Scoop (21 page)

Ray had decided it would be best to talk to the captain in person, to explain the situation…and the favor Ray was asking. He figured there wasn’t any chance that he could work this without groveling, which he assumed would work with personality types like the captain.

It had. Sort of.

The captain had agreed to help find Gilda. But what Ray hadn’t counted on was the fact that the captain would be personally involved…like driving his own car to her house and asking Ray to accompany him and Beaker to follow behind in the van. So the question lingering in the air was, “Don’t you understand how busy I am and how much time it takes out of my day to do an interview?”

Obviously, Ray needed the groveling equivalent to an answer. But sometimes he just wanted to put the captain in his place. The man was so arrogant and in need of so much attention. Ray wanted to tell the captain how obvious it was that he was always looking for a chance to be in the spotlight. He wanted to ask why he had a department spokeswoman if he planned to do all the speaking. He wanted to assure the captain that he was capable of constructing a news story without one of his lame quotes.

The captain glared at Ray, his brows cutting deep into his bridge of his nose. “Well?”

“Yes, of course, Captain Wynn,” Ray said. “I apologize.” How many times had he said that? When was it going to be enough?

The captain focused his attention ahead again. Ray still had no idea why he needed to ride to Gilda’s house with the captain, except maybe to issue another hundred apologies.

“So,” the captain said, keeping his eyes forward, “this could be a big story.”

Ray eyed him. Did he know something about Petey Green that Ray didn’t?

“The more I find out, the more interested I become,” Ray answered. “Know anything of interest about Mr. Green?”

The captain looked at him. “Green? I’m not talking about that loser. I’m talking about Gilda’s disappearance.”

“Gilda?”

“A well-known local newswoman disappears without notice—”

“We can’t say she’s disappeared. She just hasn’t shown up for work.”

“And why would she do that?” the captain asked, delight trickling out from underneath his feigned concern.

“This isn’t a story,” Ray said. “Mr. Talley simply wanted it investigated. We’re worried. I’m sure we’ll get there and find a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

“You’ve already had someone go to her home to knock. No answer. Got an explanation for that?”

“Look,” Ray said, “Hugo didn’t send me out here to cover this as a news story.”

“Then why did he send you?”

Ray hesitated, and the captain noticed. If he hedged any more, his expression would tell the whole story. “Mr. Talley knows that we have a good professional relationship, and he was hoping to call in a favor.”

The captain chuckled. “Let’s see what we can find at Ms. Braun’s home.”

Ray wasn’t sure, but he thought that a burning sensation in both ears meant your blood pressure was on the rise. He didn’t need his ears to tell him. His heart was doing a good job of beating out of control.

Despite Captain Wynn’s thorough “on-camera” investigation of Gilda’s condo, they found nothing to indicate she had been there recently or was taken against her will. The condo was simply quiet.

What should’ve taken ten minutes took an hour because of Captain Wynn’s need to be sure he was captured from every angle. It was some sort of weird punishment, Ray could only guess, but the captain insisted it all be “caught on tape.”

“I think this is going to be big,” he kept saying. Ray tried not to roll his eyes. He just assumed Gilda had gone back for more Botox or a Botox reversal, if there was such a thing. Surely she would turn up.

The thought crossed his mind that perhaps Petey Green was involved in her disappearance, but that seemed a little far-fetched. Green had been in jail, and why would he mention Gilda’s name if had done something to her?

He kept quiet and waited for Captain Wynn to finish. They left as quickly as they could.

Back at the station, the 6:30 news was wrapping up. Ray found Roarke at the assignment desk. “Did you get to her computer?” he whispered.

“Yeah. I didn’t find anything.”

“What do you mean you didn’t find anything?”

Roarke raised an eyebrow. “You seem a little on edge.”

“It has
not
been a good day.”

“What’s going on?”

“More than I can possibly explain, but as of right now, all I’ve got for my story is Green coming out of his house angry and Captain Wynn looking as if I bribed him for a quote.”

