LOVING HER SOUL MATE (39 page)

“My history?”
Shay asked nervously.
 
Was
she talking about John’s ex-wife and that craziness that night?
 

Paige quickly clarified.
 
“They know that you once worked for the
Tribune, which every one of them has tried to do at some point in their careers
and didn’t make it.
 
And they know about
your relationship with Chief Malone.
 
At
least the relationship you used to have with him.”

“Why would my relationship with
anyone be of concern to them?”

“Because
they’re human beings, Shay.
 
And because they thought such an affair was
inappropriate for a professional journalist.”

Shay found that rather judgmental,
but she let it slide.

“They won’t make it easy for you,”
Paige continued.
 
“But I think you’re
tough enough to take it.”

“Sure thing,” Shay said,
attempting to sound tough, although she didn’t feel so tough.

Paige smiled, as if she understood
it, too.
 
“Before I forget,” she said,
reaching behind her and grabbing a press badge from off of the desk.
 
“Here are your credentials.”

Shay took the badge, which bore
her name and, underneath, the newspaper’s name, and she smiled.
 
“That was fast.”

“Oh, we’re thrilled to have you,
make no mistake about that.
 
You’re our
lottery pick.
 
Our prized catch yet.
 
We have a lot of high hopes riding on you.”

Shay didn’t know what to say to
that.
 
She didn’t know if she should be
flattered to be so highly thought of, or to be suspicious that this newspaper
was even more small potatoes than she had thought.
 

“Thanks,” was all she could manage
to say.

“Anyway,” Paige said, rising and
causing Shay to rise, too, “your desk has your name plate on it, so you can’t
miss it.
 
Why don’t you drop some of your
gear and get on over to the police station.”

“The police
station?”

“Yeah.
 
I want you to interview
Willie Glazer.
 
I don’t know if John
Malone told you about the case?”

Shay hesitated.
 
She didn’t like the way she put that.
 
“I’ve heard about the case, yes,” was all
she’d say.
 
     

“Good.
 
His trial begins in three months.”

“That trial is still three months
away?”

“Yep.
 
Thanks to our
slow-as-molasses criminal justice system.
 
And all of the continuances the defense has filed.”

“But why would you want me to
interview him?
 
I thought he confessed.”

“He did.
 
But he now says it was a coerced
confession.
 
And I mean he denounced that
confession the very next day after he supposedly made it.
 
Our readers don’t believe it was a true
confession at all.
 
They aren’t buying
it.”

“But I still don’t get your
angle.
 
What can I bring to the table
that’s not already there?”

“Since you just got back in town
you aren’t tainted yet by all of the back and forth.
 
You can take a look at the case with fresh
eyes.
 
It’ll be like coming full circle
for you.
 
You are, after all, the person
who blew the lid off of those Dodge killings cover up to begin with.
 
And again,” she added, “our readers don’t
agree that the cops have the right man.
 
They think Glazer’s innocent.
 
It’s a case that has torn this community apart, right down racial
lines.”

Shay nodded.
 
John had told her about it.
 

“Yeah, Glazer’s a kind of drifter
who drifts in and out of town,” Paige continued, “but he comes from a good family.
 
Some blacks aren’t buying him as the Dodge
serial killer.
 
They think Malone’s just
covering his ass.
  
They figure it’s
because it’s been such a long time that he had to pin it on somebody.”

That sounded nonsensical to Shay,
but she let that slide too.
 
“How are
things looking for Glazer?”

“Awful.
 
It doesn’t look good for him at all.
 
I’ve got a reporter covering the trial, so
don’t worry about that angle.
 
I want you
covering Glazer.
 
Work some of that magic
you used to work when you were with the Tribune.
 
Get access to him.
 
No other reporter’s been able to, but I have
confidence in you.
 
Get a good story for
us like you did for the Trib.
 
Which, reminds me, I do have a question.
 
Why aren’t you back working with the
Tribune?”

Shay didn’t hesitate.
 
“They didn’t want me back,” she said.

Paige nodded.
 
“I appreciate your honesty,” she said.
 
Okay.
 
Good.”
 
She said this and began
walking behind her desk.
 
“Close the door
behind you, will you?”
 
She immediately
picked up his phone and began pressing buttons.

She didn’t waste words, Shay
mused, as she stepped out of the office and began a search for her desk.
 
She found it, near the front of the newsroom,
by the file cabinets.
 
Well kid, she
thought with a smile, remembering how her desk was in the back of the newsroom
at the Tribune, you’re moving on up.
 
Then she shook her head, and took a seat.

John Malone stood at the
wall-sized window in his third floor office and looked out at the town around
him.
 
From the slow-moving traffic, to
the unhurried steps of the pedestrians, to the clean, and quiet, and sanity, it
was a far cry from his days back in Baton Rouge.
 
When he first arrived here the slow pace, the
easiness, drove him crazy.
  
Now he
welcomed the ease.
 
And
understood it.
 
And
became increasingly agitated whenever his peace was disturbed.

Which was why
he had been trying to get Shay on the phone all morning.
 
