“If so, it wasn’t your fault. What that tape means is open to interpretation. And since the accused can’t have a lawyer in the grand jury room, Shad could put whatever spin he wanted to on every frame.”
Henry’s eyes are welling up, and I can sense just how much he cares about my father.
“Shadrach Johnson,” Caitlin says with contempt. “It’s time to nuke him, Penn, I swear to God.”
I signal for her to keep quiet, but she’s too angry to pay attention.
“Say the word,” she hisses. “I’ll have that photo up on our Web edition in ten minutes. Front page, bigger than VJ Day. Shad won’t even reach the city limits before PETA is screaming for his hide.”
“What photo?” Henry asks, blinking.
“Sorry, Henry,” she says with a hint of irony. “Privileged information.”
He gives her a look that a teacher might give an arrogant student.
“Damn it all!” I yell, getting up and pacing around the room. “Shad must really believe Dad is guilty. Otherwise, he’s gone insane.”
“Bullshit,” says Caitlin. “This is a vendetta, nothing else. He proved that this morning, when he asked that bail be denied.”
I’m still not sure of this. These tactics aren’t Shad’s usual Clausewitz strategy. This is a blitzkrieg, and the risks to Shad are considerable, all of which begs the question of what’s really going on. But if I don’t respond immediately, my father could be overrun by a legal offensive that could kill him before he even gets to trial.
When Caitlin walks to the window looking onto the oaks in front of City Hall, I can tell by her posture that she’s thinking hard. After a few moments, she turns back to us, her eyes focused on Henry. “May I ask you a question, Henry?”
“I can’t wait.”
“When does your next edition come out?”
“Thursday.”
“Two days from now. And the next edition after that?”
“Next Thursday. We come out every Thursday.”
“I see.”
God, she’s shameless.
“Henry, may I be blunt with you?” she goes on.
He meets her eyes with steady calm. “I thought you already were.”
“Do you think a weekly paper is capable of covering a story that’s breaking as fast as this one?”
Henry works his mouth around in silence for a few seconds. “Well, yes. Not the way you could with your daily, of course. But we’ve got our Web edition up and running, and I can post articles to that all day long.”
“True. But that’s not quite the same thing, and more to the point, you’re really a one-man shop over there when it comes to these cold cases.”
Henry takes his time parsing her words and tone. “What are you saying, exactly?”
“She wants to know everything you know about the Double Eagles,” I tell him. “She wants to take over your story.”
“Not true,” Caitlin snaps. “That’s not what I’m asking for at all.” She walks over to the reporter and lightly touches his arm, taking back his attention. “I have a proposal for you, Henry.”
Last night Henry’s worst fear was having his story stolen. But Caitlin isn’t going to steal it from him; she’s going to convince him he has a journalistic duty to give it to her. “A proposal?” he asks.
“Yes. I’d like you to start working for me.”
He draws back in puzzlement. “For you?”
“For the Examiner. I’m the publisher, you know, not a reporter or even the editor. I don’t have any business trying to write this story myself. But unless I have you working for me, I’m going to have to take it on, the way I did the Del Payton story.”
This statement is disingenuous. We all know she won a Pulitzer for her Del Payton coverage.
“I’d much prefer to have you covering this story for us,” she continues. “With our media group’s considerable resources backing you up. We’d publish under your byline, naturally.”
To my surprise, Henry’s face goes red, then darkens with anger. Even Caitlin takes a step back when she sees the frustration in his eyes. After all his painstaking work, I can only imagine the personal affront he must feel her overture to be.
“You can tell her to go to hell, Henry,” I say. “I mean that.”
Caitlin gives me a sharp glare, but then she takes two steps closer to him. “I realize what I’m asking. And I admit that I’m partly motivated by self-interest. But you can’t deny that I can bring considerable firepower to what until now has been a solo quest—albeit an impressively successful one.”
Henry looks up at her at last, then turns to me like a man seeking sanctuary, as if he’s only able to stand the intensity of Caitlin’s expectant gaze for a few seconds. I know the feeling well.
“This is complicated,” he says. “Because Dr. Cage’s case is one part of the story, and the cold cases are another. And I’ve been covering those just fine in the Beacon.”
“I believe all those stories are about to become one,” Caitlin says with unerring instinct. “One explosive story. The kind of story that comes along only once in a career.”
Henry looks genuinely surprised. This must be the last thing he expected when he walked through my door. He’s always known Caitlin was a threat to his monopoly on this story, but he probably never realized that the nature of his own newspaper might be a serious weakness. “I’ll admit the validity of your argument,” he says. “But even if I wanted to do that, I don’t know that my publisher would agree.”
Caitlin gives him another high-wattage smile. “I’m not trying to steal you away. You’d be a guest reporter—and a well-paid one. We’ll credit each story: ‘Special to the Examiner, by Henry Sexton of the Concordia Beacon.’”
Henry nods sharply. “You bet your ass you would.”
He rubs his palms down his thighs as though to flatten his corduroy pants, then looks to me as though for guidance. “What do you think, Penn?”
“I think it’s hard to say no to this woman. But that’s no reason to say yes. Not unless you’re sure.”
Caitlin maintains her smile, but her eyes flash fury at me.