66
CALLS FROM strangers who were skittish about giving their names but who claimed to have great secrets to share were part of Candace’s stock in trade. But the call from the anonymous woman who said she had information regarding the Aurora Tower accident made Candace nervous. She’d had to fight off an initial impulse to refuse. That wasn’t really an option: if she was too afraid to meet with a potential source, then it was time to hang it up. Candace had been rattled ever since the break-in at her apartment, but she was determined to push through it, not let it keep her from doing her job. She had, however, sent Nugent an e-mail about where she was going, something she wouldn’t normally have done.
Candace agreed to meet her mystery source at a Starbucks just off Union Square. Maintaining her DIY attempts at evading surveillance, Candace again sneaked out the back of the building; then once she was on the subway she walked through the cars, keeping an eye out for anyone following her. When the N train got to Union Square, Candace waited until the last second to run out the closing doors, watching to see if anyone tried to follow. She felt foolish, like she was playing at secret agent, but at the same time it did seem necessary, especially on her way to meet someone who wanted to talk about the Aurora.
Candace had described herself over the phone, and after standing in the middle of the Starbucks for a few seconds she saw a hand being raised in her direction. Candace went over and introduced herself. The woman, who looked to be in her late twenties and who was extraordinarily pretty, hesitated slightly before shaking hands, clearly not something she was used to doing, at least with women.
“If we’re going to talk, I need to know who you are,” Candace said. “You can be anonymous as far as any story, but I’ve got to know who I’m talking to.”
For a moment the woman hesitated, but then she nodded. “My name’s Alena Porter.”
“So, Alena, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“I read the article you did about the Aurora, so I figured you’d be interested in what I know about what was going on there.”
Candace was skeptical this woman would have an inside track on a major commercial real estate project. “I’m guessing you’re not a construction worker.”
Alena looked confused for a moment, then smiled. “You mean how do I know? I dated Jeremy Roth.”
Candace tried not to show her excitement as she wondered if she’d just caught her biggest break since getting William Stanton to talk last year. “And he told you about what was happening there?”
“He wasn’t always exactly a model of clarity, but I picked up some things.”
“Bad breakup?” Candace couldn’t resist asking.
Alena’s lips pursed slightly. “Excuse me?”
“Why are you willing to talk to me?”
“Bad breakup, yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“It’s just that, once you tell me things, you can’t take them back; you understand?”
“I get that,” Alena said defiantly.
“Okay,” Candace said, not wanting to say anything more that might make her source bolt. “So what is it you want to tell me?”
Alena hesitated just long enough that Candace started to wonder if she was going to get cold feet. “Jeremy was involved in the stealing,” Alena said, speaking quickly, the words pouring out. “He was working with that concrete guy, the one who took off, taking money out. And that’s why they were allowed to get away with not doing what they should to keep the project safe.”
This was basically old news to Candace, but given that her previous source for it had dried up, it was nevertheless valuable. It also told her that Alena was legit. “He told you this?”
Alena nodded. “Somebody who knew about it was blackmailing Jeremy. He was really freaked out about it. But then he wasn’t. He said the person deserved what they got.”
It all came together for Candace. Fowler had known everything; Fowler had too much money in the bank when he died. Fowler wasn’t killed because he knew too much; he was killed because he’d blackmailed Jeremy Roth over what he’d known. “Do you know who was blackmailing him?” she asked, hoping Alena would take her all the way across the finish line.
“It was somebody connected to the Aurora, and I’m pretty sure it was a guy. But that’s all I know.”
“Does the name Sean Fowler mean anything to you?” Candace asked.
Alena shook her head. “Who’s that?”
Candace tried to hide her disappointment. She was sure she had it pieced together, though she was nowhere near having it so solid that she could get it in the paper, not if Alena didn’t know who the blackmailer was. “He worked at the Aurora, and was murdered a couple months ago. When did Jeremy indicate that the blackmailer was out of the picture?”
Alena blanched at hearing the word “murdered.” For a moment she just looked at Candace. “I don’t remember for sure,” she finally said. “But it was a while ago.”
“He ever say anything to you about Jack Pellettieri’s disappearance?”
“No.”
“You ever meet Pellettieri?”
“The only person I ever met in terms of business was one of the Arab guys Jeremy was trying to get money from.”
Candace didn’t know what Alena was talking about. “Trying to get money for what?”
“For the Aurora. I don’t know the details, but his family needed a whole lot of money to keep that project going. They were looking for hundreds of millions of dollars.”
“Did they get the money?”
“Not from the Arabs they didn’t. Whether they got it from somebody I don’t know.”
“Do you have anything that backs up any of this? An e-mail, an answering-machine message?”
Alena shook her head. “Don’t you believe me?”
“I completely believe you. But to actually get this in the paper my editors are going to want something more than your word. We’d need to figure out who was doing the blackmailing too—otherwise it’s only part of a story.”
