The Anonymous Source (14 page)

ALEX STOOD
AT
THE DOOR
to his apartment and turned the key. “Something’s not right,” he said. “I usually have to jiggle the key after a quarter turn, but this time it moved easily.” He swung the door open. “What the hell?”

Clothes, books, and papers littered the bed and floor. His dresser drawers and closet door were open.

“Didn’t take you for a slob,” Camila said as they walked in. “Not with the way you take care of your body.”

“This isn’t me,” Alex said, scanning the room. “Someone’s been here. The lock. Someone picked it.”

Alex threw his bag on the bed and crossed the room with two large steps. He shuffled through papers scattered over his desk. “They took some of my notebooks. At least I had my laptop and the Downton tapes in my bag.”

“They? Who?”

Alex grabbed the wooden pole from the closet, letting the blue cloth drop to the floor. “How the hell would I know? Can we go to your place?”

“Why the pole?” Camila asked.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

They each held their breath as Camila opened the door and peered into her apartment. “Everything seems to be in order,” she said.

Alex followed her in and leaned the pole against the couch as he sat. “What do I do now?” he asked. “At this point, I don’t know who to be more afraid of—the guy who killed Downton or my newspaper.”

“Your boss might be more pathetic than sinister,” Camila said. “He may just be getting word that the story shouldn’t be pursued. Doesn’t mean he knows what’s really going on.”

“But I was wrong about him.”

Camila walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“I don’t like being confused,” Alex called after her.

Camila returned and sat next to him. She handed him a coconut water. “Yes, I can see that about you.” Alex studied the bottle’s label. “Just drink it,” Camila said.

Alex took a small sip. “I could go to the police and tell them everything. Tell them to get the video from the paper. They’d probably put me in some sort of witness protection program.”

“You’re not going to the police. First of all, the paper wouldn’t have to give them the video. The police could subpoena it as part of the trial, but the paper would withhold it since it’s confidential source material. The cops would get it eventually, but it could take weeks or even months.”

Alex looked at the woodblock print of the woman struggling against the rain. It made him uncomfortable so he got up and walked to the window. “What do I do?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, but do you want to know one of the things I do when I don’t know what to do?”

“Flip a coin?”

“Other than that. You want to know?”

“Not really, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“I don’t do anything. I literally sit still and don’t do anything.”

She got up, took his hand, and led him back to the couch. He sat and she pushed his shoulders down gently and straightened them. “Sit up straight. Feet on the floor. Uncross your legs. Take a few deep breaths. Good. Now close your eyes and just sit still for a few minutes.”

Alex complied for a few seconds, then asked, “But what should I
do
?”

“Be still. That’s all.”

He opened his eyes. “Look, I’m freaking out here.”

“Just try it.”

Alex closed his eyes again and sighed.

“Just be confused for a while,” he heard her say. “Feel your feet on the floor.”

Alex felt his feet on the floor. After a minute, he became aware of a stream of images passing through him. Downton leaning over his coffee. The jungle fowl tattoo on his neck. Baxton, holding the phone. Greta in the bar the night Downton started following him—her long black hair and toned arms. Then he heard the voice, metallic and strange.
There are three.
Martin’s hat hitting the ground. An imagined memory of Downton playing basketball with his father. He felt a pang of sadness but quickly dismissed it.
There are three.
The look on Santiago’s face as he walked away from Martin. Why the smile? Was he in on it? What a sick bastard.
Then Camila, walking in the park. Her image blurred with one of his mother, standing in the park the day before his graduation. Then the smell coming through his apartment window after 9/11, sour and dusty. What was in that smell? Then back in the park with Camila. Baxton again. The voice:
There are three.

A name appeared in his mind. Denver Bice. Baxton works for Denver Bice.

“Alex?”

He opened his eyes. His forehead hurt and he had forgotten about Camila.

“Alex, what’s going on in your head?”

“How long was I sitting there?”

“Three minutes.”

“What?”

“I know. The mind can do a lot in three minutes, huh?”

“I’ve had enough of this.” He stood and walked back to the window. “Remember when you said that Martin kept everything? Where did his stuff end up?”

