Heart of Winter (28 page)

“Go right in, Miss Maxwell,” his secretary said with a smile.

“Thank you,” Carla said gently. She opened the door to his office with just a slight hesitation.

He was sitting behind the big desk, his dark eyes riveted to her trim figure dressed in a gray suit and black boots. A smile relaxed the hard lines in his face and made him seem younger, less intense.

“Sexy as hell,” he remarked with gentle amusement.

She swallowed, and not to save her life could she return his smile. “Hello, Bryan,” she said in a loud whisper.

The smile faded. “What's wrong?” he asked gently. “Did you stop by to tell me you couldn't make it for lunch?”

Her shoulders lifted slightly, as she gathered her courage. “I don't think you're going to want to take me out when you hear what I've come to say.”

His heavy black brows collided. “Sit down.”

She shook her head. “If it's all the same to you, I think I'll stand,” she said miserably. She fumbled in her purse for the photostats she'd made of Brown's material. “I think this will explain it all,” she said, handing them to him. She waited while he studied the documents, his eyes narrowing, his face becoming as hard, as formidable as she remembered it from their first conflict.

His dark eyes flashed up to her face, blazing. “Well?” he growled. “What about it?”

She curbed an impulse to turn and run. “Do I really have to tell you that?” she asked in as calm a voice as she could manage. “We're going to publish this information. We can't afford not to.”

His jaw tautened. “You think this check is a kickback?” he asked in a strange, deep tone.

“We know it is,” she agreed tightly. “It's painfully obvious that you don't pay five times fair market value for a piece of land unless somebody benefits. We've already checked with the man who owns the land. All he got out of the deal was two hundred fifty thousand dollars. That leaves the other half unaccounted for, except for your cut. Either White alone or with another conspirator pocketed the rest, and we can prove it. I'm sorry, but…”

“You believe I'd take a kickback?” he asked with barely controlled rage. “You really believe I'm capable of that kind of vice?”

“You accepted a check from James White for one hundred thousand dollars,” she said in a voice that trembled, “just two days after the check for the airport land left city hall. What else am I supposed to think?”

“Get out.”

He said it so softly, so calmly, that she did a double take. He didn't raise his voice, but then, he didn't have to. There was an arctic smoothness in his words.

She turned to go. “I'm sorry,” she said inadequately, her voice a bare whisper. Inside, she felt as if she were frozen forever.

“Not half as sorry as you're going to be, I promise you,” he said. “One more thing, Carla.”

“What?”

“Was it really necessary to get that involved with me to get the story?” he asked coolly. “Did you have to pretend an emotional interest, or was that just a whim?”

Her face reddened. “But, it wasn't…”

He laughed shortly, leaning back in his chair to study her with eyes that shone with hatred. “I should have been suspicious at the beginning,” he said mockingly. “A woman your age wouldn't have been so interested in a middle-aged man. I suppose I was too flattered to ask questions.”

“But, Bryan, you don't understand…!” she cried.

He ignored her. His eyes were those of a stranger. “Go print your story,” he said. “You might add a postscript. I got my funding for downtown revitalization this morning. I may leave this office, but I'll take the city slums with me.”

Tears blinded her. She turned and ran out of the office leaving a puzzled secretary staring after her.

 

The story hit the stands the next afternoon, with a blazing banner headline that read, “Kickback Suspected in Airport Land Purchase.” The story carried Carla's byline, even though Edwards had had a hand in writing it. She hadn't slept the night before at all. She could imagine the anguish Moreland was going through. She'd destroyed him. And he thought that she'd been pretending when she said she loved him. That hurt most of all, that he could believe she'd be that cruel for the sake of a story. But, after all, didn't she believe that he'd been crooked enough to take a kickback? How could she blame him?

Over and over she heard his deep voice growling at her accusingly. It began to haunt her. And Daniel Brown's voice haunted her as well, admitting that he'd been in love with Mrs. Moreland, that she was “nuts about him.” From what she'd heard about Angelica Moreland, she was hardly a lovable woman. And she would have had to be a good deal older than Brown, who was still in his middle twenties. None of it made sense. If only she could get her mind together enough to think logically!

She walked into the newsroom the next day with a feeling of unreality. Her mind was still on yesterday, but Peck snapped her out of it with his greeting.

“We're into it now,” he greeted her grimly. “Moreland's filed suit for defamation and character assassination.”

