Delivering Death: A Novel (Riley Spartz) (11 page)

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I was counting on Bryce’s business background to gain support for my investigation, but he cut me off cold.

“Identity fraud?” he said. “Dull.”

“But it’s the crime wave of the future,” I insisted.

“Then we’ll cover it in the future,” he countered.

“That will be too late.”

I laid out the twists I’d discovered about Leon’s homicide. As far as scoops went, it wasn’t bad. The FBI still hadn’t returned
my phone call, but my deadline loomed and Channel 3 ran with what I had confirmed.

((ANCHOR CU))
TONIGHT WE LEAD WITH AN EXCLUSIVE REPORT INTO A POSSIBLE MOTIVE FOR THE MURDER OF THE MAN WHOSE TEETH WERE MAILED TO CHANNEL 3.

((ANCHOR TWOSHOT))
RILEY SPARTZ JOINS US NOW WITH THE LATEST.

((RILEY, BOX))
TWO WEEKS BEFORE LEON PAUL AKUME WAS KILLED . . . HE WAS RELEASED FROM THE FEDERAL PRISON IN DULUTH AFTER SERVING A ONE-YEAR SENTENCE FOR CREDIT CARD AND BANK FRAUD . . .

CHANNEL 3 HAS LEARNED THAT AKUME WAS A GOVERNMENT INFORMANT IN A SOPHISTICATED IDENTITY THEFT RING. MINNEAPOLIS POLICE TELL US THEY ARE NO LONGER HANDLING HIS HOMICIDE . . . AND THAT THE FBI HAS TAKEN OVER THE INVESTIGATION.

The newscast producer had opted for me to read the script on the news set because the story lacked visuals and so Scott, our new anchor, could debrief me and look like a real journalist. I’d given him a few ideas for questions while we were putting on makeup in the green room. At first, it went as planned.

((ANCHOR TWOSHOT))
DOES THE FBI HAVE ANY LEADS?

((RILEY TWOSHOT))
IF THEY DO, THEY AREN’T SAYING. I PHONED THEM HOURS AGO AND THEY HAVE YET TO CALL BACK.

((ANCHOR CU))
ANY WORD ON WHO THIS GUY RATTED OUT?

((RILEY, CU))
THAT’S THE FIRST QUESTION WE’D LIKE TO ASK THE FBI.

((ANCHOR TWOSHOT))
SINCE WE NOW KNOW THE MURDER VICTIM WAS A SNITCH . . . WOULD IT HAVE MADE MORE SENSE FOR THE KILLER TO CUT OUT HIS TONGUE THAN PULL HIS TEETH?

I was mortified and couldn’t believe Scott had asked me such an over-the-top question on live television, especially following an investigative report in which each word is vetted by our attorney. I stumbled through an answer reiterating that we didn’t know if there was any connection between the homicide and the victim’s status as an informer, but would keep investigating.

Scott thanked me and then introduced a pretaped story about the controversies involving Minnesota’s wolf-hunting season.

As soon as the floor director indicated we were clear of air and our audio wasn’t hot anymore, I screamed at Scott. “Are you insane? That was gross!”

“It was a good question,” he said. “You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it.”

The producer rushed over. “Calm down. We’ll deal with this later. Standby. Camera back on Scott in ten seconds.”

I unclipped my microphone and walked off the set. Scott teased our upcoming weather forecast; then the newscast went to a commercial break featuring a denture commercial, a subtle reminder that Channel 3 has the oldest viewer demographics in the market.

Scott had beaten out several candidates with hometown connections for the anchor slot. Our longtime medical reporter had been the internal favorite in the newsroom because he worked hard and didn’t have an attitude. Bryce’s top pick was reportedly a blond weekend anchor from Chicago, who had grown up in northern Minnesota. But the network recruited Scott from a Baltimore station that competed against, and regularly beat, one of its other owned-and-operated TV stations. With one hire, the execs hoped to boost Channel 3 and hurt a rival a time zone away.

Scott realized he was in demand and had insisted on being called
managing editor
as well as anchor. It was a made-up title that meant nothing, but Bryce had agreed because it didn’t cost money.

I was heading to my office to lay my head on my desk when my cell phone rang. The screen said
UNKNOWN CALLER
, but I answered anyway and heard Agent Jax yelling on the other end.

