An optimistic man, Jimmy Bond believed the best in people and any given situation. But as he strode into the D.C. Gazette, he had to admit that the week had seriously taxed that positive outlook.
He loved his job at the Gazette but lately there was a sense of trepidation whenever he went to work, the root of it all being Jeffery Spender's apparent vendetta against him. He couldn't figure it out, especially when Spender always viewed the photographers as beneath his notice. Then there were his lost pictures. No, he corrected himself, they were stolen. Why were photographs of a scientist and his assistant so important? He thought of his encounter with Yves Harlow a couple nights earlier…God, he had spent a restless night thinking about her.
He sighed in frustration, not only because he could still remember her touch or the way she smelled but her reaction when he blurted out his theory. She had given him a cryptic warning then fled the lab, vanishing into thin air. It had left him confused and more determined than ever to find her but he had no idea how to do that or where to start. If only he could talk things over with Carla, but she had been out of the office chasing down leads to her own story.
Then he had a stroke of luck when that private investigator had shown up at the paper asking for Jeffery Spender. There was something about the man that made Jimmy eavesdrop on the conversation. When he mentioned Yves Harlow's name, Jimmy thought his problem had been solved. He quickly arranged a meeting with the man. But Frohike never showed up at the diner.
And to top it all off, after trudging home from the diner he discovered he had forgotten his apartment keys at work. It was the third time that month. He had to go back to the office to get them. He thought he had solved the problem by stashing them in his camera bag. It made perfect sense since he never went anywhere without his camera.
If only he could say the same about the bag. It was sitting on the worktable in the photography lab.
A short elevator trip to the third floor and he was outside the lab. The lights were on and Dylan, holding a magnifying glass was sitting at a workstation peering critically at several photographs spread out before him.
"Hey," Jimmy greeted his friend, "What are you doing here so late?"
Not bothering to look up from his task, he said good-naturedly, "Contrary to what some people think, the news doesn't stop at 6 p.m." He discarded a picture, picked up another. "What about you? Thought you had a hot date or something."
Jimmy grabbed his bag and slung it over one shoulder. "Or something," he replied vaguely.
"By the way," Dylan said, "I saw Carla Mason in the bullpen earlier. I know you wanted to talk to her." He glanced up when there was no answer. He was alone.
Forgetting his apartment keys was the best thing to happen to him, Jimmy decided as he jogged into the bullpen minutes later. Carla was sitting at her desk, he noted, tapping her ever-present pencil.
"Carla!" He paused to get his excitement under control. He wanted her to take him seriously but if he went off spinning an incoherent tale, she might brush off his concerns.
Carla looked up. "Good evening, Jimmy."
"I wanted to tell you what I learned about Yves Harlow and Professor Langly." It was then he saw her directory and personal address book open on her desk, her notebook half filled with notes. He hadn't even considered she might be working on her own story. "I'm sorry," he murmured, embarrassed, "I'm interrupting."
"It's ok, I can use a break." She closed her notebook, giving him her full attention. "Why don't you have a seat and tell me everything."
He dragged a nearby chair to her desk, sat down and proceeded to bring her up to date. He told her about the missing photos of Langly and Yves, Langly's empty lab, finding Yves in the photography lab late at night and her reaction to the missing pictures. He told her about the private investigator who showed up at the paper and their subsequent scheduled meeting.
"What's his name… the private investigator?" Carla interrupted his tale to ask.
"Melvin Frohike."
"I know the name," said Carla. "Go on," she encouraged Jimmy.
"He never showed up." Jimmy's voice filled with frustration. "I called his office a couple of times but no one answered." His gaze drifted to the darkened publisher's office. He slumped in his chair, his expression troubled. "I don't know what to do next, Carla. And if Jeffery Spender discovers I'm still looking into it, he's gonna get the boss to fire me for sure."
Carla's pencil tapped once. Twice. "If you're that frustrated, then forget about it."
Jimmy's gaze snapped toward her. Was she advising him to give up? He sat up, squaring his shoulders. "I can't," he said fiercely. His voice carried in the near empty bullpen, startling him. He glanced around and, although the other reporters burning the midnight oil never gave him notice, he lowered his voice. "I can't," he repeated.
"Why?"
Why? He stared at Carla as she waited for his answer. All the reasons muddled about his brain. There were so many but he said the simplest one, the one that explained it all. "I need to know the truth," he said finally.
"Good." The smile curving her lips confused him. "I did some digging into this Professor Langly…"
The ringing of the phone interrupted her.
Jimmy swore silently as she scooped up the receiver. Her face darkening, her eyes flicked to Jimmy as she listened to the speaker. Barely a minute later, she hung up.