“Did you expect him to admit he was guilty?” she asked with a bitter smile.

He grinned back. “Hell, no.” His pale brows drew together. “Something bothering you besides the obvious? Making accusations sometimes goes with the job, honey. Reporters don't win popularity contests, you know.”

“I know.” She slumped in her chair. “What do you know about the late Mrs. Moreland?”

“Angelica?” He shrugged. “She liked men and money, and she hated her husband and motherhood. That about wraps it up.”

“What kind of men did she like? Young ones?”

“Angelica!” he exclaimed. “My God, she liked them older than her husband. I think it must have been a father fixation. She was never seen with a man under fifty except Moreland.”

Her lips made a thin line. “Do you know anybody who could help me get some information on Daniel Brown's private life?”

One eyebrow went up and he grinned. “Think Moreland's innocent?”

Her chin lifted. “Yes.” Her eyes dared him to make a comment.

He only smiled. “So do I.” He laughed at her expression. “Don't look so surprised, honey. I've known His Honor for a lot of years, and he's got more integrity than any other public official I know. Sure, I'll help you dig out some info on Brown. I think he had an angle, too.”

She returned the smile, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. “Then, let's go. I want to see a man I know at the city police department about some personnel records.”

“I'll check with a contact of mine,” he said, following her out the door. “My God, don't we remind you of the news staff on that hit television show?”

She laughed. “Which one? The one where we solve crime and make America safe for consumers, or the one where we fight for truth, justice and the…”

“Never mind. Let's sneak out before Eddy can ask where we're going.”

“I don't think he cares if we even work today,” she replied. “He looked sick when I poked my head in to ask about assignments, and he didn't even offer me one.”

“He's brooding over the lawsuit,” he told her. “The attorneys warned him that he mightn't have enough concrete evidence to avoid one, but he took the chance. Without asking old man Johnson,” he added, grimacing.

“He didn't ask the publisher?” she exclaimed.

He shrugged. “He couldn't reach him by phone, and the deadline was coming up fast. He took a gamble on the hottest story in years. Now Johnson's all over him like ants over honey.”

She felt herself shrinking inside as she remembered whose byline the story carried. “How much trouble am I in?” she asked softly.

“I don't know,” he replied, glancing at her sympathetically. “I wish I could tell you your job's secure, regardless. But I can't. That's the first thing Moreland's going to want by way of recompense if the evidence against him is false.”

“Which I think it is,” she murmured weakly. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her coat as they walked outside in the chill air. “It's going to be winter soon,” she remarked, shivering.

He drew in a breath of cold air, unaware of the pollution judging by his expression. “What's that poem, ‘keep spring within your heart, if winter comes, to warm the cold of disillusion…'”

“I didn't know you like poetry,” she said, feeling the words with a sense of aching grief.

“An occasional line,” he chuckled. “Even though it goes against the grain. Come on, we'll catch a bus downtown.”

“Lead on.”

 

Carla, who was used to a two-man police department, couldn't help but be awed by the mammoth precinct with crowds of lawbreakers and blue uniforms and plainclothes detectives. She felt uncomfortable among all the unfamiliar faces.

“Don't worry,” Peck assured her, “none of them bite.”

“Care to lay odds?” she whispered.

“Shhh!” he said sharply. “Not here!”

She flushed at his teasing tone. “I wasn't trying to gamble with you,” she protested.

“Discussing a capital crime, right in front of the city's finest!” he clucked. “Shame, shame.”

“Will you stop,” she muttered. “I'm a good girl, I am.”

“So was Ma Barker.”

“Why did we come here?”

“To see Leroy.”

Her eyebrows went up, but he moved forward to haul a patrolman off to one side. There was a lot of whispering, and gesturing, and the tall, dark-haired, middle-aged policeman was giving Carla a look that made her feel vaguely undressed.

They joined her at the door, and Peck took her arm, propelling her out onto the street with Leroy right behind.

“We'll grab a cup of coffee and talk,” Peck said, leading them toward a nearby cafe. “Carla Maxwell, Leroy Sample.”

They exchanged mumbled pleasantries and walked along in a companionable silence. Once inside the old cafe, which featured worn, bare wood floors and vinyl-covered booths repaired with black electrical tape, they talked over strong coffee.

“What do you want to know about Daniel?” Leroy asked with a grin. “I don't know much, but I'll do my best.”