He sounded madder at me than I had been at Scott, but for an entirely different reason. “Do you have any idea the damage you have caused? Not just for us, but for all law enforcement?”

“What are you talking about?”

“One of the hardest challenges in my job is convincing people to become informants,” he said. “You basically told everybody listening to the news that cooperating with the government will get you killed.”

“Isn’t it possible that’s what happened here?” I said. “A revenge killing for snitching? A warning to others to zip their lips? Is that why you all were trying to keep Akume’s death quiet?”

The line went dead before I could ask him about Jack Clemens.

I
grabbed a black coffee in anticipation of a long night ahead and went back to the newspaper archives on my computer.

Jack’s troubles started when the economy tanked. As new investors for one of his companies dried up, Jack had propped up his financial enterprise by selling elite client identities to an identity fraud ring for fake home equity lines of credit and other fraudulent loans. He knew which investors were easy marks—aging clients, those on extended vacations, ones who didn’t monitor their credit reports.

After the news hit, most of Jack’s wealthy friends ran the other way, not wanting to be associated with him.

Benny had filled me in on something more—something not in the public court file or any of the previous articles—Leon Akume was his identity-theft contact. The scheme might have bought Jack enough time and money to stay ahead, except that Leon turned informant.

Checking Jack’s online incarceration record, I noticed he had been recently moved from a Minnesota prison to one in New Jersey. With more than a thousand miles separating us, the chances of traveling to see him were dim. Even so, white-collar criminals tend to enjoy whining to an audience, and mail with a Channel 3 logo on the envelope would undoubtably make Jack homesick for Minnesota. I drafted a letter requesting an interview, but stayed vague about specifics.

B
ryce raised a cup of coffee to me in the employee break room as he beamed about the overnight ratings spike. I thought he was being sarcastic until he told me Channel 3 had held the lead-in audience of a popular forensics crime drama by aggressively promoting my informant murder motive story during each commercial break, along with a plug for the soon-to-come new studio set.

“The feds are unhappy.” I hated to break his good mood, but needed to play straight with him in case he got an angry phone call. But that had already happened.

“They ranted at me, too,” he replied. “I offered to let them come here and say that on camera, and they declined.”

“So you want me to ease up?”

“No, Riley, all this is costing us is airtime, not cash. I want you to push harder.”

I’d told Channel 3’s attorney about the connection between Leon and Jack Clemens, but hadn’t shared that detail with my news director. I didn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut long enough for me to land a second source, but I was considering confiding the secret to him after the morning huddle.

Just then we were distracted from the day’s news by Ozzie singing a rendition of “Here Comes the Bride” at the assignment desk. When he had our attention, he asked, “Anyone interested in a Mall of America wedding?”

“Do you know something about it?” Bryce asked.

“Just what it says in the news release,” Ozzie said. “I’ll hit print.”

Bryce moved toward the newsroom printer ahead of anyone else, pulled a sheet of paper from the tray, and began reading out loud.

HOLLYWOOD TO FILM MASS WEDDING AT THE MALL OF AMERICA

Sublime Studios will shoot a scene from their upcoming movie, “We Do,” at the Mall of America on Valentine’s Day, February 14.

The film features a young couple whose wedding plans go awry because of family and financial troubles. They decide to forgo their traditional dream wedding and instead exchange vows in a giant ceremony with one hundred other engaged couples.

The starring roles will be played by Rachel Neuzil and Ricky Sand. Rachel is best known as the child actor from the popular television comedy
Cat Heaven and Hell.
Ricky, a native Minnesotan and Grammy winner, first came to fame through the Internet as the lead vocal in the boy band Rebel Fever.

The film will require hundreds of local extras as brides, grooms, and wedding guests. Couples with valid Minnesota marriage licenses will be allowed to be legally wed during the ceremony for free and participate in a reception following the event. Pictures of all of the newlyweds will appear at the end of the film during the closing credits.

Bryce stopped reading and a huge smile spread across his face like when the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes in the children’s Christmas classic. Seeing such joy from him was unusual, and thus unsettling. That’s when I learned my boss was a wedding zealot, just as his predecessor had been an animal fanatic.

“Viewers
love
weddings,” he said. “If we play this right, we could net decent ratings cheap. This could be Minnesota’s version of a royal wedding.”

