CHAPTER
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Tiel consulted her compact mirror, but she snapped it shut without primping.
She reasoned that the more disheveled she looked, the more impact the video would have. Swapping her stained blouse for the T-shirt was the only concession she made. If viewers saw her as they usually did—well coiffed, well dressed, and cosmetically enhanced—the video would lose some of its punch.
She wanted it to pack a wallop. Not only with home viewers, but with the TV station's powers-that-be. This opportunity had been handed to her, and she intended to capitalize on it. While she already had a wonderful job and was highly respected for her journalistic instincts and know-how, her career would take a dramatic upward turn if she got the coveted hostess spot on Nine Live.
The daily news-magazine show had been in the planning stages for months. At first it was thought to be only a rumor, the pipe dream of station management, something on their wish list for the unspecified future.
But it now appeared that it was actually going to come about. The half-hour program was scheduled to air between Jeopardy! and the fist edition of the evening news.
Set designers were submitting drawings for review. Brainstorming sessions had been convened to discuss the show's concept, thrust, and focus. The promotions department was working on a distinctive, readily identifiable logo. A full-scale, saturating advertising campaign had been budgeted. Nine Live was soon to become a reality.
Tiel wanted it to be her reality, her future.
This story would be a boon to her chances of landing that job. This standoff would be a huge story tomorrow and probably for several days to come. Follow-up reports on the people involved could be produced indefinitely and the possibilities were endless: How Katherine was faring;
Ronnie's trial and sentencing; the Davison-Dendy
Standoff—a retrospective one year later.
She could do interviews with Special Agent Galloway, the Dendys, Ronnie's father, and Sheriff Montez. And the elusive Dr. Bradley Stanwick.
Of course it remained to be seen if Doc would agree to an interview, but anything was possible, and Tiel was an optimist.
For the next few days and weeks, she would be in the glare of the broadcast media spotlight. No doubt she would get a lot of ink, too, in newspapers and periodicals.
The TV station would benefit hugely from her national exposure. Ratings would soar. She would be the darling of the newsroom, and her popularity would extend to the carpeted offices upstairs.
Eat your heart out, Linda Harper.
Ronnie interrupted her reverie. "Ms. McCoy? Is this him?"
The videographer materialized out of the shadows be
yond the gasoline pumps. The camera weighted down his right arm, but it was also like an extension of it. He was rarely seen without it. "Yes, that's Kip."
Mentally she rehearsed what she was going to say as an open. This is Tiel McCoy, speaking to you from inside a convenience store in Rojo Flats, Texas, where a drama involving two
Fort Worth teenagers has been unfolding for the last several hours. As already reported, earlier today Ronnie Davison and
Sabra Dendy…
What was that? A twinge of conscience? She ignored it.
This was her job. This is what she did. Just as Dr. Stanwick had applied his skill to the emergency birth, she was now applying her particular skill to the situation. What was wrong with that? It wasn't exploitation.
It wasn't!
If Sam Donaldson found himself on a hijacked airliner and had an opportunity to feed a story to his network, would he decline to do so just because the lives of other people were in jeopardy? Hell, no. Would he tell the head honcho at his network that he didn't want to do the story at the risk of invading the privacy of his fellow hostages?
Don't make me laugh.
People made news. The most compelling stories were about people whose lives were in peril. The more immediate the danger, the more gripping the story. She hadn't created this situation to further her career. She was merely reporting on it. Sure, her career would benefit, but still, she was only doing her job.
Earlier today Ronnie Davison and Sabra Dendy fled their high school in defiance of parental authority—and ultimately in defiance of the law. These two young people are now engaged in a standoff with the FBI and other law enforcement agencies. I am one of their hostages.
Kip was at the door.
"How do I know he hasn't got a gun?" Ronnie asked nervously.
"He's a genius with a video camera, but I doubt he would know which end of a gun to point." It was true. Kip looked about as menacing as a marshmallow. Through a viewfinder, he saw the lighting and angles that would produce beautiful moving pictures. But he was woefully myopic when it came to seeing himself in a mirror. Or so it seemed. He was endearingly sloppy and ill-groomed.
Ronnie signaled Donna to activate the electronic lock.
Kip pushed his way inside. The door was relocked behind him. He jumped nervously when he heard the metallic click.
"Hi, Kip."
"Tiel. You okay? Gully's wound up tighter than an eight-day clock."
"As you can see, I'm fine. Let's not waste time. This is
Ronnie Davison."
Obviously Kip had expected a rough-looking thug, not the clean-cut, all-American boy Ronnie personified.
"Hey."
"Hi."
"Where's the girl?" Kip asked.
"Lying down over there."
He looked in Sabra's direction and hitched his chin in greeting. "Hey."
Katherine was asleep in her mother's arms. Tiel noted that Doc was still sitting on the floor with his back to the freezer, where he could easily monitor Sabra but remain concealed by a revolving rack of snack food.
"Better get started," Kip said. "That Galloway was hyper about this taking no more than five minutes."
"I've got a few remarks to make first by way of intro,
then you can tape Ronnie's statement. We'll save Sabra and the baby for last."
Kip handed Tiel the wireless microphone, then swung the camera up onto his shoulder and fitted the viewfinder against his eye socket. The light mounted on top of the camera came on. Tiel took up a preplanned position, where the majority of the store's interior could be seen behind her. "Is this okay?"
"Fine by me. Sound level's okay. I'm rolling."
"This is Tiel McCoy." She made the brief opening remarks she had rehearsed. Her statement of the facts was impassioned but not maudlin, having just the right blend of empathy and professional detachment. She resisted the temptation to embellish, believing that Ronnie and
Sabra's comments would be more stirring than anything she could say.
When she finished, she signaled Ronnie forward. He seemed reluctant to move into the bright light. "How do I
know they won't take a shot at me?"
"While you're on camera and posing no immediate threat? The FBI has enough of a PR problem without the public outcry that would create."
Apparently he saw the logic in Tiel's argument. Moving into place, he cleared his throat. "Tell me when to go."
"You're on," said Kip. "Go."
"I didn't kidnap Sabra Bendy," he blurted. "We ran away. Simple as that. It was wrong of me to rob this store.
I admit that." He went on to explain that they had been driven away by Mr. Dendy's threat to separate them permanently from each other and their baby. "Sabra and I
want to get married and live together with Katherine as a family. That's all. Mr. Dendy, if you won't let us live our own lives, we'll end them right here. Tonight."
"Two minutes," Kip whispered, reminding them of the time limit.
"Very good, Ronnie." Tiel took the microphone from him and signaled Kip to follow her to where Sabra lay.
Quickly he positioned himself above her for the best possible camera angle.
"Be sure you're getting the baby, too," Sabra told him.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm rolling."
Ronnie had taken a typically masculine approach—aggressive, contentious, challenging. Sabra's statement was perhaps more eloquent, but equally and chillingly resolute.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn't falter when she concluded with, "It's impossible for you to understand how we feel, Daddy, because you don't know what it's like to love someone. You say you only want what's best for me, but that's not true. You want what's best for you. You're willing to sacrifice me, you're willing to give up your granddaughter, just to have your way.
That's sad. I don't hate you. I pity you."
She ended just as Kip said, "Time's up." He turned off the camera and lowered it from his shoulder. "I don't want to go over the time limit and be the cause of all hell breaking loose."
As he and Tiel picked their way back toward the door, he said, "A guy named Joe Marcus has called the newsroom several times."