Maggie Shayne - Thicker Than Water

“This is a News-Channel Four Exclusive Special Report. Police have just confirmed the identity of the man found lying dead in an Armory Square hotel room last night as Harry Blackwood, brother of New York’s own Senator Martin Blackwood. The death is listed as suspicious and is under investigation. I was on the scene of this story last night,” she read, “with invaluable assistance from Team Four’s newest member, and my new partner, Sean MacKenzie. Sean?”

“Roll Two!” the control room announced.

The red light on camera one blinked out, and the one on camera two came on. Sean knew the monitor now showed both of them, and he tried to look serious as he recited the lines he’d planned on the way down the hall. “Thanks, partner,” he said. He saw sparks flying from her eyes, knew they were invisible to everyone but him and deflected them with a smug half smile. Then, facing the camera, “Team Four will have full coverage and late-breaking details of this tragedy as they unfold. Keep it here, folks. This is where you’ll get the inside stuff. Until then, this is Sean MacKenzie…” He looked her way.

“And Julie Jones for News Channel Four,” she said, not missing a beat.

The light went out.

“You’re clear.”

Jones yanked the microphone from her lapel, tugged it out from the back of her blouse—he hadn’t thought of running the wire up his back, good tip—and got to her feet. “Invaluable assistance?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“That was not necessary,” she told him.

“No, but it was perfect.”

“What the hell was that ‘inside stuff’ comment, anyway? I hope you don’t think you can bring your tabloid techniques here with you, MacKenzie, because we won’t tolerate that at this station.”

“Bullshit. Viewers are twice as intrigued now, and you can bet they’ll be tuning in later. As for my techniques, I’m pretty sure they’re what got me hired.”

She didn’t growl at him, but he thought it was close. Then she swung her gaze away, pinning the news director to the floor with her eyes.

Allan returned a slow smile while rubbing his hands. “You two are dynamite together. Now, grab a cameraman and get to that press conference, pronto.”

“Both of us?” Jones asked.

“Julie, from now on everything you do, you do together. You follow?”

She closed her eyes, clenched her fists and left the studio.

Sean had to give her credit for speed. She didn’t mess around—just dashed into her office, grabbed her jacket and a larger bag, and then joined him in the white SUV in the parking lot, sliding into the passenger seat, then turning to look at him as if he shouldn’t be there.

“You keep frowning every time you look at me and you’re gonna get wrinkles, Jones.”

“The photographers usually drive,” she said. “You’re going to piss off whoever is coming with us.”

“No chance of that.” He started the car, put it in reverse, backed out of the parking space. “No one was available. All out on assignment, and we haven’t got time to wait. Allan told me to handle it.”

She lifted her brows. “Sean MacKenzie saves the day, huh?”

He pulled into traffic. “You wanna hold the camera and let me do the report, I’ll be more than happy to let you.” He glanced her way. “Buckle up, Jones.”

She pulled on her seat belt as he drove. “Where’s the press conference? And who will be there?”

“Outside City Hall. Chief Strong, Senator Blackwood naturally, I don’t know who else.”

“Those cops from last night, I hope.”

He glanced at her. “No word on your keys yet?”

She shook her head.

“You ever get your car outta there?”

“Allan said he’d send one of the interns for it this afternoon. I left my spare set of keys with him.”

“So it doesn’t matter so much—about the other set, I mean.”

It did, he could see it did, but he didn’t know why. “No,” she told him, and he knew it was a lie. “Doesn’t matter at all.”

They arrived at City Hall. Several other news stations had reporters on the scene, setting up to cover the press conference, but none, he was pleased to see, had sent their evening anchors. To them, it had been just another murder in a year that had already broken the record for violent crime in Central New York. They hadn’t been prepared, and the press conference was being given on very short notice.

“Perfect,” he whispered, pulling the Jeep into a parking spot at an odd angle and jumping out. He opened the back door, yanked out the camera and balanced it on his shoulder. With his free hand, he snapped on the headphone.

“You just stay behind the camera where you belong,” Jones said, adjusting her earphone, picking up the microphone case and getting out, as well.

She took the lead, shouldering her way through the other reporters, most of whom were, he guessed, a little too starstruck to call her on her rudeness. There was no question who was top dog among those present. No other local celebs stood around. None. The sea of bodies parted, grudgingly, to let them pass. Jones commandeered a spot near the podium that had been set up on the front stairs, then turned to face him and almost bumped into the camera.

He backed up two paces, looked through the lens at her, wondered who the hell had ever sculpted a face that perfect or eyes that full of mystery. He saw secrets in those eyes and wondered how the hell he’d missed them up to now.

“How do I look?” she asked, and he knew she wasn’t fishing for compliments. She wanted him to tell her if there was spinach in her teeth or a hair standing up straight on top of her head. There wasn’t.

“You’ll do.”

She narrowed her eyes on him, brought the microphone to her lips, adjusted her own nearly invisible earpiece. “You ready back there?”

“Going live in thirty. Stand by.”

She cleared her throat, licked her lips.

“Ten seconds, Julie.”

She lifted her chin, faced the camera.

“Roll Live-Eye.”

“This is Julie Jones, coming to you live outside City Hall, where Senator Blackwood and Syracuse Police Chief Strong are expected to deliver a press conference any minute now. As some of you may already know, late last night, News-Channel Four had the only team on the scene when a man was found dead in an Armory Square hotel room. In a News-Four Exclusive, just under an hour ago, we were the first to report his name—Harry Blackwood, brother of Senator Martin Blackwood.”

Sean knew she was watching him, waiting for him to signal her as soon as anyone appeared at that podium up the stairs at her back, but no one had. He thought she was running out of things to say and worried about how she would fill the time if the press conference started late.

“Most Central New Yorkers know Harry Blackwood as a controversial figure, one who had numerous scrapes with the law and a less than stellar reputation. This leaves many of us to speculate on whether his lifestyle and known underworld associates could have any connection to his untimely death, a death police are calling suspicious, though I suspect we’ll be hearing more on that shortly. Officially, I can say only that having been at the crime scene before Blackwood’s body was removed, there was little doubt in my mind as to the cause of death. Without official permission, I cannot tell you much beyond that, except that the scene was a disturbing one that I’ll see in my mind’s eye for a long time to come.”

Sean lifted his eyes from the camera to look at her directly and gave her a slow nod of approval. Sell it, he thought. For someone who claimed to dislike sensationalism, she sure was a master at it.

“News-Four will continue to bring you complete coverage of this investigation as the day unfolds, and—”