Max could play games and kiss up, or threaten when needed, but she didn’t enjoy it. She much preferred straightforward communication. Unfortunately, most people, especially law enforcement and lawyers, expected the games.
Max conceded. “Thank you, Ms. Bell.”
Pick your battles.
Battling gatekeepers was rarely a wise move. Virtually every successful cold case she’d investigated, she’d first befriended the frontline staff—those who controlled information and access.
She stepped away from the window but didn’t sit—she’d done enough sitting on the airplane. She’d also missed her morning run because she’d left Miami so early, which made her irritable. She took advantage of the waiting time to send an e-mail to her producer Ben, explaining that she hadn’t fired Ginger; the girl had quit. She supposed he had a right to think Max had axed her newest assistant—she’d done it to all the others.
You have until Friday to find me someone, Max typed. Or I’ll quit.
It wasn’t a hollow threat. She was independently wealthy and had never wanted to host a cable news show. But Ben Lawson was a visionary. He had a way of making her see the possibilities. He’d sold her on the idea of highlighting specific cold cases and high-profile trials that could impact the criminal justice system, a cause she’d embraced after her best friend in college disappeared during spring break, ten years ago.
“Think an in-depth ‘America’s Most Wanted,’” Ben had said, “focusing on the unknown killer and questions. Investigation. What the cops got right and what they got wrong. Cold cases that you solve.”
It was still the smaller, quieter crimes that she’d pursued for the newspaper before the show—like the murder of Jason Hoffman—that drew her in. The survivors, like Penny and Henry Hoffman, who only wanted the truth so they might have peace.
But, if she was going to be honest, Hoffman’s murder appealed to her mostly because it had happened on her high school campus—the same campus where Lindy Ames had been killed thirteen years ago.
Ben ran the ship and made sure she never had to deal with newsroom politics. As long as she could do what she wanted—investigative reporting in the field and not at a desk—she’d agreed to tape the monthly show. A competent assistant was critical to the part where she wasn’t required to sit at a desk.
Ben hadn’t responded to her e-mail before Ms. Bell called to her through the screen. “Officer Corbett will be out momentarily.”
“Thank you,” she said and pocketed her phone.
Whether Officer Donna Corbett intentionally made her wait, or whether she truly had been delayed, Max didn’t know, but it took another fifteen minutes before the PIO came out. “Ms. Revere?” she asked.
Max bit back a sarcastic reply, considering she was the only person in the waiting room. “Yes, Officer Corbett?”
“I have a few minutes.” She didn’t make any move to bring Max into the main station, but motioned for them to take two chairs in the waiting room.
If Corbett thought the move would intimidate or demoralize her, the PIO hadn’t worked with enough reporters.
Max sat. “Kevin O’Neal is a family friend. The preliminary report indicated he committed suicide, but his sister hasn’t had the closure she needs to accept that. I’d like a copy of the file so I can explain to her what happened.”
“We don’t give out files.”
“I’d like the report. If it’s not an ongoing criminal investigation, that shouldn’t be a problem?”
She didn’t tell the PIO that she already had the initial police report from Jodi. Additional information may have been added—including the all-important coroner’s report. She’d really wanted to talk to the detective, but that could wait because Corbett wasn’t going to make it easy.
“I can do that,” Corbett said. “It’s twenty-five cents a page.”
“Today?”
Corbett glanced at her watch. “It’s four thirty—I’ll see what I can do.”
All she had to do was send the report to the printer. It was all computerized. But Max didn’t say anything because Corbett would make her wait until Monday just to spite her.
“I appreciate it,” she said politely. “If I have further questions regarding the report, I should direct them to you?”
Corbett handed Max her card. She said into her radio, “Jill, can you print a copy of the O’Neal report and bring it to the lobby? Thanks.”
She turned back to Max. “You came a long way to help a family friend.”
The only hint of curiosity. Max didn’t say anything, because she didn’t like open-ended questions. Instead, she switched gears. “I’d also like the initial report of the Jason Hoffman homicide investigation from November. I’m writing a follow-up article on the murder.” That was neither true nor untrue—if there was enough material, she certainly intended to write something about it, even if it was just a couple paragraphs for her show’s Web page. “I read in the initial media reports that MPPD handled the case?”
“It’s an active investigation,” Corbett said.
“Active? You have a suspect?”
Corbett switched gears to full PIO mode. “Currently, the Menlo Park Police Department is in the process of reviewing all cases over three months old to determine if they will remain active or classified inactive pending new evidence. All homicide investigations will remain open until solved, regardless of the status.”
“I’d just like information you’ve already shared with the media.”
“And your interest?”
“I’m a reporter.”
“You’re not local.”
“No, I’m not.” Max left it at that. Corbett had her card, and Max really hated when cops or anyone tried to weasel information out of her without simply asking her. If they were more forthcoming, she’d be more forthcoming. Let them think the national press corps was interested in their small-town homicide investigation.
“I’ll have to get back to you on Monday. As I said, the case is under review and I need to pull together the public information.”
“Can I pick it up at nine Monday morning?”