Camila crossed her legs on the couch. “Most of his records are with his daughter upstate, but I have a few cartons of papers from the last year or so.”

“Good. The source said to look into why Martin was killed, so maybe there will be something there.”

“Maybe, but—”

“And remember when you mentioned Martin’s interaction with Denver Bice at the funeral?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you had that hunch, and now I have my boss, who works for Bice, stonewalling me, and—”

There was a quiet tap on the door. Alex swung around on his heels.

“Don’t worry,” Camila said. “That’s Charlie from across the hall. I heard his door shut.”

Camila opened the door and a tall, brawny man of about fifty walked in.

“Hello! It’s just me, your friendly ‘gaybor
.
’
”
He was neatly dressed in black and wore thick black glasses and a tidy beard. He leaned forward and hugged Camila. “Can I borrow some sugar, sugar? I’m having the girls over for drinks and need to make some simple syrup.” He looked at Alex on the couch. “Mmm . . . Who is
this
young man?”

Camila led Charlie to the couch. “This is Alex Vane,” she said. “He works at
The Standard
.”

“Are you going full-on cougar?” Charlie asked.

Alex looked at the floor.

“No, it’s not that kind of thing,” Camila said, walking to the kitchen. “We’re working on something together. He’s covering the Santiago trial. You know, John’s case.”

“Oh yeah. Well, I’m glad to see him here. I was a little worried when I saw the guy coming out of your place earlier. I thought ‘Ooohhh, she’s slumin.’“

Camila walked into the living room. She stared at Charlie blankly. “What guy?”

“Your uncle,” Charlie said. “The guy who stayed with you last night.”

Alex walked over and took Camila’s hand.

Camila said, “Seriously, Charlie, what guy?”

“The little guy. Said he was your uncle visiting from Europe. Left early this morning. He said he was staying with you.”

Alex shot glances around the room. Camila’s mouth dropped open. “How little was he?” she managed.

“Tiny. Weird accent, too. You mean that’s not your uncle?”

“
I LEFT
MY POLE,”
Alex said. They had bounded down the stairs of Camila’s building and hailed a taxi headed west on 98th.

“What’s the deal with that pole?” Camila asked.

“My dad took it from the gym near our house when it shut down. He brought it from home and gave it to me the day I graduated NYU. The next day, they died.”

“How?”

Alex looked out the window and closed his eyes. Camila put a hand on his knee.

They rode in silence, north on the West Side Highway. “We have to go to the cops,” Alex said at last. “I know some are corrupt, and some are inept. But most aren’t. And we don’t have any other options.”

“Right now, I feel safer in the back of a moving taxi than I would in a police station,” Camila said, staring out the window.

Alex took her shoulders in his hands and turned her toward him. “We
have
to go to the cops.”

“What do we do then?” Camila asked.

“Well, we—”

She put her hand over his mouth. “We tell them that, A, there’s a video that
may or may not
prove Santiago innocent and that, B, the guy who made the video is
dead
, and that, C, my neighbor saw a guy come out of my apartment who looks a lot like a guy who
may or may not
have killed the guy who made the video that
may or may not
clear a kid who everyone believes is a
twisted killer
? Is that what you want to tell them?”

Alex pushed her hand away. “But they don’t know Demarcus was killed right after contacting me about the video. They could use that to tie his murder to Martin. There could be a million little threads to the Martin investigation that never got reported.”

“And you think if you tell them they’ll drop all charges against Santiago and put the full weight of the department behind figuring out what really happened? That would humiliate the department, embarrass the press that ran with the story, and piss off millions of New Yorkers. If you think that’s what the cops would do, then you’re even naïver than I thought.”

“Naïver?” Alex asked.

“It’s a word. Plus, do you know the department’s record of protecting witnesses? Even if they did the right thing,
we’d
still be screwed. That guy was in my home!”

“I do know their record. It’s pretty good.”

“Good enough to bet your life on?”

Alex stared across the Hudson River at New Jersey as the taxi passed 125th Street. At the George Washington Bridge, the driver leaned back. “Where we headed?” he asked.