He had a realtor friend of
his who was willing to work with her, but first he had to convince her that she
needed to move.
 
The idea of his woman
living in such a crime infested area was disconcerting to him on every level
and he wanted her out of there as fast as she would agree to leave.
 
He also knew that getting her to agree would
be a tall order.
 
But he had to try.

And that was why he tried her cell
phone once again.
 
And it went straight
to voice mail once again.

“May I help you, Miss?” the
white-haired policeman asked as Shay walked up to the visitor’s desk outside
the jail section of the Brady Police Department.

She smiled.
 
“Yes, you may help me.
 
I’m here to see one of your prisoners: Willie
Glazer.”

“Willie Glazer?” the officer asked
incredulously.
 
“And you are?”

“Shay Turner,” Shay said,
displaying her newly minted press pass.
 
“With the Brady Beast.”

The officer chuckled.
 
“What, you couldn’t get on at a real
newspaper, dearie?
 
Had to bring up the
rear?
 
The Brady Beast.
 
Give me a break!
 
Look lady, ain’t
no
reporter gettin’ in to see our most celebrated prisoner, and especially not one
from that sorry excuse for a newspaper like yours.
 
Every time something goes wrong in this town
it’s the cops fault.
 
Always
blamin’ us.
 
Always whippin’ up
the masses into
a frenzy
over a bunch of
nonsense.
 
Brady Beast.
 
Don’t mention that name in my presence.”

Shay tried not to show her
displeasure with the officer’s disrespect.
 
He was, after all, just venting some beef, real or imagined, he had with
a newspaper she could not account for because she’d only been in its employ all
of one day.
 
She was also surprised that
he didn’t know who she was.
 
But then
again, she thought, two years was a long time ago.
 
Most cops probably didn’t remember her
name.
 
They undoubtedly remembered the
circumstances surrounding her name, but probably not her name.
 
So she held back.
 
Until he kept on talking.
 

“So why
don’t
you
run along,” he said, “and write the kind of stories the Beast is
famous for.
 
Those stories that have
everything to do with making a cop look bad.
 
Or, since you’re so young and pretty, you can be their current events
reporter.
 
Yeah, that’s more to your
liking, ain’t it, dearie?
 
You can write
stories about the prom, or the apple blossom parade, or I
know,
the watermelon festival.”

Another cop, seated down from him,
chuckled too.
 

By now Shay was inwardly fuming,
especially when the officer laughed again, full of himself and what he
considered his clever joke.
 
She
exhaled.
 
Hated to do it, hated it
passionately, but that darn pride again.
 
“I wish to see John, please,” she said purposely vague, and the officer,
as she had expected, looked at her strangely.
 
He knew who John was, but he seemed surprised that she would know John.

“John?” he said.
 
Even he wasn’t allowed to call the chief by
his first name.

“That’s right.
 
Chief John Malone.
 
A friend of mine.
 
Please tell him I’m here and wish to see
him.”

The officer was still smiling, as
if he didn’t quite believe her, but Shay could see the cracks in his
confidence.
 
“You know the chief?”
      

“I do.
 
Call him, please.”

His smile was now gone, as he
stared at Shay.
 
After a moment he picked
up the phone, albeit reluctantly, and dialed an extension.
 

“This is Madge.”

“Hey Madge,
this Cliff.
 
Chief in?”

“And who wants to know?”

“Some female.
 
Claims
to be a friend of his.
 
Can you
check it out for me?”

“And get my head knocked off because
she’s full of crap?
 
You can check it out
for yourself.
 
I’ll put you through.”

Cliff took a deep breath as Madge
clicked off and, within seconds, the chief’s always impatient-sounding voice
clicked on.
 
“Yes?” Malone said and
Cliff, out of habit, sat erect.

“Yes, sir, this is Cliff
downstairs.
 
Have a woman here wanting to
get in to see Willie Glazer, sir.”

“So?
 
You know we aren’t letting anybody in to see
him now, unless it’s his attorney or a family member.
 
Is it either one of them?”

“No, sir.”

“Then get rid of her officer, and
stop bothering me.”

“She says she knows you, sir.”

“She knows me?
 
Well who is it?”

“A Shay
Turner.
Says she works for---”

“I’ll be right down,” Malone said
quickly and hung up.
 
Cliff, astounded,
hesitated then hung up, too.
 
He looked
at Shay.
 
Cleared his
throat.
 

“He’ll be right down, ma’am,” he
said, and the other officer looked at him.
 
“You can have a seat right over there.
 
Would you like some coffee, or maybe some tea?”

Shay wanted to smile, but she
didn’t.
 
“No,” she said.
 
“Thank-you.”
 
Then she walked over to a group of metal
chairs against the wall and sat down.
 
She should have felt some sense of vindication, given the officer’s
nasty little remarks, but she didn’t.
 
Why did she let that idiot cause her to pull out her John card and
plunge him, once again, into her problems when that was the last thing she
wanted to do?
 
And she did it just
because some desk cop disrespected her?
 
She didn’t even know the joker, how could she allow him to have such
power over her?
 
Was her pride that
sensitive now?