that Christine Paskins was the one person in the world who knew precisely what he had sacrificed to attain his new position. She knew he had sacrificed his soul.
Book One
LOCAL
NEWS
JANUARY 2000
1
Greg arrived at KFBS’s newsroom an hour late because of a flat tire. He was a news producer at the station. His first stop was the office Stew Graushner was temporarily occupying.
"I hear I've got a new reporter on my corruption - trial story."
A bearded, rumpled man in his early thirties, Stew was the TV station’s news director. A mass exodus of staff that included the news broadcasts' executive producer had forced him to cancel his Christmas vacation. Ordinarily someone whose pessimism reflected a funereal certainty that even good times were precursors to doom, he unexpectedly brightened. "Her name is Chris Paskins . I liked her reel. She's been working in Wichita."
"Wichita!" Greg muttered like a dirty word.
"If she doesn't pan out by the end of the month, we have the option to drop her. It's a no-lose deal." That seemed to be the part that had lightened Stew's spirits.
The only one who can lose is me, Greg commented to himself as he left to locate her.
Greg's investigation into corruption in the city's water department had led to arrests and a trial. He had even tracked down the key witness the prosecution was relying on. Now, four weeks into the trial, when the water commissioner's conviction seemed all but assured, the judge had scheduled a surprise hearing to reduce the charges. The scuttlebutt was that the defendant had cut some sort of deal with the DA.
At the assignment desk Greg learned that his new reporter had long since left for the courthouse to get an early jump on the story and would meet him there.
Just what I need, he thought, an overeager would-be star reporter from the sticks who had neither asked him for background nor introduced herself, but who was already off and blindly running. Her trial at FBS promised to end quicker than the defendant's.
Stew Graushner emerged from his office. "You'll want to know what she looks like."
He handed Greg a black-and-white headshot of an arrestingly attractive young woman: large light-colored eyes, straight nose, small well-shaped mouth and, typically, blond hair with not a single strand out of place.
"She can always do the weather," Greg cynically observed.
The traffic was slug-slow and a parking place hard to come by. The hearing was already in progress when Greg squeezed into the courtroom. All the seats were taken, and standees were tightly packed into the rear and along the side wall. He spotted the young woman standing near the door.
"I'm Greg Lyall ," he whispered to her.
She scowled. "Where have you been?"
He ignored her question. "What's happened so far?"
"They're still going through the preliminaries, but I've got it on good authority that Meachum's going to plead to a misdemeanor no more than a year in prison. I already phoned that in. We made the ten a.m. news break."
"We what?" Greg felt as if he had been shot.
" Meachum's agreed to testify against some people," she went on, her gaze never leaving the action in front of the bench, "and I'm pretty sure who they are." She stuffed her writing pad and pen into his hands. "Take notes here. The crew and I will catch him when he leaves."
Before Greg could stop her, she was out the door. With absolutely nothing to go on, this empty-headed idiot had put the most absurd rumor on the air. Visions of lawsuits and unemployment lines danced before his eyes. He did not dare leave for fear of missing the real adjudication. He had no idea what new sort of mischief she was creating downstairs for the station.
Ten minutes later, to Greg's stunned relief, the charges against the bribe-taking water commissioner were reduced to a single misdemeanor that carried a sentence of no more than one year in prison. The defendant was released on his own recognizance. Court
Book One
LOCAL
NEWS
JANUARY 2000
1
Greg arrived at KFBS’s newsroom an hour late because of a flat tire. He was a news producer at the station. His first stop was the office Stew Graushner was temporarily occupying.
"I hear I've got a new reporter on my corruption - trial story."
A bearded, rumpled man in his early thirties, Stew was the TV station’s news director. A mass exodus of staff that included the news broadcasts' executive producer had forced him to cancel his Christmas vacation. Ordinarily someone whose pessimism reflected a funereal certainty that even good times were precursors to doom, he unexpectedly brightened. "Her name is Chris Paskins . I liked her reel. She's been working in Wichita."
"Wichita!" Greg muttered like a dirty word.
"If she doesn't pan out by the end of the month, we have the option to drop her. It's a no-lose deal." That seemed to be the part that had lightened Stew's spirits.
The only one who can lose is me, Greg commented to himself as he left to locate her.
Greg's investigation into corruption in the city's water department had led to arrests and a trial. He had even tracked down the key witness the prosecution was relying on. Now, four weeks into the trial, when the water commissioner's conviction seemed all but assured, the judge had scheduled a surprise hearing to reduce the charges. The scuttlebutt was that the defendant had cut some sort of deal with the DA.
At the assignment desk Greg learned that his new reporter had long since left for the courthouse to get an early jump on the story and would meet him there.
Just what I need, he thought, an overeager would-be star reporter from the sticks who had neither asked him for background nor introduced herself, but who was already off and blindly running. Her trial at FBS promised to end quicker than the defendant's.
Stew Graushner emerged from his office. "You'll want to know what she looks like."
He handed Greg a black-and-white headshot of an arrestingly attractive young woman: large light-colored eyes, straight nose, small well-shaped mouth and, typically, blond hair with not a single strand out of place.
"She can always do the weather," Greg cynically observed.
The traffic was slug-slow and a parking place hard to come by. The hearing was already in progress when Greg squeezed into the courtroom. All the seats were taken, and standees were tightly packed into the rear and along the side wall. He spotted the young woman standing near the door.
"I'm Greg Lyall ," he whispered to her.
She scowled. "Where have you been?"
He ignored her question. "What's happened so far?"
"They're still going through the preliminaries, but I've got it on good authority that Meachum's going to plead to a misdemeanor no more than a year in prison. I already phoned that in. We made the ten a.m. news break."
"We what?" Greg felt as if he had been shot.
" Meachum's agreed to testify against some people," she went on, her gaze never leaving the action in front of the bench, "and I'm pretty sure who they are." She stuffed her writing pad and pen into his hands. "Take notes here. The crew and I will catch him when he leaves."
Before Greg could stop her, she was out the door. With absolutely nothing to go on, this empty-headed idiot had put the most absurd rumor on the air. Visions of lawsuits and unemployment lines danced before his eyes. He did not dare leave for fear of missing the real adjudication. He had no idea what new sort of mischief she was creating downstairs for the station.
Ten minutes later, to Greg's stunned relief, the charges against the bribe-taking water commissioner were reduced to a single misdemeanor that carried a sentence of no more than one year in prison. The defendant was released on his own recognizance. Court
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