"We should also do the whole wake-up call story," Anne said. "If this attack had been more widespread, would Portland be ready?" "Wake-up?" went on the board in green.
Jenna alone had raised her hand. When Eric nodded at her, she said, "I was thinking that maybe we, like, could do some personal stories about the people who got hit by cars?"
"Vignettes" went on the board in red, with no question mark. Next Eric wrote "Jim Fate" in purple and circled it.
"Since you knew Jim Fate personally, Cassidy, why don't you work on his backstory as well as anything you can find out about who might have wanted him dead and why."
"Now, that could be a miniseries," Brad said, and then seemed surprised when nobody laughed.
Chapter 18
KNWS Radio
Inside KNWS it was eerily silent. Everywhere was mute testimony that people had fled in panic. Coffee cups lay on their sides in slowly drying puddles, a spill of papers was scattered next to the receptionist's desk, and a purse sat in the middle of a hallway. Nic, Leif, Karl, and Rod--all members of the ERT--were here to gather whatever evidence they could. On the short drive to the station, Nic had been surprised to hear KNWS broadcasting, and even more surprised to hear Victoria Hanawa behind the mike. No one was being allowed in or out of the studio until it had been searched, so the radio station must have found another way to broadcast.
Leif consulted his notes. The others followed him as he walked past the receptionist's desk and took a right turn down the hall. The farther in they ventured, the more Nic was surprised by how cheap the radio station's office looked. The visitors' area had been decorated with leather couches, polished wood, and a vase of hothouse flowers. But once they were past the part that was visible to the public, it looked as if the minimum amount of money had been spent to cram the maximum number of workers into the space. Most of the floor was a rabbit warren of cubicles separated from each other by shoulder-high partitions. Leif led them down a narrow corridor with scuffed walls barely far enough apart for two people to pass each other, and then turned left down a second hallway. On their right was a row of closed doors with unlit red lights that read ON AIR.
Leif pointed at a door near the end. It was ajar, and through it Nic could see a small room separated by a glass wall and a door from the radio studio behind it. The floor of both rooms was littered with discarded medical supplies and spent injectors from the first responders' frantic attempts to save Fate from what had turned out to be the wrong poison. Nic wondered how they would feel once they learned that a simple dose of Narcan might have done the trick.
"That's the studio Fate was in when he died," Leif said. "His office is across the hall and a couple of doors down. Nic, why don't you and Rod take that, and Karl and I will take the studio."
With her gloved hand on the knob, Nic paused to look at the caricature taped to the closed door to Fate's office. Like most caricatures, it featured a giant head supported by a tiny body. The most exaggerated feature was the right hand, which held a microphone. Literally, the hand of Fate. In Nic's opinion, you made your own fate. You took responsibility for what you did and didn't do, and even for what happened to you.
In stark contrast to the tiny cubicles the rest of the workers occupied, Fate's office reflected the outsized personality of its owner. A painting of a bald eagle hung next to a huge American flag. Farther back sat a cherrywood desk and credenza. Dozens of framed awards and signed photographs of Fate with various famous personalities hung over the desk. A shadow box displayed a camouflage baseball cap touting the Second Amendment.
"Sweet," Rod said as he walked over to the computer.
It was one of the expensive new Macs that Nic could only afford to look at online. When she touched the space bar, the screen sprang to life. She was tempted to click around, but lately the computer forensics lab had been warning about encryption codes and destructive software. So instead she simply shut it down. While she took a seat in front of Fate's desk, Rod unplugged the computer, wrapped it in the pink antistatic bag they had brought with them, and gave it a temporary evidence tag. After they were finished, one of them would drive the computer across the river and deliver it to the lab, where it would be assigned a bar code. You had to maintain the chain of custody "womb to tomb" by documenting who took what, when, and why. Any break in the chain might be a crack big enough to let a killer wiggle free.