Charm City (28 page)

"You knew Sterling better than
anyone here."
Anyone living
,
Tess amended in her mind, thinking of Rosita. "Why did he
follow you here, knowing someone might recognize him?"

"I think he wanted the job so
badly he convinced himself no one would remember a fat boy named
Raymond from thirty years ago. Then Wink came to an editorial board
meeting and Jack was discovered. He still could have
confessed—I wouldn't have fired him, although I
would have made damn sure he had nothing more to do with the Wynkowski
story. Instead, Jack promised to kill the story in return for his old
friend's silence." Mabry paused. "Funny,
how in the end it was Colleen who set Jack's downfall in
motion. If she hadn't put the first story in the paper, there
would never have been a second one, the one that so enraged Wink. And
Jack might have figured out a less dire way to ensure
Wynkowski's silence."

Tess made a polite, noncommittal sound.
Lionel Mabry wasn't a bad person at heart, and that was a
limitation. He could never imagine the Jack Sterling she had faced in
Leakin Park. Yes, Sterling was trying to protect himself and the life
he had created. But the man who had struck her had also been having a
suspiciously good time. It was as if he had waited all these years to
indulge those instincts again. "Bad boys get
caught." Well, he was a bad boy now.

She stood to leave. "One more
thing about the track story—I want Kevin Feeney to write
it."

"Miss Monaghan, I do not let
outsiders dictate internal decisions." Mabry was the Lion
King again, tossing his hair back indignantly, growling and posturing
as if she were an employee he could tyrannize.

"I understand that in theory. In
practice, if you don't give the story to Feeney,
I'm going to distribute copies of these videotapes to every
television station in town, as well as the
New
York Times
, the
Philadelphia
Inquirer
, and the
Washington
Post
. Be awfully embarrassing to be scooped on a
story in your own backyard."

Mabry hesitated. Tess could tell he was torn
between wanting to make a point and wanting exclusive title to the
story. You could almost hear the point-counterpoint echoing in his
brain.
Principle or potential Pulitzer? Principle
or Pulitzer? Principle-Pulitzer? Principle-Pulitzer
?

Pultizer won. She had thought it would.
"I don't appreciate your tactics, but Feeney is an
excellent reporter. I'm sure he'll do well on the
story. Is it all right with you—" Mabry
couldn't resist a small spin of sarcasm
"—if I assign another reporter to work with
him?"

"Sure, as long as it's
someone who doesn't buy information or twist
people's quotes." She regretted the words as soon
as she said them. Rosita's crimes seemed so small now,
certainly too small to die for.

"Do you ever think about going
back into reporting?" Mabry asked, walking her to the door,
always the gentleman. "We still haven't filled some
of the vacancies caused by, uh, this spring's events. You
obviously have potential as an investigative reporter."

The question was only two years too late.
Still, it was nice to hear. Nicer still to say: "No thanks,
Lionel. I have a job, a job I think I'm getting pretty good
at."

One of her ribs sent up a little shoot of
pain just then, as if to remind her not to be too cocky.

Funny, to think of the injustices to which
Tess had been blind before Esskay had come into her life. For example:
why was it so difficult to find a restaurant in Baltimore where dogs
were allowed? The bars in Fells Point welcomed them, but Baltimore had
few of the sidewalk-type restaurants that made it possible for a dog to
enjoy a good meal. How species-ist.

She and Feeney settled on Donna's,
a local chain of coffee bars with pretty good food, once you got past
its New York aspirations. And while Mount Vernon was a little grimy for
outdoor dining, the day was too beautiful to waste: a cloudless sky, a
light breeze that kept the sun from being too hot. Baltimore springs
had the life span of a fruit fly, so it was important to cherish each
fair day. Summer would be here soon enough.

Tess ordered wine, and after a brief inner
struggle, decided on the mozzarella sandwich with pesto, on
olive-oil-rich focaccia. She'd be back at full strength soon
enough, she'd work those calories off. Feeney had the turkey
sandwich with tapenade, on sourdough, while Esskay had the roast beef
and provolone, hold the bread.

"This is a great story, almost
makes up for me not being able to write about Sterling,"
Feeney said, studying her notes. "Sure it's
mine?"