“Is he local?” Peck asked, all reporter now, not the jovial companion of minutes ago.

“No,” Leroy replied. “He came here from Florida about six months ago, and was he a ball of fire! He was going to clean up all the corruption in the city and close down drugs and gambling for good.”

“And then…” Peck prodded.

“You want the truth?” Leroy asked, lowering his voice. “He was offered a little temptation to turn his head, and he turned it. Some of the rest of us have been made the same offer, but we nixed it. He liked the dough.”

“You think somebody's paying him still, even though he's been fired?” Peck asked.

“We all know he was feeding you that bull on Moreland,” the patrolman said angrily. “With all due respect, I hope he sues the hell out of you. If Moreland took money, he had a legitimate reason. He's not on the take. I'd know.”

Carla felt her heart lift, and she prayed silently that this fierce policeman was right. “Who's paying Brown?” Peck asked point blank.

Leroy looked uncomfortable. “I do my job the best way I can, and I try hard not to stick my nose out too far. Those guys play rough, Peck. I've got a little girl three months old.”

The reporter sighed. “You make me feel like a heel for asking. I know how dangerous it is. I've had my share of threats, too. Okay, if you can't tell me, send me to somebody who can.”

Leroy sipped his coffee. “Now you make
me
feel like a heel.”

“It isn't deliberate,” Peck said with a smile.

The policeman took a deep breath and looked around at the sparsely peopled cafe. His eyes came back to Peck. “I'll deny it if you finger me as your informant.”

Peck looked vaguely insulted. “Have you forgotten that I stood a thirty-day jail term two years ago when Judge Carter tried to get me to tell who gave me information in the Jones murder?” he asked.

Leroy laughed. “Yeah, I had. Sorry.” He leaned forward on his forearms. “You go ask James White who helped him ramrod that land deal through the city council, and you'll get your man.”

C
arla and Bill Peck wore ruts in the city park as they walked. A rally protesting the low wages paid garbage collectors was going on around them, part of the sanitation strike plaguing the city, but they ignored the peaceful marchers.

“He's right,” Peck said finally, turning to Carla under a leafless oak amid the crunch of dead leaves underfoot. “The best defense in the world is a good offense. We may still be able to pull our acorns out of the fire.”

She blinked at him. “I don't understand.”

“We'll go to see James White. We'll carry along a file folder of documents incriminating him. We'll allow him to give his side of the story before we print the whole disgusting mess.”

“But we don't have any incriminating documents!” she burst out.

“We will have,” he grinned. “Come on. Time's a-wasting. We may save your job yet, and Eddy's, too.”

“Let's go to it, then,” she agreed, smiling as she hadn't felt like smiling for days. Maybe she could clear Moreland's name. That would make up for so much, even if he never forgave her for what she'd already done. If only she'd listened to her heart. If only she'd been suspicious of Daniel Brown's eager help. If only she hadn't been so determined to get a scoop, to make Bill Peck proud of her. She sighed as they walked briskly back toward the newspaper office. Oh, if only…

The paper had already gone to bed for the day when she and Peck left again, armed with an impressive folder of information. They still had not mentioned a word to Edwards whose face was almost as long as his legs.

Carla had already called to make an appointment with James White on the pretext of purchasing some land. She knew the foxy little man wouldn't be eager to meet with the press, especially after his honorable mention in the story on Moreland.

They were ushered into his private office by a young, buxom blond secretary whose smile was as empty as her pale eyes.

White rose, gray haired and thin, with astonishment plain in his pale face when he suddenly recognized Bill Peck.

“Reporters!” he burst out. He glared at them. “Don't sit down,” he warned, reaching for the telephone. “You won't be here long enough!”

Carla felt suddenly nervous and unsure of herself, but Bill Peck was not taken aback at all.

“Dial,” he warned the older man, “and you'll be on the front page tomorrow afternoon.”

White gazed at him warily, but he hesitated, his finger still on the dial.

“We came armed this time,” Peck added, holding up the file folder. He smiled confidently. “I think you're going to want to cooperate, Mr. White. That way, you just may escape a long jail term.”

White put down the receiver and laughed self-consciously. He whipped out a spotless handkerchief and wiped his perspiring brow. “Jail?” he said. “Surely you're joking, Mr. Peck. I've done nothing illegal. In fact, the only crime I'm guilty of is getting my client better than fair market value for a piece of land.”

