When I got through to Katzenbach, I identified myself and we exchanged the usual pleasantries before getting down to business. “Jeffrey, this is strictly off the record. The Maleks are my clients and I can’t afford to be quoted.”
“Why? What’s the problem?”
“There isn’t any problem. Donovan’s pissed off because he thinks I called you and spoiled the family reunion.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“How’d you get wind of it? Or is this a ‘confidential source’?”
“Nothing confidential about it. There was a letter on my desk when I got in last night. We’ve always encouraged our subscribers to get in touch if they think there’s a story we might not’ve heard about. Sometimes it’s just trivia or crank stuff, but this one grabbed my attention.”
“Who sent the letter?”
“Some fellow named Max Outhwaite with an address on Connecticut out in Colgate. He thought it was an item worth bringing to our attention.”
“How’d he hear about it?”
“Beats me. He talked like he’d known ’em all for years. Basically, the letter says a search was conducted and Bader Malek’s son Guy was located after an absence of eighteen years. That’s correct, isn’t it? I mean, tell me I’m wrong and I’ll eat my jockey shorts.”
“You’re correct, but so what?”
“So nothing. Like he says, here’s this fellow working as a janitor in some backwater town, finds out he’s inheriting five million bucks. How often does that happen? He thought the community would be interested. I thought it sounded like a winner so I put a call in to the Maleks. The number’s in the book, it didn’t require any red-hot detective work. I talked to Mrs. Malek-what’s her name, Christie-who confirmed the story before I even got to Donovan. Sure enough, that’s the deal unless there’s something I missed.”
“And I was mentioned by name?”
“You bet. It’s one of the reasons I figured it was on the up-and-up. I tried to reach you last night, but all I got was your answering machine. I didn’t bother to leave a message. I figured you were on your way over there to help ’em celebrate. How’d you find the guy? Outhwaite’s letter says you got a lead on him through the DMV.”
“I don’t believe this. Who is this man and where’s he getting his information?”
“How do I know? He acted like he was maybe a friend of the family. You never talked to him yourself?”
“Jeffrey, knock it off. I didn’t call so you could pump me. I’m trying to persuade the Maleks I didn’t leak this thing.”
“Too bad you didn’t. You could have filled in the details. I went back to check with Outhwaite and the guy doesn’t exist. There’s no Outhwaite in the phone book and no such house number anywhere on Connecticut Avenue. I tried a couple of other possibilities and I came up with blanks. Not that it matters as long as the story’s legitimate. I got confirmation from the family.”
“What about the L.A. Times? How did they get wind of it?”
“Same way we did. Outhwaite dropped ’em a note almost like a press release. It’s been a slow week for news and we’re always on the lookout for human-interest stuff. This was better than a little lost kitty-cat trapped in a well. I thought it was worth pursuing, especially when I saw you were involved.”
“I wish you’d done some fact checking with me along the way.”
“Why? What’s the problem?”
“There isn’t any problem,” I said, irritably. “I just think the family might appreciate a little privacy before the whole world rushes in. By the way, Jeffrey, I’ve heard you zippy-tapping on your keyboard ever since we started this conversation. I told you this is off the record.”
“What for? It’s a nice story. It’s a great fantasy. What’s the deal with the Maleks? Why’re they so pissed with the coverage? We did front page, second section when Bader Malek died. He was an important figure in the community and they were happy to have the tribute. What’s so hush-hush about Guy? Are they trying to cut him out of his inheritance or something?”
I rolled my eyes skyward. The man couldn’t help but press for information. “Listen, buddy, I’m as clueless as you. What about the letter? What happened to it?”
“It’s sitting right here.”
“You mind if I have a copy? It would go a long way toward restoring my credibility. I feel like a fool having to defend myself, but I have a reputation to maintain.”
“Sure. I can do that. I don’t see why, not. We’re interested in Guy’s perspective if you can talk him into it.
“I’m not trading-but I’ll do what I can.”
“Terrific. What’s your fax number?”
I gave him the number of Lonnie Kingman’s machine and he said he’d fax the letter over. If I located Max Outhwaite, Jeffrey wanted to talk to him. Fair enough. I said I’d do what I could. It didn’t cost me anything to profess my conditional cooperation. I tried not to be too profuse in my thanks. It’s not like I planned to take the letter straight to Donovan, but I was curious about the contents and thought it made sense to have a copy for my files. At some point, Katzenbach-would extract something from me in return, but for now, I was fine. I didn’t believe Guy would agree to an interview, but maybe he’d surprise me.
I got back in my car and drove over to the public parking lot. From there, I hoofed it to the office on foot. There was no sign of the KEST TV van out front. I took the stairs two at a time and entered Kingman and Ives through an unmarked door around the corner from the main entrance. In the back of my mind, I was mulling over the possibility that maybe Bennet or Jack had taken the letter to the Dispatch. I couldn’t see what it would net either of them, but someone had an interest in seeing Guy’s homecoming splashed across the news and it was someone who knew more than I was comfortable with. Again, I could feel the faint nudge of uneasiness. Darcy Pascoe’s computer search had been a fudge. I hoped she wasn’t going to find herself in trouble as a result of my request. I checked the fax machine in Lonnie’s office and found the copy of Max Outhwaite’s letter sitting in the slot as promised. I went to my office, reading as I went.
Dear Mr. Katzenbach,
Thought you’d be interested in a Modern-Day ”Cinderfella” story taking place right here in Santa Teresa! As I recall, your the reporter, who wrote about Bader Malek’s death last month. Now, word around town has it that his Probate Attorney hired a Private Investigator (a ”Female” no less) to locate his missing son, Guy. If you’ve been around town as long as me, you’ll remember that as a youngster, Guy Malek was caught in a number of scrapes, and finally disappeared from the local scene, nearly twenty years ago. You’d think finding someone like that after all this time would prove daunting, but Millhone (the aforementioned ”Female” Detective) ran a DMV check, and turned him up in less than two days!! Seems he’s been up in Marcella ever since he left, and he’s working as a janitor in a church up there! He’s one of those ”Born-Agains,” who probably didn’t have two nickels to rub together, but his father’s death has turned him into an instant millionaire!! I think people would be heartened to hear how he’s managed to turn his life around, threw his Christian Faith. Folks might also enjoy hearing what he’s planning to do with his new-found riches. With all the bad news that besieges us from day to day, wouldn’t this story give everyone a nice lift? I think it would be a wonderful inspiration to the Community! Let’s hope Guy Malek is willing to share the story of his ”good fortune” with us. I look forward to reading such an article and know you’d do a fine job of writing it! Best of luck and God Bless!
Sincerely yours,
Max Outhwaite
2905 Connecticut Ave.
Colgate, CA
I noticed I held the letter by the corners, as if to avoid smudging prints, a ridiculous precaution given the fact that it wasn’t even the original. The note was neatly typed, with no visible corrections and no words XXX’d out. Granted, there were spelling errors (including my name), an excessive use of commas, a tendency toward the emphatic, and a bit of Unnecessary Capitalization! but otherwise the intentions of the sender seemed benign. Aside from alerting the press to something that, was nobody else’s business, I couldn’t see any particular attempt to meddle in Guy Malek’s life. Maximilian (or perhaps Maxine) Outhwaite apparently thought subscribers to the Santa Teresa Dispatch would be warmed by this story of a Bad Boy Turned Good and the Resultant Rewards! Outhwaite didn’t seem to have an ax to grind and there was no hint of malice to undercut his (or her) enthusiasm for the tale. So what was going on?