But here’s what would happen: Hill and Goldman or some equally unsmooth detectives would show up at Jizz to confront Jimmy’s widow. Indignantly she would deny drowning her husband or snuffing Jay Burns or kidnapping her sister-in-law. She’d claim to have no interest in obtaining the master copy of Jimmy’s recording sessions, and insist she didn’t even know it was missing. And she’d say that meeting at the nightclub was my idea, and she had no idea what we were to discuss. The detectives would bluff, badger and ask a series of uninformed questions before calling it a night. Tomorrow Cleo would quietly start shopping for a songwriter to hammer out a new version of “Shipwrecked Heart,” Janet Thrush would never be seen again and I’d have no story for the newspaper.
On the other hand, it won’t be my story anyway if I meet with Cleo and things get ugly. Griffin, the crime reporter, would be writing about me, possibly followed by young Evan, which is no less than I deserve: an obituary penned by a college intern. At least the kid would get a front-page byline, which might be enough to change his mind about law school.
Dying is not in my plans, though it would certainly elevate my profile at the Union-Register. American journalists are rarely slain in pursuit of a story, so the paper would trumpet my heroic demise with moonwalk-type headlines. Abkazion, smelling a Pulitzer, would unleash a squad of all-stars to unravel the crime. Emma, stoically overcoming her grief, would volunteer to edit the project…
I wouldn’t be so worried if Cleo Rio were smart, because a smart criminal would never bother to kill a reporter. It’s easier, and infinitely more effective, to discredit them. Killing one only brings out an infestation of others, banging on doors, asking impertinent questions. In fact, dying in the line of duty is one of the few ways for an obscure middle-aged obituary writer to make a splash, the last thing Cleo should want. Tonight I’ll explain to her the downside of murdering me, in case she and Jerry haven’t thought that far ahead.
In the meantime, I’ll tell Emma that I spoke to Jimmy’s widow but she admitted nothing, which is true. I’ll also tell her that the blood samples we took from Janet’s house matched up, and that I shared our information with a state prosecutor who found it “highly suspicious.” I will not tell her of my plan to trade Jimmy’s music for the release of his sister, as I haven’t yet figured out how to pull that off. The less anyone at the paper knows about tonight’s summit, the better for me.
No sign of Emma when I arrive at the newsroom, but young Evan is eagerly waiting. He crowds my desk, whispering, “Well? Did it work?”
“Like a charm. She called at noon sharp.”
“How cool is that! I guess she found the CD.”
“Unfortunately, she also figured out who it came from.”
Evan blanches. “It wasn’t me, Jack! Swear to God.”
“My fault. The deli guys probably went back and got the phone number off the original order.”
“So what’d Cleo have to say?”
“Nothing that a howler monkey on acid couldn’t understand. Evan, let’s not mention our infiltration scheme to anybody, okay?”
“Why? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, buddy, you were perfect. But Abkazion’s got a thing about reporters ‘misrepresenting’ themselves.”
Evan’s face goes gray. “You mean like pretending to be a delivery man.”
“You’re new here. You didn’t know any better.”
“But you asked me to do it!” he splutters. “You trying to get me in trouble?”
“No, I’m trying to save a woman’s life. Sometimes rules need to be twisted, Evan. This can’t possibly come as a shock, given your choice of a future career.”
“But Emma knew!”
“Don’t blame Emma—lately she’s been under my ambrosial spell. Is she still at lunch, our fearless leader?”
“Haven’t seen her all day. You sure I’m not in trouble?”
“For God’s sake, you’re an intern. Newspapers don’t fire interns,” I assure him. “Worst that could happen, they’ll move you to the Food and Fine Dining section. You’ll spend the rest of the summer fact-checking matzo ball recipes.” I pause while Evan shudders. “Just the same, I don’t see why anyone except you, me and Emma needs to know about the deli caper.”