“Still don’t know, just head north,” Camila said.

“Bridge toll coming up in a few minutes,” the driver said. Alex handed him a ten-dollar bill and they rode in silence across the Henry Hudson Bridge. The driver looked at them in the rearview mirror. “You want to take the Sawmill or the Cross County Parkway?” Alex dropped his head and sighed.

“I have an idea,” Camila said. “On the couch you asked about Bice, right? The interaction between him and Martin is our only lead.”

Alex looked up. “We can’t talk to Bice because he runs the paper that killed my story. And Hollinger isn’t around to help us.”

“His wife is,” Camila said. “John told me she lives in Hawaii. Kona. He talked to her at the funeral.”

“Okay, but what good will she do us?”

“I don’t know,” Camila said. “But where else can we turn?”

Alex shrugged.

“How much money do you have?” Camila asked.

“I have enough saved up to buy us a couple weeks, but what’s the plan?”

Camila tapped on the glass divider and spoke to the driver. “Cross County to Ninety-Five East.”

THE CAPTAIN’S
VOICE
jolted Alex as it echoed metallic and scratchy through the cabin. “At the present time we are experiencing significant precipitation, which may delay our anticipated takeoff time by at least twenty minutes or more.”

Alex slid his laptop bag under the seat in front of him. “Why not just say it’s raining so the flight is delayed?”

Camila laughed.

“We will be heading to Kona, Hawaii today with a layover in San Francisco,” the captain continued. ”So if one of these two cities is not in your travel plans, please let a flight attendant know.”

“Politics, lawyers, and television happened,” she said, moving into the aisle to make way for a large man in a tight suit who was pointing at the window seat.

Alex swung his legs into her seat to let the man pass. “How did I get stuck in the middle anyway?” he asked Camila as the man lifted up the armrest and wedged himself into the window seat.

“Sorry,” the man said.

“Heading all the way to Kona?” Alex asked, trying to sound like a flight attendant. “Or is SFO your final destination?”

“Kona.”

Alex tried to pull the armrest down but it stuck on the man’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” the man said again, putting on headphones and leaning against the window.

Camila sat and Alex scrunched as close to her as he could. “I’m still pissed at myself,” he said.

“Why?”

“I can’t believe I left that video with Baxton. He’s not going to get it out there. The trial will go on like nothing has changed. And I can’t believe I’m about to fly across the country. The Santiago story is the biggest of my career and I’m bailing on it.” He leaned back. “I think I need to sleep.”

“We both do. But you’re not bailing on the story, you’re following it. The real story isn’t what’s happening in court.” She paused. “Out of curiosity, what would you do with the video if you had it?”

“I don’t know. I’d just have it. I’d feel a little less crazy. Maybe there’s something on it we didn’t see. Maybe I’d leak it to a TV station at least.” He looked at Camila and was surprised to see that she was smiling. “We’re in a pretty messed up place for you to be smiling right now. I mean, three hours ago you found out a killer was in your apartment.”

“And what offer would you be willing to make to a beautiful woman who had the video? Would you—I don’t know—give her your share of peanuts, or steal her a bag of the animal crackers they only give to kids?”

“Stop messing around.”

Camila reached into her purse and pulled out a silver USB drive. “I don’t know what this is, exactly, but your friend James said he loaded the video onto it.”

Alex sat up straight and took it from her.

“When I put my hair up,” she continued, “his eyes rolled back in his head. I asked him to make me a copy while you were writing.”

Alex smiled as the plane started moving. “You trollop! You used your devastating beauty to take advantage of him.” He passed the USB drive between his hands.

“He’s a sweet guy.”

The captain’s voice came through the cabin again. “Ladies and gentlemen, the precipitation has halted and we anticipate departure in three to five minutes. We’re currently fourth in line, so please bring all tray tables and seat backs to their full, upright, and locked positions in preparation for our impending departure.”

“For God’s sake,” Alex said in a whisper, “why can’t he just say it stopped raining so we’re leaving?”

“You ever read Orwell?” Camila asked.