Social Death: A Clyde Shaw Mystery (30 page)

Diskin set his pen down on the table, his lips thinned with indignation. “I didn’t think someone of your experience needed clarification that
by any means necessary
meant any means necessary
within the scope of the law
.”

I squared my shoulders. “I haven’t been charged with anything by the police, so whether or not I have broken the law is debatable.”

Feinberg spoke next. “We’re terminating your contract, Miss Shaw.”

“On what grounds?”

“Multiple ethics violations including, but not limited to, not informing your superiors at the network of a conflict of interest related to your inappropriate relationship with Andrey Kaminski and using unlawful means to gain entry and access information related to the Olivia Kravis case.”

I glared at Diskin. “Way to have my back, boss.” How many times had he stood before us in that dreadful conference room, swearing his allegiance to us, the staff, proclaiming to be our greatest champion here among the number crunchers on the executive floor? I’d always known his bluster was just that. Diskin was a company man through and through.

Itzushi slid a manila envelope across the table to me. “We believe this is an exceedingly fair offer considering the circumstances.”

I opened the package and skimmed through the documents inside. FirstNews was offering me fifteen months of severance, health insurance for two years, glowing recommendations. My departure would be publicly owed to my desire to pursue personal interests. In return, I’d walk away quietly. I’d expected zilch. This was a hell of a lot more. This was a buyout. A payoff. “Feeling generous, Mitch?”

Diskin fiddled with his expensive pen again, eying me evenly behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. “You’ve been with the network a long time, Clyde. We have appreciated your loyalty.”

“Bess Stern worked for FirstNews for almost twice as long as I did, and all she got was three months and a coffee mug when you canned her.” I shot the folder back across the table.

Itzushi intercepted it. “You may consult an attorney if you wish. The offer is good until Friday, barring any further unlawful actions.”

“What gives?” I pressed.

Diskin checked his watch. “I guess were done here.”

I jumped to my feet, my body pitched forward over the table, bridging the distance across. “Are you kidding me? After everything I’ve done for this network? You’re the one who put me in this position. You’re the one who told me to go after this story. Now I get myself in a little hot water and you decide to throw out fifteen years of good, solid work? Do you have any idea what kid of sacrifices I’ve made for this network? I have no life. FirstNews is my life. You know that.”

“Clyde, you broke the law and you violated our code of ethics. You did it to yourself. And this time, Olivia’s not here to save your behind,” Diskin said without any trace of empathy.

“How dare you talk to me about Olivia. You never gave a shit she was dead. Get the story. Get the story. That’s all we’re ever told. But this time even
you
knew the victim. How many dinners did you sit next to Olivia at? How many luncheons? She was a real, living human being, not just to me but to you too, and still her murder—her brutal fucking murder—was just another story to you. Another fucking ratings grab.” I grabbed a shaky breath. “What I want to know is what wouldn’t you do for ratings, Mitchell? What wouldn’t
you
do to keep
your
job?”

He stood up. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Feinberg, the old battle-ax, had heard enough. “You sign the agreement or you don’t. Either way, as of this moment you are no longer an employee of this network. Your personal effects will be sent to you via courier later today.”

I turned to Itzushi. “This is wrong and you know it.”

He refused to look at me.

“Cowards.” I stood to my full height and regarded Diskin one last time, my voice cool and words deliberate. “You threw me under the bus, you spineless hypocrite. I hope Maldone fires you as soon as the merger is complete.” I backed away from the table feeling better than I thought I would. I was out of a job and none of the networks were hiring, but hell, I’d said my piece—or almost all of it. At the door, I turned around and looked Diskin in the eye. “Isn’t it curious how none of you seem to care what it was I found when I was in Olivia’s apartment?”

“It’s over, Clyde,” he said, possibly referring to the case, possibly to me.

U
nder the watchful eye of Eugene, one of my favorite security guards, I descended to the lobby. I was handing in my key card when Barton Oberlink showed up chomping on his breakfast. “Tough break, Clyde. We’re really going to miss you.” Barton took a bite of his onion bagel. He stood there chewing, staring straight at my breasts. Then he adjusted his crotch.

I snapped my fingers next to my face. “Up here, perv.”

His ears turned pink. “What? I wasn’t—”

“Yes you were.”

He swallowed and readjusted his spectacles, leaving a trace of cream cheese on the rims. “Sorry, geez.”

“Go. Away.”

He took a backward step, his hands in the air. “Nice attitude. No wonder you’re out on your ass.”

“You’re next,” I shouted after him.

It was time to go, but I wanted to see one more person before I left. I turned to Eugene. “Any chance you could turn your head for five minutes?”

He barely hesitated. “I’ll be by the elevators.”

Georgia was in her office, staring at her computer screen. “Get the fuck in here,” she hooted, getting out of her chair to shut the door behind me. Then she gave me a hug. “I’m so sorry, girl. I tried to intervene, but you know how these things go. I’m gonna fight for you to get back here. As soon as the merger’s final. Diskin knows you’re a valuable part of my team.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that.”

Georgia’s gold bangles clinked together as she crossed her arms over her chest. “What did you do?”

“I called him a spineless hypocrite. There may have been more.”

“Oh, Clyde.” She shook her head.

I leaned against her bookshelf. At least once a week she asked me when I was going to finally get my act together and write a true-crime book. My answer had always been the same: When I’m not working from nine in the morning to nine at night, Monday through Friday and sometimes on weekends, I’ll
think
about it. Maybe now was the time.

“Will you do me a favor and let me know if you see anyone from the Kravis family around the office today?” I asked.

She scrunched her face. “Why?”

