The plan was to interview Jim's coworkers one by one on their own turf, where they would be more comfortable and forthcoming. None of these people was a suspect. Yet.
But Nic had a feeling that by the end of the day they would be looking at one or more of them more closely. Jim Fate was a polarizing figure. For every person who loved him, there were probably ten others who loathed him.
And some of those people might work at KNWS.
First up was Chris Sorenson, the call screener. Allison opened the door and waved him in. Chris was about five foot nine, with medium-brown hair and a face that was neither fat nor thin. Only his large, green eyes, fringed with dark lashes, saved him from being completely unremarkable.
The color hit Nic like a fist to the gut. She drew in a sharp breath, reminded herself that the past was past. Only this man's eyes were the same color--nothing else.
"Are you the one who sits in that little room next to Jim's?" she asked, trying to drag her mind back to the here and now. When he nodded, she said, "Do you think you could show us how the whole setup works?"
He nodded again, and the three of them walked down the hall. A few employees watched curiously as Nic took down the yellow POLICE LINE ISO NOT CROSS tape. She let Chris and Allison in before taping it back in place, ducking under, and closing the door. Someone had picked up the clutter of medical supplies, but everything else looked much the same as it had the day before.
In the control room next to the studio where Jim had died, a man gave them one look through the glass before going back to adjusting his dials and gauges."That's Greg," Chris said. "He runs the board, you know, adjusts audio levels, takes network feed and traffic reports. We have two other studios, so he's working with someone down the hall."
"Can he hear us?" Allison asked.
"Not unless we want him to."
"And you sit here?" Nic pointed at a small desk that held two computer screens and a telephone with multiple lines. It sat underneath a square window that looked into the radio studio. "And Jim was--where?"
Chris slowly walked into the radio studio until he had his back against the wall, facing the window. "Right here. A host always needs to see his call screener." With a faint shiver, he stepped out of Jim's spot. He moved around the table. "This is where Victoria sits. She has her back to me."
"For a long time it was just you and Jim, right? How did you get this job?"
"I was working at another station, but I always liked Jim's show. Usually I'm so tired of people talking that I only listen to music in the car and at home, but for Jim's show I made an ,exception. Then one day he fired his call screener." Chris chuckled and shook his head. "Live and on air. Typical Jim. As soon as my shift was over, I drove over here and applied. I ended up talking to Jim directly. I guess he liked what I had to say, because two weeks later, I started working here. And that was four years ago."
"Were you a little anxious," Allison asked, "knowing that your predecessor had been fired?"
Chris shrugged. "Jim always said you either like this business or you get out. I like it. And I like Jim." He pressed his lips together. "Liked Jim," he said softly.
"How do you decide who gets to talk to Jim?" Allison asked. "Or do you put almost every caller on the radio?"
"No, I have to choose. My job is to figure out who would be good on air and who would be horrible." Chris ticked the requirements off on his fingers. "I want people who are on topic. Who are coherent. I don't want people who are going to freeze up when they hear Jim Fate use their name. Some people don't make any sense. Some can't get to a point. And some use colorful language that the FCC would frown upon."
"What if someone does swear once they're on-air?" Nic asked.
"There's a short delay before anything is broadcast. See this button?" He took two steps back into Jim's space and pointed. "Push it once, and it cuts off the last three and a half seconds. Press it twice, you get seven. That's the most you can get, but that's usually enough. And then the computer stretches out their words like taffy until the time's made up." He bunched his fingertips, touched his hands together, and then pulled them apart.
Nic moved back to the doorway to look at Chris's phone. "Do you have caller ID?"
"Sure." Chris nodded. "It comes in handy when Jim bans someone from calling in for two weeks. Of course, the hard-core ones will just borrow someone else's cell phone. But I can still tell. I remember voices really well."
Nic made a note. "How much hate mail would you say Jim got?"
"Oh, dozens every day. Maybe more. Largely anonymous. Jim would pick out the most outrageous one for his NOD award."
"Was he ever afraid that someone was going to do what they threatened?"
"Jim?" Chris looked surprised. "He thought it was funny?' "Do you think one of those people killed him?" Allison asked. Chris's answer was immediate. "No way."
"Why not?"