His heart sank, heavy with disappointment. She was going to tell him she had to leave, that they would have to continue their talk later. These thoughts in mind, he was quite surprised when she said, "Got your camera?" He held it up. "Good, let's go."
"Where are we going?" He jumped up, following her out of the bullpen. He hesitated briefly then added, "Who was on the phone?"
"An informant in the police department. Melvin Frohike was just arrested for the attempted murder of a suspect in the Molly Jennings case."
"Don't tell me how to do my job!" District Attorney Byers was nearly yelling at the Police Chief.
Skinner got up to close the door to his office. "If it was anyone else, would you even be pressing charges?" he asked returning to sit behind his desk.
"Of course, I would." Byers insisted, lowering his voice. "You heard what the witnesses said: it looked like he was trying to kill the victim."
"The 'victim', as you call him, confessed to killing little Molly Jennings."
"Only after your buddy beat him into it," Byers claimed. He threw the folder he was holding onto Skinner's desk. "Look at those pictures."
"I've seen the suspect," Skinner said pushing the folder back towards Byers.
Picking it up, Byers selected a particularly graphic shot. Campbell's eyes were blackened and his nose looked off center. The guy's swollen face held stitches in three places. He brandished the photo, illustrating his point. "Hell, I would have confessed to her murder just to get him to stop. But he didn't stop did he?" He slammed the photo onto the desk. "He continued to pummel that man until he was pulled off and it took three people to do that." Byers shook his head. "No, I'm going to charge him with attempted murder and if the man dies, it will be first degree murder."
"Remember," Carla whispered to Jimmy as they entered the police station, "Whatever happens, just follow my lead." With that bit of advice, they strode up to the counter.
The desk sergeant on duty looked up from his paperwork, a bored expression on his face. "How may I help you?"
"I'm here to see the Chief of Police." Carla handed him her reporter's credentials.
The officer studied the ID then eyed Carla warily before taking in Jimmy and his camera. "Chief Skinner is in a private meeting with the District Attorney," he stated. "I don't know how long they'll be. If you'd like, I'll inform him that you stopped by, Miss Mason."
Jimmy glanced at Carla. She appeared unperturbed by the curt dismissal. In fact, she looked pleased.
"That won't be necessary," Carla said. "I'll just wait. Who knows, maybe they will finish early."
"Suit yourself." He shrugged, pointing to a row of chairs against the wall. "You can wait there."
"Thank you," Carla said but he had already returned to his paperwork. She flicked a glance toward Jimmy, silently reminding him to be ready. "Could you tell me where the restrooms are?"
The officer sighed as if he expected non-stop interruptions until she left. But when he spoke his voice had the same courteous tone. "It's in the corner over there." He pointed needlessly since Carla knew exactly where they were: right next to the entrance of the detectives' bullpen. At the end of that maze of desks, was the chief's office.
With a satisfied smile and an obvious click of her heels on the tired linoleum she walked with casual purpose. Jimmy followed her lead.
Not even pausing to look back, she bypassed the door to the bathroom and walked directly into the squad room.
"Hey!" She heard the cop shout. "Come back here!" She ignored him, weaving quickly among the desks, catching sight of faces and watching for any sign that one of the plainclothes officers might provide interference for the desk sergeant.
She saw mild amusement from some but mostly they ignored her and the desk sergeant's shouts. She wondered if one of them was her anonymous tipster. She reached the door. Wrapping her hand around the knob, she paused when she heard a muffled yet familiar voice on the other side. In a controlled but angry way, it said "…I'm going to charge him with attempted murder."
"Miss Mason…" She glanced from the door. The desk sergeant and Jimmy were several feet away and it looked as if the photographer was simultaneously trying to block the officer from her and stay out of his grasp. "You CAN'T go in there!"
Oh no? She thought. Yanking the door open, she stepped inside interrupting the heated conversation between the two men. Jimmy stopped in the doorway, blocking the desk sergeant's entrance.
"Chief Skinner," the sergeant said in a flustered voice, "I'm sorry. I'll take care of them."
Skinner's gaze took in Carla, recognition on his face before sweeping his gaze over Jimmy to land on his officer. He waved a hand. "It's alright, Randy." The man frowned, glanced at everyone then stalked off after closing the door firmly behind him.
"Good evening, Miss Mason," Skinner said affably as if reporters regularly stormed his office.
Carla didn't reply, only raised a questioning eyebrow at the sudden flash of insight before focusing on the District Attorney. "John, why you are holding Melvin Frohike?" she demanded.
John Byers stiffened. "I'm sure you're aware he nearly killed a man tonight."