“The network’s buying me off. HR offered me fifteen months of severance in exchange for my silence. Olivia’s murder may not have had anything to do with the merger, but they’re covering up something. I can feel it.”

She lifted her brows as her phone rang. Georgia craned her neck to check the caller identification. “Diskin,” she muttered. I hovered by the door. Georgia glanced up at me and mouthed the word
sorry
. “Taped not live, I got it. Exclusive to us?” There was a long pause. “OK.” She replaced the phone. “Delphine and Monica Kravis apparently just agreed to go on
Topical
.”

I couldn’t believe it; I’d been hounding Delphine for days to tape another interview with us, and Monica had been totally off the table since the get-go.

“Charles Kravis was admitted to Lennox Hill last night,” she added. “They think he may be on his last days. They want to talk about that and refocus the media attention on their family to what Charles did, his accomplishment in building this network and changing the cable industry and how Americans get their news. With the merger pending, it’s smart strategy.”

“You don’t think Diskin made a deal? An interview for my head?”

Georgia rubbed her temples. “I don’t know, honey. You think you know someone, but truth is anything’s possible. Not too many people you can trust in this world.”

I found Eugene near the elevator bank. Waiting with him was Alex.

“I just heard.” Alex put his hands on my shoulders. “You OK?”

“I’m fine,” I said, but inside I felt uneasy, and not just because my future was entirely up in the air. There were still too many unanswered questions churning in my head about the merger, about the message on my computer screen, and about Olivia’s last text to me.
It’s time you know the truth
. It dawned on me then that had she been referring to Andrey and Rachel, she would have worded it differently. Whatever she had to tell me was
personal
, like the message the perp had left on my computer. The
truth
. My
past
. But what did one thing have to do with the other?
Did
they have anything to do with each other?

Eugene and I stepped inside the elevator.

Alex put his hand up against the elevator door. “Any word from the cops about your apartment?”

“They said I could go back and pick up some clothes with an escort if I wanted.”

“So I’ll see you at home tonight?”

“I promised Sabine I was leaving.”

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“Oh yes I do.”

“She understands.”

He was wrong about that. “I wouldn’t.”

Alex let the elevator go. A few minutes later I was in a cab heading uptown. Panda was about to go on his lunch break. I was planning on hitting him up for a ride to New Jersey.

I secured the corner table at Pastrami Queen and ordered us a couple of sodas and a knish for Panda. He hobbled inside, his knee acting up again. Before he could say anything I told him about getting canned.

“These people never hear of probation?” he asked in reply.

I slid him a root beer. “Probation’s for cops, criminals, and teenagers. I’m none of those.”

“Well, they made a mistake. They’re gonna beg you to come back, kid.”

“When pigs fly.” I nodded at his choice of cravat. “Like your—”

“Nah, try again.”

I shook my head.

“
Swine flu.”

I hung my head. “Second one I’ve gotten wrong. I’m losing my touch.” Panda’s knish arrived at the table in a red plastic basket. I pushed it to his side.

He picked up a fork. “You not eating?”

“I had a late breakfast.” Truth was my stomach was in knots. I was nursing a ginger ale, but it hadn’t done much good. “How’d you pin Andrey?”

Panda dusted some crumbs from his mouth. “DNA.”

“The baby?”

He nodded. “Our break was finding Rockwell’s body, and linking up the DNA. It took some time to get Kaminski’s sample though. And then another twenty-four hours to get it tested.”

“That can’t be all you got. All that proves is he was the baby’s father.”

“You’re right. But he also left plenty of his DNA around the apartment. Hair and clothing fibers, bodily fluids.” I thought back to the two squares removed from the carpet in the living room. “There were also fingerprints on the suitcase and all over Rachel Rockwell’s clothing.”

“Couldn’t that all be circumstantial? He could have helped Olivia with her suitcase the last time she came home from a trip, and he was having an affair with Rachel.”

“It’s a lot of evidence, Red.”

“Is he talking?”

“Kaminski claims he didn’t know about the baby. And we think Rachel was not planning on keeping it.”

I sloshed the ice around in my glass. “Had she made an appointment at an abortion clinic?”

“No, but she’d had a conversation with her gynecologist, who had referred her to a clinic in Stamford.”

“Olivia would have wanted Rachel to keep the baby. She wasn’t a staunch conservative like her Dad, obviously, but she did share some of his values.”

“We don’t even know for sure Olivia knew about the pregnancy.”

“But they were fighting, remember? The neighbors overheard them.”

Panda sighed. “They could have been fighting about anything.”

“I’ll buy that Rachel didn’t want the baby. I’ll even give you the possibility that Olivia didn’t know about it, but I think Andrey was telling the truth when he said he didn’t know about it, either. So if he didn’t know about the pregnancy, he couldn’t have known Rachel was planning on getting an abortion. And if he didn’t know that, what’s his motive? Why kill two women?”

“We know Rachel liked the lifestyle. So it fits that the pregnancy could have been her wakeup call. She realizes how reckless her affair with Kaminski is. She tells him again that it’s over between them. Maybe she’s mean about it and maybe this time he decides he’s not going away quietly.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“It’s the only way it could have happened. But to tell you the truth we hardly need motive with all the physical evidence we’ve got. I’m talking phone records, fingerprints, DNA, and if that ain’t enough, a personal history of anger-management issues. One of Kaminski’s ex-girlfriends called 911 on him a few times. No restraining order, but cops showed up on their doorstep and there’s a record of him threatening her and that crap is admissible in court. It’ll go a long way with a jury.”

Michael Rockwell also had a history of roughing up his women. Rachel had a type, just like I did; and so did Olivia. There was never a romantic spark between us, but Rachel and I were one in the same—broken little birds attracted to trouble and prone to self-destruction via men and booze.