“I’m not sure this counts as news,” I said. “It feels more like reality TV gone bad.”

Now his expression changed and he looked like the evil Grinch with termites in his smile and garlic in his soul. “If I say it’s news, it’s news.”

I let him have the final word as he assembled the rest of the news staff to talk about news coverage. Both daily papers were on the table, various articles circled for possible inclusion in a newscast or interview.

“Hollywood, plus wedding bells,” Bryce said. “Who wants to own this story?”

The news release was lying in front of him and listed Velma as the media contact person, so I kept quiet. After all, what did I care if Bryce wanted to ring in newscast nuptials each night? Plenty of Channel 3 reporters would fight for such a soft, safe news assignment.

Me, I’d rather cover murder than marriage.

Sure enough, Nicole volunteered with no hesitation. “I think it sounds exciting. We can profile some of the couples who are choosing to get married for real and run features leading up to the big day.”

If journalism ever died, Nicole would be an excellent wedding planner. She would fit in well with the mall culture, and as a rookie reporter she hadn’t experienced enough of life to be disillusioned about weddings. We were friends, so I withheld my opinion about the story’s paltry news value.

“What if no real brides or grooms take them up on it?” Ozzie asked.

That was my initial reaction to the mass wedding. Like throwing a party that no one attends, but still being stuck with the bill.

The late-news producer weighed in. “I think they’ll have to turn people away. Some might do it to save money or avoid feuding relatives. But a lot of people will be attracted by the thrill of being in a movie.”

“Yeah,” Nicole said. “They can brag that Rachel Neuzil and Ricky Sand came to their wedding.”

“Good discussion,” Bryce said. “Nicole, get the mall on board and arrange so we have exclusive coverage of the actual wedding scene.”

That idea seemed doomed to me. The mall would want publicity from all media outlets, not just one. There was no way Channel 3 could land this exclusively.

Nicole chewed her lower lip, suggesting that she might also have doubts. But if she did, she was wise enough not to share them.

I
n news, the best way to make viewers care about a crime is for them to care about the victim. As a homicide mark, Leon was a hard sell for compassion because he was a criminal himself. And while banks and credit card companies take big financial hits when it comes to identity fraud, ordinary people are the ones who are ruined.

So that’s who I went looking for and how I ended up knocking on Lisa Melby’s door. Her name was in Akume’s court file as a witness making a victim impact statement at his sentencing. A woman who was taller than me, younger than me, and in better shape than me, answered the door.

“Hello, Lisa? I’m from Channel 3 News and would like to talk to you about a man named Leon Akume.” I showed her his mug shot. “Do you remember him?”

“How could I forget? He basically wrecked my life.” She recognized me from TV and invited me into her apartment. We sat on a shabby couch under a religious picture of an old man praying over bread. The same print had hung in my grandmother’s house.

“Well, crime doesn’t pay,” I said. “He’s dead now.”

“I know. I saw it on the news. Very confusing. But I am glad that the harm he caused is finally getting some attention.”

“So what did you tell the court when you testified?” I asked.

“That when you steal someone’s identity, it’s forever. They can’t get it back. Insurance may cover the replacement value of stolen cars or jewelry, but it doesn’t cover reputations.”

She had been clueless until it was too late.

It was only after her student loan was denied that she learned her credit score resembled that of a deadbeat. Unpaid loans and overdue credit and debit cards were listed under her name at addresses across the country. She dropped out of school, struggling to find work because most employers insisted on credit background checks. And Lisa was so weary of phoning customer service representatives and filling out affidavits swearing she was not responsible for any of the charges incurred.

“It’s been a three-year nightmare,” she continued. “I’m still trying to get my credit history cleared, but the bad information keeps popping up and collection agencies keep calling.”

“How is this affecting your day-to-day life?” I was fishing for tangible examples viewers might understand.

“My car is an old beater that doesn’t even have air bags, but even though I have a job, I can’t get a loan for a newer one,” she said. “I’d like to move to a nicer neighborhood, but no one else will take me as a tenant because I look so bad on paper. So I’m basically stuck in a status quo of misery.”

“Did testifying give you any sense of catharsis?” I was always fascinated about the dynamics when convicts and witnesses faced each other in court—one in handcuffs, the other with hand on a Bible.