"A man," Carla said the word with obvious disgust, "that kidnapped, raped and murdered an innocent child."
"What should I do, ask the mayor to give him the keys to the city?" His well-modulated voice remained even but there was no mistaking the current of anger beneath. "Should we turn a blind eye to every vigilante who takes the law into his own hands?"
"You are so narrow-minded…" Carla started before biting off the words. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, reminding herself to stay professional. "As you know I'm covering the Molly Jennings case. In my next story, I will explain to the public how Mr. Frohike single-handedly succeeded in stopping a man who preyed on their children when the entire police department failed. In that same article, I will inform them that their District Attorney threw him in jail. Jimmy?"
Jimmy didn't have to ask what Carla wanted. He raised his camera and snapped several pictures of the District Attorney. For good measure, he snapped one of the Police Chief who wore an expression that held both bemusement and concern.
Byers' lips thinned. "Melvin Frohike has a history of violence – "
"That was an accident." Skinner's voice boomed in the office.
"He shot and killed a little boy," Byers continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.
"And he was cleared of all wrong doing by the shooting review board. You know that yet you insist on bringing it up at every turn!" Skinner visibly collected himself, lowering his voice. When he spoke next, regret was obvious in every word. "But he could never forgive himself. He lost everything. His job. His family." After a moment's consideration, Skinner added, "And his self respect."
"Gentlemen," Carla cut in smoothly before Byers could fire off a scathing retort, "Could we please return to the present issue?" she asked shifting her focus from one combatant to the other.
"Thank you," she said when she saw she had their attention. "When I write my next article, the public will see Melvin Frohike as a hero." She gazed steadily at John Byers. "The public just may ask for a recall of their overly zealous D.A."
Byers folded his arms and glared at her. "Neither the District Attorney's office nor I will bow to media pressure," he replied.
No, he wouldn't, Carla thought. John Byers was a principled, stalwart man with an unyielding moral compass. He also had an idealistic streak in him. She wondered how he managed to retain those ideals while dealing with the harsh politics of his office. If he didn't loosen his stranglehold on this grudge against Melvin Frohike, she worried it would color how he preformed his job, if it hadn't already.
If he followed his threat…and he would…he could become a victim of those politics just as Melvin Frohike had been almost half a decade ago. She didn't want that to happen to John. He was often rigid and infuriating in his black and white view on things but he was a good man with a good heart. She would miss…
She tamped down the errant thought but it wouldn't stay quiet, demanding recognition. She enjoyed verbally sparring with him, considered it a bonus when his self-possessed composure slipped, revealing the fire of his convictions inside.
She knew then that, if she was going to get the man to ease his rigid stance, she couldn't antagonize him. She needed to appeal to his heart.
"I don't condone Mr. Frohike's actions, John," she said stepping closer to him, trying to get him to look directly at her, "but I do understand them. I did the background research, interviewed relatives and neighbors but failed like you and the police to further investigate the one lead that led Melvin Frohike to Ernie Campbell."
She could tell that the admission of her own failure was getting through to him but he still hadn't met her gaze. "Mr. Frohike's daughter was Molly's best friend. They walked home from school together every day. It could just as easily have been her and not Molly."
For a fleeting moment she saw a profound sorrow in his blue eyes that intrigued her professionally as well as personally. Before she could consider this, it disappeared and the tenacious DA was back but his rigid posture eased. When he spoke, he looked directly at Carla. "I'll drop the charges against Frohike because of extenuating circumstances but only on one condition…"
"What condition?" Skinner asked warily.
"That Ernie Campbell doesn't die."
Byers jammed his files into his briefcase like a man who had been thwarted from finally attaining his desires and was not unsure how he felt about it. He glanced at Carla; she was speaking to the photographer. The young man didn't look too happy but after a moment he nodded to something she said, started to turn then gave her a quick hug before trotting out of the office.
"I'll see you tomorrow to get a copy of the full report on Campbell," Byers said to Skinner. "And I do mean full. If he wakes up and sticks to his confession, I want to know about it right away. Don't leave so much as a comma out of place."
Skinner frowned. "You're planning on trying the case yourself?" Usually the Assistant DA tried the cases while the DA guided and advised from the sidelines.
"That little girl and her parents have suffered enough," Byers said tightly, "I don't intend to allow that man to get off because of a technicality from tonight's fiasco. Good night, Chief." He strode from the office. As he passed Carla Mason he noted her pursed lips and thoughtful expression.
"John."
He continued walking, pretending he hadn't heard her. The click of her heels on the grungy linoleum was purposeful yet she kept her pace slower then his. It was obvious she wanted to talk to him but intended for their conversation to be private.
