“I can send Daltrey and Walker,” Blazer offered. “You shouldn’t go in there alone.”
But Harper shook her head. “If detectives are there nobody will talk,” she said. “Let me give it a shot on my own. I’ll be careful. If they’re starting to turn on each other, maybe I can make them turn faster. Besides, it’ll take my mind off everything else for a while.”
Blazer studied her. “You know, Smith used to tell me you’d make a great cop. I’m starting to think he was right.”
Heat rose to Harper’s face. The lieutenant was not one to hand out praise.
He waved one hand. “Go. See what you can find out. Just don’t arrest anybody. Leave that to us.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said, opening the door. The sounds of the busy hallway poured in.
“When you get home tonight expect a deputy on your doorstep,” he told her, gruffly, as he wrote something on a sheet of paper. “If you don’t find one there, don’t go inside. Turn yourself around and call me on my cell. Here’s my number. Do we have a deal?”
She crossed back to his desk took the paper. Their eyes met and she gave him a grateful look.
The strangest thing to come out of this situation was that she was actually starting to like Larry Blazer.
But all she said was, “You’ve got a deal.”
27
When Harper arrived back at the newspaper a short while later, there was a patrol car parked in front of the building. The lieutenant hadn’t wasted any time. Unfortunately, this meant there was no way to hide the situation from Baxter any longer.
She’d dreaded this moment, convinced the editor would make her pull back from daily reporting. To her surprise, though, Baxter took the news calmly.
“This is why you look like you haven’t slept in three weeks, I gather.”
“Sleep isn’t something I’m getting much of lately,” Harper conceded.
They were in Baxter’s glass-walled office. Bright sun slanted in through the blinds, striping the room with light and shadow.
“Is it safe for you to be here right now?” the editor asked.
“Aside from the police station, this is the safest place I go,” Harper told her. “There’s an off-duty cop downstairs with a gun, and a cop car sitting outside the door.”
The editor considered her in silence for so long, Harper was sure she’d send her home. But then she sighed and said, “Well, then. Get your ass to work.” But Harper had seen the worried look cross her face.
“I’ll be fine,” she promised.
“Make sure you are,” Baxter told her, sternly.
“Oh, one more thing,” Harper said. “Allegra Hanson is playing a gig at a bar in town tonight. I’d like to go to it. I want to see if I can get her talk.”
Baxter didn’t look thrilled. “There’s no story there. Unless she shoots someone onstage, no one’s going to care.”
Harper didn’t back down. “They’ll care if she tells me who killed Xavier Rayne. Allegra’s fragile. She’s young. She loved Xavier—he gave her a career in music. If I can get her alone, I’m sure I can get her to talk.”
Baxter still wasn’t convinced. “Even if you get a story out of her it’s page three at this stage,” she pointed out. “And, who’s going to monitor the police scanner while you’re sitting in a bar?”
Turning, Harper pointed across the newsroom to where DJ was sitting at his desk typing furiously.
Baxter gave her a look. “You treat him like he’s your assistant.”
“He loves it. His beat is boring.”
“It is boring,” Baxter agreed, making a note on the spreadsheet in front of her. “Actually, I was thinking I might move him to courts.”
That didn’t make any sense. “Ed Lasterson does courts. Is he leaving?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Baxter stopped writing. “MaryAnne Charlton called this morning. She’d like to have her layoffs now.”
Harper’s stomach dropped. With everything that was going on, she’d forgotten what Dells had told her about the newspaper’s owner.
“Oh, come on. She can’t be serious.”
“Charlton doesn’t do humor.” Baxter sighed. “I hate that woman more than cancer.”
“You can’t do it,” Harper told her. “We have half the staff we did seven years ago. And Ed’s good. He’s got contacts no one else has. Judges call him personally. Nobody else gets that. You can’t let him go.”
“He’s been here twenty years,” Baxter said, pointedly. “He’s the highest-paid reporter on staff. DJ’s the lowest-paid. As far as MaryAnne is concerned, it’s that simple. Ed goes. DJ stays.”
Harper knew she shouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point—she’d seen numerous layoffs over the years—but she was shocked nonetheless. It was so callous. So heartless. And Baxter showed no sign of fighting it.
“Ed’s on the highest salary because he’s the best at what he does,” she reminded her. “DJ is great. But he’ll be starting from square one. And where will Ed go?”
Baxter didn’t even try to argue. “I don’t have the answer to that. I can’t think about it. I just have to do what I’m told to do by the woman who owns this newspaper. If I don’t, she’ll fire me and get someone else to do it. She’s done it before.”
Harper was so angry it was hard for her to speak. “Dells was right. She’s going to sell this place, isn’t she? First she’s going to hollow it out, then she’ll sell what’s left to some banker.”
“Probably. And then you and I will be following Ed to the unemployment office.” As she set her silver pen down, Baxter looked defeated. “In newspaper, you take what you get.”
“I hate this.” Harper stood up so abruptly her chair scratched against the floor. “It’s a messed-up, shitty thing that one woman can ruin so many lives.”
“You’re preaching to the choir.” The editor’s tone was bitter. “I can honestly say this is the best job and the worst job I’ve ever had.”
The revelation about upcoming layoffs threw Harper off her game. She couldn’t bring herself to even look at Ed. It was a relief when the day reporters went home at six o’clock, leaving only her and DJ.
She didn’t want to stay in the newsroom—every time she saw Baxter looking at her computer, she imagined her crossing people’s jobs off a list.
“Come on, DJ,” she said, just after seven o’clock. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
All the way to Eddie’s 24-Hour Diner she thought about telling him the news about layoffs, but she couldn’t. DJ was chattering happily about how he’d joined a gym and was going to start lifting weights. “Finally getting in shape.” He patted his stomach. “Got to get washboard abs by summer.”
Eddie’s had retro 1950s décor, and a short while later they were seated in a vivid red booth, blinded by chrome, listening to the Beach Boys as Harper picked at some fries.