"As sure as I can be.
There's a reason he's called the Lyin'
King."

"Yeah, but he's
competitive. He'll put the paper first. He always does in the
end."

"So did Jack Sterling. I wonder
how he would have arranged for the
Blight
to get the exclusive on
my
death?"

Esskay, who had downed her lunch in seconds,
was straining at her leash, desperate to chase the dogs she saw in the
park across the street. Then her quicksilver attention turned to the
trash blowing past in the breeze. A white hot dog wrapper caught an
eddy of air, floated upward, then reversed direction and plummeted to
earth. Had Rosita fallen like that? Had she known she was falling? Had
she been knocked out, like Wink, or just woozy enough for
Sterling—her former boss, her former lover—to pick
her up in his arms for one last embrace, then toss her over the balcony
before she realized what was happening? But maybe she had jumped, as
Sterling still maintained.

"Detective Tull told me
they'll probably never be able to charge Sterling with
Rosita's death. If she had painkillers in her blood, like
Wink, it would be different. But all they found was alcohol. And it
made sense for his fingerprints to be all over the apartment. He
searched it, remember?"

"The yearbook never turned up, did
it?"

"No, Sterling tossed it in a land
fill. Lea Wynkowski has gotten it into her head that it's my
fault somehow. I made it possible for her to collect the life insurance
and kept her out of Paul Tucci's clutches, and
she's pissed at me over a yearbook. Isn't that
rich?"

"
A grateful
mind/By owing owes not
." Feeney
smirked at her blank look. "Milton.
Paradise
Lost
."

"Well, aren't you
branching out?" Her voice was harsher than it meant to be,
her mind unable to turn off the image of Rosita falling through space.

"Don't mind
me," she added contritely. "It's just
that I should have known. From the moment I saw that pizza, I should
have known it was Sterling."

"How?"

"Turkey sausage. You have to be a
psycho to eat that stuff."

Feeney pointed up the street.
"Speaking of psychos, look at Whitney, trotting to keep up
with Tyner's wheelchair on the downhill grade. I
didn't know they were coming along today."

"Whitney said she had something
big to tell us. I assume she finally got Tokyo."

They arrived a few seconds later, Whitney
breathless from keeping pace, but still able to bark out an order for
hot tea. Tyner motioned the waitress away impatiently, as if surprised
that someone expected him to place an order at a restaurant.

"
Hot tea
?"
Tess asked Whitney. "We know you're going to Tokyo,
you don't need accessories to break the news."

"I am going to Tokyo,"
she said, "but not for the
Beacon-Light
.
I resigned today."

Tess looked at Feeney, but he was as baffled
and surprised as she was. Whitney speared a sweet potato off
Tess's plate.

"It's true,"
Tyner confirmed. "She was in my office, going over the terms
of her trust, making sure it could support her at the current
yen-to-dollar exchange rate."

"Tokyo on a trust fund,"
Feeney said. "Very brave of you."

Tess threw a piece of focaccia at his head,
missing on purpose so Esskay could have a little more food.
"Hey, it
is
brave. Whitney's finally doing something for herself, instead
of fulfilling everyone's expectations of her. It may be the
bravest thing she's ever done."

"I'm here,"
Whitney said with uncharacteristic quiet. "I can speak for
myself. The fact is, things aren't going so well for me at
the
Beacon-Light
. As it
turns out, shooting an editor in the shoulder wasn't the best
career move."

"You saved my life,"
Tess said. "Isn't that a mitigating circumstance?

"Only to the police and grand
jury. At work, I make the other editors nervous now. Especially all the
new ones they keep hiring. They point and whisper behind my back.
‘Shot a man in Leakin Park, just to watch him die.'
I had a disagreement with my boss over punctuation recently, and he
called security." Whitney sighed, then took a sip of
Tess's wine, ate another of her sweet potatoes. They were
back in synch again. How could Whitney move to the other side of the
world?

"It's not
forever," Whitney said. "Six months, maybe a
year."

"But you'll be on the
other side of the international date line. You'll know
what's happening before I do."

"Tess—"
Whitney's smile would put a Chesire cat to shame.
"I always did."