While he wasn't in the mood, his curiosity was aroused. Normally a patient man, he suddenly couldn't wait until they were outside so he stepped into an empty interrogation room. Carla Mason entered a few seconds after him, pausing to close the door behind her.
She studied him carefully. "I wanted to thank you, John."
"I did what I felt was right," he said. There was something else she wanted to say to him, he could sense it but when she didn't continue he said. "Was that all you wanted because…"
"No," she interrupted. "There's something else." She stepped toward him almost cautiously. "I'm not sure how to put it."
"I wouldn't let your editor hear that his star reporter is at a loss for words, especially with me. It wouldn't bode well for job security. What?" he asked, puzzled when surprise glanced off her blue eyes.
Since when, he demanded of himself, did he notice the color of her eyes?
"I…" she started to say she had never heard him crack a joke before but stopped herself. It wouldn't do to let the conversation wander toward a more intimate direction, however much the thought intrigued her. What she needed to say was difficult enough, especially to someone as private as John Byers.
For as long as he had known her, Byers had never seen Carla as anything but confident and self-assured. Her hesitant demeanor made him uneasy and he slipped back into his familiar and safe role of district attorney where he didn't think about the color of his adversary's eyes. "Miss Mason, if you'll excuse me, I have a case to prepare for. I only hope I can undo some of the damage Melvin Frohike caused."
Carla continued to stand in front of the door, blocking his exit. "John, if you persist in this vendetta against Melvin Frohike, it's going to ruin your career."
"Vendetta?" Byers chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "I don't have a vendetta against that man."
"No? Then explain why you had him arrested tonight." Carla held up a hand, stopping him as he drew a breath to speak. "Alright, I understand that but I've seen how you always tear apart his testimony on the stand even when he's a witness for the prosecution."
She continued. "I'd hate to see Ernie Campbell get acquitted because you gave the jury a reason to doubt Melvin Frohike's testimony. You're a good man, John. One of the best I've ever met," She paused, laying a hand on his arm and holding his gaze, willing him to see what he was doing. "But if you continue on this path, it will destroy you."
The concern Byers saw in her eyes was more than a professional courtesy. It was for him. And he could see she had no motive other than concern for his well-being.
For the first time in almost ten years he needed someone to understand. He needed her to understand.
"It's not Melvin Frohike I hate," Byers began. The words stuck in his throat. Just thinking about it brought back the memories and with it the pain he'd learned to live with. "It's his methods. Or maybe it's what they represent. I'm not sure if there is a difference anymore."
Carla studied him with that quick intelligence of hers. "What happened, John?" she asked softly.
There was a long pause. "Susanne was beautiful, smart…so alive," he said eventually.
"Susanne was your wife?"
Byers swallowed. "We were never given that chance," he said regret lancing his words. "She was coming home from work one night when she was mugged. When she tried to fight back, her attacker killed her."
"I'm so sorry," Carla said. "Did they catch her killer?"
"Yes, but someone messed up and no one caught it, not the police, not the DA prosecuting the case." Sadness filled Byers' face, "The bastard was released on a technicality because proper procedure wasn't followed in the investigation." He took a steadying breath. "I was numb from Susanne's death and when I saw him walk out of that courtroom a free man…"
"What did you do?"
Byers saw the worry in her face; a wan smile touched his lips. "I vowed to make sure what happened in that courtroom would never happen again. I quit my job at the law firm I was with and applied for one with the DA's office. I've worked hard trying to make sure that another killer or criminal didn't get off because of a technicality. But five years ago…"
When he didn't continue Carla asked. "What happened five years…" She stopped. She knew what had happened. It had been in all the local newspaper for weeks. "That child's death was an accident, John. No one, not even Melvin Frohike knew the little boy was there."
Byers stepped back from Carla, anger flaring in his face. "He didn't wait for back up. Instead of following procedure, he decided to play the hero and went in shooting. The little boy died because of it! If he had waited for the other officers to arrive, the man would have given up and that little boy would still be alive today!"
"That bank robber should never have tried to elude police with his own son in the backseat," Carla said forcefully.
"No one paid for that little boy's death," Byers ranted.
"Damn it, John," Carla snapped, volleying her own anger at him. "Melvin Frohike isn't to blame for that any more than you are responsible for Susanne's killer getting away. The world isn't black and white. If you can't see that," Carla shook her head, "then maybe I was wrong about you. Good bye, Mr. Byers."
Byers watched her open the door and walk out. The door closed softly behind her but to Byers it felt as if she had slammed it shut with the force of her anger. She was wrong, of course. The world was black and white, good and bad. Ever since Susanne's death it had been so clear.
But if he was right why did he feel so empty?
