me?”

“As long as you swear to me you won’t publish them.”

“I wouldn’t-not without your permission.”