“Did you?”

“Long story. Are you sure you looked in all the folders?”

“Dude, I had to work fast, okay? But I didn’t find anything. And as I suspected, she’s not dating anyone either.” He smiled a little.

“Did you look for anything besides evidence of her love life?”

Roarke’s smile faded. “You need to chill.”

“I asked Hayden out.” Ray folded his hands together and rested his forehead against them.

“You burped the Tupperware?”

“She’s got plans this weekend.”

“And…?”

“And what?”

“Well, she didn’t say no. She just said she’s got plans.”

“For the whole weekend?”

Ray glanced around and added, “Sam must have gotten to her first.”

“Oh, man. That stinks.”

“Yeah. Big time.” Ray looked up and noticed Sam walking from the weather desk toward the break room. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”

Roarke stood. “Ray, seriously, man, I think you should chill out for a little bit. I mean, what good is that going to do except make you look like an idiot? Or worse.”

“What’s worse?”

“A desperate idiot.”

“Sam’s asking her out for all the wrong reasons. Hayden’s too naive to see that.”

“Ray, wait…”

But Ray couldn’t. His blood was boiling. He’d hit a dead end with the Green case, been manipulated by the police, and duped by Sam “A League of His Own” Leege. Something had to give.

Marching straight toward the break room, Ray tried to think of any way that he could come across as composed and cool about the situation. Nothing came to mind.

Pushing open the door, he was surprised to find Sam hanging over the sink with the water running. He didn’t seem to notice anyone else in the room.

“Sam,” Ray said harshly, but the weatherman continued to hang over the sink. Then he grabbed two paper towels, wet them, and rubbed them all over his face.
“Sam!”
Ray tried again. Sam looked up like the paper-towel dispenser had just spoken to him. “Over here,” Ray said, and Sam turned his head. Then he squinted, like Ray was a beaming light.

“Ray?” he asked.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ray asked, stepping forward, out of whatever light seemed to be blinding Sam.

Sam stood upright and took three attempts to turn off the water. He was trying to blot his face dry, but the paper towel was sopping wet. “Nothing. Why?”

Was he sick? He sounded different. Maybe he had a cold.
Good.
He was sick and going to get a tongue-lashing. Exactly what he deserved.

Ray was about to open his mouth when he noticed Sam’s shirt was buttoned wrong. And then he noticed his tie, barely hanging by its knot, clashed with his shirt, which was odd since Sam was a certified metrosexual.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Did I stut—”

“What?” Ray asked.

“—ter?” Sam finished. “What are you doing in here anyway? Don’t you have…have something to…do?”

Sam’s eyes looked wild and unfocused. Ray began to wonder if maybe it was the flu and he should find a bottle of disinfectant really quickly. All of this was making it very difficult to be hard core. Sam’s eyes, puffy and red, didn’t seem the least bit interested in what Ray had to say.

“What are you, a…a…?”

“You need to sit down,” Ray said, grabbing his arm. Sam yanked it away.

“A…nurse or something?”

“You don’t look good, man,” Ray said.

“I’m fine. I just need to step outside for a…thirty-two degrees.”

“Huh?”

Sam’s eyes suddenly turned shiny. “I’m a failure, Ray.”

“What are you talking about?” Ray realized he should be agreeing with him in order to make his point, but something was very wrong here.

“I’m horrible at my job. My dad—now that man, he could stand outside, lick his finger, and tell you what it was going to do on Sunday. I’ve got”—he paused for what sounded like a hiccup—“these fancy computers and assistants and…1 can’t even tell you what it’s doing outside now.”

Ray ran his fingers through his hair. Sam had taken the wind out of his sails. This was not going well. Ray pulled up a chair. “Look, Sam, everyone makes mistakes—”

“You don’t.”

“Of course I do.”

“No. You’re…you’re one of a kind, Ray. I’ve never told you this before,” he said, leaning forward and stretching out his hand like Ray might grab it. He didn’t. “But I look up to you, man. I do. You’re really good at this…this…news stuff. I’m just your everyday hack. I mean, yeah, I can flirt on air and charm the daylights out of a camera lens, but at the end of the…” He paused. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven.”