“And crucifying a blameless public official in the process,” Carla broke in, feeling her advantage. She moved forward, and Bill Peck sat down, letting her carry the ball. She took the file from Peck and lifted it in front of James White's nervous face. “It's all here, Mr. White. Everything. How you arranged a five-hundred percent profit out of that worthless land. How you set up Bryan Moreland, you and your co-conspirator, to take the blame for it by sending him a check for his revitalization project just in time to make it look like a kickback from the land deal. We know all about it. We even know,” she added narrowly, “about Daniel Brown's role.”

White sat down, suddenly looking his age. He leaned back in his chair and wiped his mouth with the handkerchief. His spare frame seemed to slump wearily.

“I engineered it,” he admitted quietly. “There's no sense in denying it any further.”

Peck pulled out a pocket tape recorder and turned it on. “I'm recording, Mr. White,” he advised the man, “and I think it would be in your best interests to give the truth.”

“Why not?” White sighed. “I'm ruined now, anyway, you'll see to that. Yes, I engineered the airport land deal. I got Ed King to present it to the City Council and convince his friend Moreland that it was the best site available.” He nodded at Carla's shocked face. “Moreland had so much on his mind with the sanitation strike and that downtown redevelopment scheme that he wasn't able to check into the site too closely, so he left it all up to Ed, whom he trusted.” He laughed shortly. “Bryan and I have been friends for a long time, he had no reason to distrust me or Ed. We had it made. We sold the land to the city for five times its true value. Then I had Daniel Brown start making noises about Moreland accepting a kickback, right after I sent my good friend a donation for his downtown redevelopment. It was flawless. Absolutely flawless. Until you people came along and started poking around,” he added bitterly.

“Who actually owned the land, Mr. White?” Carla asked.

“The deed says, Will Jackson,” he replied.

“But isn't it actually owned by Daniel Brown?” she persisted, smiling at White's shocked expression. “Yes, I made some phone calls to Florida. Brown used Will Jackson as an alias when he purchased that land, at your instructions.”

“At Ed King's,” White corrected gruffly. “Why the hell did I ever get mixed up with that little snip? If I'd handled it by myself…”

“If,” Carla sighed, closing her eyes momentarily as a wave of unbearable grief and tiredness washed over her. She turned away as Bill Peck moved to call the police. It was too much, too soon. All her suspicions, all her digging, and it hadn't been enough to save Bryan Moreland from a public crucifixion. She'd finally gotten at the truth, and all it had cost her was the one man she could ever truly love. A single tear rolled down her cold cheek, trickling salty and warm into the corner of her mouth.

 

“It's great,” Edwards laughed as Carla and Bill Peck played the tape for him and summarized White's arrest. “Just great! We'll scoop every paper in town with this, even the broadcast boys! We'll save face!”

Carla stared down at her black boots. “You'll print everything, including how Moreland was set up?”

Edwards looked at her with a compassionate smile. “Yes. And it might be enough to convince him to drop the lawsuit. We'll run another banner headline. ‘Moreland Innocent of Kickback.' How's that?”

“Will it please you-know-who?” Peck asked, tongue-in-cheek, gesturing toward the ceiling.

Edwards frowned. “God?” he asked.

“The publisher!” Peck burst out.

“Oh, him.” Edwards shrugged. “Nothing ever has before. I'm not sure it will. But it may save my job, and Carla's.”

Peck grinned. “I'll settle for that.”

 

But, it appeared, Bryan Moreland wouldn't. Edwards called Carla into his office two hours after the paper was on the streets, looking uncomfortable and vaguely ill.

“Sit down,” he said gruffly.

She perched herself on the edge of her chair and sat up straight, her hands clenched in the lap of her burgundy plaid skirt. She could feel the ominous vibrations, like the growing chill of the weather.

“Get it over with,” she murmured. “I hate suspense.”

He jammed his hands in his pockets and studied his feet. “Moreland called me.”

Her heart jerked, but she didn't let the emotions dancing inside her find expression in her face. “Oh?”

“He's willing to drop the lawsuit, especially in view of our efforts—your efforts—to clear his name. But I couldn't get across to him that it was your investigation that cleared him,” he added apologetically. “When I mentioned your name, he blew up.” He sighed. “What it boils down to is this. He'll drop the lawsuit if I fire you. That's my only option.” He shuffled angrily. “Johnson says if I don't fire you, we'll both get the boot.”