“I’ve told you what I know,” Alena said, looking frustrated. Candace had seen it before with sources who were leaking for personal reasons: they wanted what they said to simply be transcribed on the next day’s front page. That wasn’t going to happen, but Alena had filled in the last missing piece. Candace thought she had the whole story now. But she couldn’t back it up, which meant she couldn’t print it.
BACK AT the newsroom, Candace went to Nugent’s office to fill him in on her new source, and what she thought it meant. Nugent listened carefully, and when she was finished he went over and closed his office door. Candace was surprised; she couldn’t remember Nugent ever doing that before. “I thought you’d gotten the message on your own,” he said.
“What message?”
“This conversation never happened, understood?”
“Now my own boss is going off the record on me?”
“That’s right. Clear?”
“Fine, Bill, what?”
“It’s not exactly a secret that we’re losing money around here. The only thing falling faster than our circulation is our advertising revenue. The buyouts this summer didn’t do nearly enough to stop the bleeding. We’re looking at layoffs for as much as ten percent of the newsroom. Everybody’s vulnerable. Hell, I’m vulnerable.”
Candace didn’t know where Nugent was going, but it was clearly someplace bad. “Are you telling me I’m about to be laid off?”
“No, though I can’t promise you’re not either. But that wasn’t what I was getting at. The point is, we’re losing money hand over fist here, and a certain amount of … caution is setting in. Defending against even a meritless libel case can run hundreds of thousands of dollars—and that would mean another half dozen people lose their jobs.”
“So the paper is worried about Simon Roth suing us again?”
“The concern is that Roth sees you as having a vendetta against him. Rightly or wrongly, the thought is that anything you write about him is much more likely to lead to a lawsuit.”
Candace couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Are you telling me this paper now has a policy of not reporting on Simon Roth?”
“Nobody’s saying Roth gets a free pass from the paper,” Nugent said. “He does, however, get a pass from you.”
“But I’ve got sources developed. I’m the only person who’s even close to having the whole story.”
“You have something relating to the Fowler murder, pass it on to Alex Costello.”
This was insult to injury. “Costello’s not an investigative reporter. And besides, this is the biggest story I’ve ever had, a story that could break huge.”
“This isn’t something I got a vote in, Candace,” Nugent said. “It came from Friedman himself. All I’m doing is conveying the word from on high. You weren’t supposed to be working sources on Roth anyway.”
“This source came to me; I wasn’t looking for her. Which proves my point, by the way.”
“She didn’t give you anything we can print, regardless. Somebody was blackmailing Roth Junior, but she doesn’t know who. You’d just be speculating that it was Sean Fowler. You printed that, it would be a libel suit we’d actually lose.”
“She’s a second source that Jeremy Roth was actively involved in the embezzlement. That’s worth a story in itself.”
“Potentially,” Nugent said. “But you’re not going to be the person to write it. Give what you have to Costello, and go back to the campaign finance story.”
“This is bullshit.”
“This is reality,” Nugent said.
AFTER SHE’D left Nugent, Candace went looking for Brock Anders. His cubicle was in a small annex to the main newsroom—the gossip staff separated out from the news staff. Candace had never been clear whether this was to protect the reporters from the gossip columnists or the other way around.
Brock was in his cubicle writing an e-mail. He could tell at a glance that Candace was upset about something. Brock suggested she keep him company while he took a smoke break, and they went out to the loading docks in the back of the building, where the office smokers congregated.
“So what’s wrong?” Brock asked after lighting up.
“I’ve got a big follow-up lead on my Aurora story, and the paper won’t let me pursue it. They’re apparently so scared of Roth suing again, even on a completely bulletproof story, that I’ve been shut down.”
Brock shook his head. “We can’t even afford to win a lawsuit these days, I guess. I heard another round of buyouts is coming. I’d take one, if I wasn’t scared it’d mean I’d just never work again.”
“I understand money’s tight, and that we’re a business. But still, when we let rich bullies dictate our news coverage, it may just be time to give up.”
“But it’s not like you’re being told you can’t do your job generally. I mean, I get that it sucks, but there’re a lot of other dirty fish in this slimy sea of ours.”
“All of whom now have a playbook for how to shut me down.”
“See what happens when you take what you do for a living seriously?”
“I’ve almost got the whole thing,” Candace said. “A huge scoop, just out of reach. It’s killing me.”
“Nobody gets every story, Candace,” Brock said. “You know that.”
“It’d be one thing if I just couldn’t piece it together. That happens, sure. But this is my being sidelined by my own team.”
“It just isn’t a fight you can win right now,” Brock said, taking a final drag off his cigarette. “Accepting that is really all you can do. Ready to head back up?”
“I’m going to make a call while I’m down here,” Candace said, Brock raising his eyebrows but refraining from inquiring. After he left, Candace took out her cell phone and punched up the number of the one person she thought would actually care about what she’d discovered.
“What’s up?” Duncan asked.
“I’ve figured out the real reason Sean Fowler was killed,” Candace replied.