“At the end of the night, I’m nothing, Ray. Nothing.” Sam laughed.

As he did, Ray got a whiff of… Was Sam drunk?

“Sam, are you sure you’re, uh, you’re—”

“What? A loser. Yeah. I’m just really bad at this. I am in a league of my own. The league of losers.” Every fourth word slurred. He blinked slowly and smiled at awkward times. “You have nothing to worry about, Ray. You’ll always be on top. I talk but I don’t walk, you know.” For the first time, Ray noticed the coffee sitting in front of Sam. Sam gulped it
suddenly, and Ray realized that coffee wasn’t the only thing in that mug. Which surprised him as he tended to envision Sam as more of a martini-sipping type.

“Sam, you’ve got to stop this.”

“Stop what?”

“You’re dru—”

The door flew open, and Hugo walked in, his eyes wide like he was expecting something bad to happen.

“What are you two doing?” Hugo asked.

“Just…sit…” Sam’s long blinks between words made Ray stand and address Hugo.

“What do you need, Mr. Talley?”

“I need to know that tonight’s newscast is going to go off without a hitch.” Hugo glanced at Sam, then at Ray.

Ray also glanced at Sam, who looked like he could pass out at any moment. Hugo was starting to notice too, so Ray took Hugo by the arm and said, “I need to talk to you for a second.” He guided him out of the break room.

“What’s wrong?”

“Look, I’ve put off telling you this because I wasn’t sure what I could find. My story about Green is…a little weak. I don’t have much.”

“How can you not have much?” Hugo said, his voice tight with restraint. “You
are
the story.”

“Well, sir, that’s what I’ve been trying to avoid. But I found something really interesting. It’s a lead I’m following that—”

“What exactly do you have, Ray? For tonight?”

“I have a quote from the police captain…and a shot of Green coming out of his house.”

Hugo’s eyes lit. “What?”

“I know, I know. You told me not to go interview him. But I couldn’t build a story around Captain Wynn’s take on things. Something is telling
me that there is more to this story. Why does Green hate our station so much? Why does—”

“He’s saying we provoked him! And now you’ve gone to his house? To provoke him more?”

“Mr. Talley, listen for a minute. When I was there, Green said Gilda’s name, and I think there may be something more to this story than just the pigs—”

Hugo’s nostrils flared with each word Ray spoke. Then he held up his hands. “You don’t show a second of that footage you have of Green. Do you understand me?”

“But…but all I have is Captain Wynn, and it’s like a five-second quote.”

“Then you better figure something out. You’ve got a three-minute segment. Are we clear?”

Ray nodded.

“We still haven’t found Gilda. This is going to be a nightmare.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Everything else has to be perfect tonight. Perfect. No exceptions. I have no idea what’s going to happen with Hayden, so nothing else can go wrong.” Hugo glanced toward the break-room door. “Is he okay?”

“Sam? Oh…yeah, he’s…he’s just…you know. He’s fine.”

Hugo eyed Ray carefully then walked off. As soon as Hugo rounded the corner, Ray slipped back into the break room, only to find Sam passed out at the table. “Sam!”

Sam jerked up and with his right hand pointed to something and said, “Winds from the north, making for a chilly morning, but it’ll warm up by noon—”

Ray rushed to him. “Sam! You’ve got to get a grip. You’ve got to get ahold of yourself before the newscast.”

Sam’s hand dropped and he eyed Ray. “Why do you care? You hate me, Ray. Everyone knows it.”

Ray tried to keep his tone even though he really felt like shouting. “I don’t hate you, Sam, but you’ve got to pull yourself together.”

“Because you care so much about me?” Sam laughed. “Right. There’s nothing you’d like to see more than me crash and burn.”

Not tonight.
“Sam, please. Let’s just put all that aside. Hugo needs us to be at our best.”