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The producer clicked off.
“We’ll bring you updates as they occur. This is Kerra Bailey reporting.”
The cameraman signaled her when they were off the air. The microphone felt like a fifty-pound weight in her hand as she lowered it to her side.
The scene was familiar: she and colleagues jockeying for position at the site of a major news story; a row of vans with satellite dishes on top; cameramen practicing their panning shots; sound techs testing mike levels; reporters adjusting earpieces and checking their appearance in whatever reflective surface was available within seconds of being told to stand by.
This is what she thrived on. Today she felt removed from it. She was going through the motions, but her heart wasn’t in it. She had threatened Thomas Wilcox that she would show up with a cameraman at his gate, but she hadn’t expected to be reporting a murder-suicide. His pitiless disregard for the lives he’d taken was repugnant. But wouldn’t she be as despicable if she weren’t saddened by the desperate action that had ended his life?
Any of her colleagues would give an eyetooth to know that shortly before Wilcox’s wife fatally shot him, Kerra had been face-to-face with him inside the barricaded mansion. It would be a scoop to top all scoops, but she wouldn’t be the one to tell it. She wouldn’t exploit the man’s tragic death, no matter how evil he’d been, nor that of the pathetic Mrs. Wilcox.
She also wouldn’t break her promise to Trapper that she wouldn’t tell the whole story before getting his okay.
“Ke
rra, Gracie needs to talk to you.”
Given her thoughts, Kerra wondered if Gracie had somehow learned of Trapper’s and her visit with Wilcox last night. God, she hoped not. Gracie would fire her on the spot.
She thanked the production assistant who’d delivered the message and made her way back to the van. She climbed into the passenger seat, took her phone from her handbag, and hit speed dial.
Gracie answered on the first ring. “Your eyes still look red on camera.”
“Allergies.”
“Right. Well, the allergen called.”
Kerra’s heart bumped, but she didn’t say anything.
“He was in a breathless rush, of course. Emphatic that he needs to talk to you, but not about ‘us.’ Said to tell you the cell phone wasn’t behind the painting. It was a bluff like the wall outlet. He has the list.”
“He has the list?”
“I accused him of being drunk. ”
Kerra’s lethargy had dissolved, and now she was charged. “Did he say where he is?”
“No, but he left a phone number.”
“Text it to me. I’ll call him right now.”
“Hold on, I’ve got another assignment for you.”
“Gracie, for the time being we’ve gotten all we’re going to get out of the PD. The spokesperson will say nothing except that they’re investigating. They’ve sequestered the housekeeper, so I can’t even get near her. The lead homicide detective dodged me. All I’m doing is repeating myself.”
“I’m sending Bill to take over there. I need you to get to Lodal.”
“What for?”
“The Major’s being released from the hospital.”
“What? Today? That has to be a rumor.”
“I have a reliable source. While up there, I bribed a hospital orderly to call me with any updates or hearsay. I just talked to him. That’s still your story, Kerra, and if you hurry, it’ll be an exclusive for the evening news.”
After a short pause to take a breath, she continued. “Assuming you won’t be an idiot and pass this up, if you could possibly, pretty please with sugar on top, get a shot of you and The Major together, that would be fantastic. A sound bite from him would give me an orgasm. And need I spell this out? You’d be the network’s reigning princess.”
Kerra had stopped listening after being told that The Major was leaving the hospital. She was flabbergasted. “You trust this source?”