She felt every drop of color draining out of her face, but she forced a smile to her lips. “I expected it, you know,” she said gently. “I was looking for a job when I found this one.”

“Yeah,” he said curtly. His eyes studied the expression on her pale face. “I'm sorry as hell.”

She shrugged. “It's been an experience. How long have I got to clean out my desk?”

He sighed bitterly. “Until quitting time. I'm giving you two weeks' pay, maybe that'll get you through to another job.”

She tried to mask her apprehension with a smile. “I'll be okay. If things get too tight, I can always go home to Georgia,” she reminded him. “The editor of Dad's old paper would give me a job on the spot. All I have to do is ask.”

That, at least, was true. But how was she going to leave this city, and Bryan Moreland behind, when the picture of them would haunt her until she died? If only she could see him once more, touch him…

“I said, you might have a shot at the radio station,” he repeated, interrupting her melancholy thoughts. “I hear they're looking for a leg person.”

She smiled and rose, offering him her slender hand. “Thanks, Eddy. I've enjoyed working here.”

“You're one hell of a reporter,” he said with grudging praise. “I hate to lose you. If it weren't for that damned lawsuit—the truth is, our budget won't stand it, and he's got every law in the books on his side.”

“It was my fault…”

“And mine,” he said firmly. “Nobody held a gun on me and made me print it. The evidence was there. I didn't know it was engineered any more than you did. By the way,” he added, “there's every indication that Ed King is going to be recalled even before his case comes up,” he grinned. “That ought to make you feel a little better.”

She returned the smile. “It does. See you around, Eddy.”

 

Bill Peck sat, perched on the edge of his chair, watching Carla clean out her desk, an enigmatic expression on his face. He ignored the phone that was screaming insistently beside him.

“Where will you go?” he asked gruffly.

She shrugged. “Back to my apartment to wallow in self-pity.”

He chuckled in spite of himself. “Hell, does anything get you down?”

“Crocodiles,” she murmured as she put the last of her notepads into a brown bag with her other possessions. “I never go near swamps for that reason.” She closed the bag and turned, her eyes soft as they met his. “Thanks for everything, my friend.”

His face tightened. “Thanks for nothing,” he grunted. “I helped cost you your job. If I'd interfered at the beginning…”

“I believe in fate,” she interrupted. “Don't you?”

“Suppose I called Moreland, and told him the truth?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she replied, turning to face him. “What happened between Bryan and me…it's nothing to do with anyone else,” she finished weakly. “If he wants to think that it was all my fault, let him. I'll be gone soon, anyway.”

“Gone where?” he asked.

She smiled. “Home. I've missed it.”

“Not a whole hell of a lot,” he replied doggedly, “Or you wouldn't have stayed this long.”

“I've learned things here that I could never have learned in a small town,” she reminded him. “And you've shown me the ropes. I'll never forget you.”

“Don't get mushy,” he growled, moving forward to perch himself on her desk. “When are you leaving?”

“I've got two weeks before I have to make a definite decision,” she told him, grateful for her own foresight in keeping up her savings deposits. It would give her a little more leeway.

“Then you may stay in the city?” he probed.

She looked down at the brown bag, testing its weight and rough texture. “I don't know. I don't want to think about it right now. It's been a rough week.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you for helping me do it,” she said fervently.

“I like the guy,” he said, and his pale eyes smiled at her. “Keep in touch, okay?”

“Okay. If you hear of any openings around town, let me know.”

“I'll keep both ears open.” The smile went out of his eyes. “I've gotten used to you. I won't want to look at this damned desk for a week.”

“Have Betty sit on it,” she suggested with an impish grin.

“Two-ton Betty?” he groaned. “Who'll pay to replace it?”

“Definitely not me,” she told him. She took one last look around the busy office, its rushing reporters and ringing telephones and editors calling over the din. “How quiet it is here,” she sighed.

“Good thing you're leaving,” he replied. “Working here has deafened you.”

“Don't take any wooden tips,” she cautioned.

“You, too.”

She turned and walked out the door into the lobby. The temptation to cast a farewell glance over her shoulder was strong, but she didn't yield to it. With her head high, she walked out onto the busy sidewalk and merged in with the crowd.