Just over a decade ago, the paper had gone fully digital. Every article written was automatically logged and filed on the system. But there’d never been any money to go back and scan in the old articles. Anything before then was stored in here.
All the articles were filed by year and within the year by subject or name in a somewhat haphazard system that depended on whose job it had been to file.
She’d been in here not all that long ago researching her own mother’s murder. The unsolved crime that was at the heart of everything happening to her now. And some part of her drew her to that particular file, filled with terrible memories. At twelve years old, she had been the one to find her mother’s body on the floor, naked and cold, surrounded by blood.
Her father would be the first suspect, but with an alibi provided by his mistress, he would walk free. And nobody else was ever charged. Harper’s own investigations had found little new information, until the phone call last year that told her the murderer was still out there, looking for her.
Today, though, she walked by that filing cabinet, and turned to the first row on the right, making her way to the cabinets dated fourteen years back. Focusing on the crime at hand, she pulled a drawer open with a rattle and flipped through the overstuffed manila folders until she found the “R”s.
“Raccoon.” “Racing.” “Randall.” “Reptiles” …
No “Rayne.”
Just to be sure, she opened another drawer and looked under “M,” for “Murder,” but finding four thick folders with that label, she sighed. It would take an hour to go through it all.
After a moment’s thought, she slid them back into the drawer, and walked farther down the row to drawers marked for the year before that. Fifteen years ago. Again, she searched through the “R”s.
Right in the middle, she found what she was looking for. “Rayne, Michael James.”
She pulled the folder out. Inside, a small stack of articles was carefully folded. She opened the first, the paper soft beneath her fingers. There was a faint scent of dust to it.
Man Killed in Suspected Drug Deal Gone Wrong
By Tom Lane
Two people were injured and one killed in a shoot-out on 19th Street last night.
Twenty-nine-year-old Michael James Rayne was pronounced dead at the scene.
Detectives believed the shooting was drug-related. Bags of crack cocaine were found in Rayne’s pockets, along with a considerable amount of cash.
Witnesses said a large group of men had met on the corner. The meeting started amicably but soon deteriorated into an argument and then gunshots.
Police said Rayne was shot three times with a high-caliber handgun. He died almost instantly.
Detectives declined to comment on whether there are suspects in the case. At this time, no arrests have been made.
She folded the article away, and checked the next item in the folder. It was Rayne’s obituary. She read it, looking for one name in particular. She found it in the last paragraph.
“Mr. Rayne is survived by his wife, Lyla, and his son, Michael Xavier.”
She scribbled hurried notes as she flipped through the few remaining articles. One had been written a few days later, when two men were arrested in the shooting—both were known for their involvement in drug gangs.
When Harper had read through it all, she put the file away and closed the drawer slowly. The more she learned, the more twisted this story became.
She had a bad feeling about Xavier Rayne.
6
By the time Baxter returned at ten, Harper and DJ had finished writing and Miles, who had submitted his photos hours ago, had gone home.
The main article walked a fine line between exploitation and straightforward reporting. Baxter read it with a crease between her eyes.
Local Music Star Disappears
By Harper McClain and DJ Gonzales
Michael Xavier Rayne, a singer and guitarist, disappeared from his Tybee Island home in the early hours of Thursday after a night of drinking with friends.
He was last seen walking down to the beach from Admiral’s Row on the north side of the island just after two in the morning.
His guitar was found on the sand early Thursday, but there was no sign of Rayne.
Police and Coast Guard searches failed to locate him and were called off at sunset.
At press time, his whereabouts were unknown.
The 24-year-old Savannah native, who performs as Xavier Rayne, recently released his first full album, “Revolver Road.” The first single off the record, “The Lying Game,” was one of the top streamed songs in the country this week.
Rayne is due to begin a national tour on Monday. His record company declined to comment on the situation or what his absence might mean to those plans.
His manager was rushing home from a trip to Paris, and could not be reached.
Hunter Carlson, keyboardist in Rayne’s band, was one of the friends with him that night, but said he went to bed when Rayne walked out to the beach, and had no idea what happened after that.
Rayne’s backup singer, Allegra Hanson, said no one noticed Rayne hadn’t returned until nearly midday, when he didn’t come down from his room. Only then, did they begin searching for him.
The actress Cara Brand, Rayne’s girlfriend, was also at his house when he disappeared. She said she wasn’t worried at first. It was only as time passed and he did not return that she became concerned.
“Xavier often went down to the beach at night,” she said. “He had insomnia. He said watching the sea helped him relax. The only difference is, this time he didn’t come back.”
“This is good,” Baxter murmured, tapping the last line with the blunt tip of her nail. “Gets everything across.”
When she’d finished reading both articles, she turned to Harper and DJ. “Good work, both of you. I’m sending this to the copy desk.” She gestured at DJ, who had propped his feet up on his desk, his arms pillowed behind his head. “Go home. Or wherever it is you go when you’re not here.”
Knowing better than to wait for a second invitation, he leaped from his chair and pulled on his jacket. “I’ll be at Rosie’s if anyone needs me,” he said. Rosie Malone’s was a downtown dive favored by Savannah’s media.
“Don’t get drunk and tell your friends from Channel Five what we’ve been working on,” Baxter barked as he disappeared down the stairs. “This is exclusive.”
His reply floated back to them from the stairwell. “I won’t.”
When he was gone, the editor walked over to where Harper still sat at her desk. “First thing tomorrow, I need you to go back to Rayne’s house and talk to the girlfriend. But no interviews. Just work on her. And all of them. Get them to trust you.”
“Okay.…” Harper didn’t hide her puzzlement.
“You’ve never covered a real missing-person story, have you?” Baxter gave her an assessing look.
Harper shook her head.
People had gone missing in Savannah before, of course. The police had asked the paper to run pictures of runaways now and then, usually teenagers on the verge of adulthood from difficult homes. A grown man vanishing in the night, though—this was new to her.
“This isn’t like a murder investigation.” Folding her arms, Baxter leaned against DJ’s empty desk. “After today, there won’t be much to get from the police because they won’t know any more than you do. Your information will come from the people who know Rayne personally. As soon as this breaks in the morning, you’ll have to compete with not just the local TV stations but stations from Atlanta and Charleston. But you got there first and you know everybody involved already, so you have an advantage.” Her dark eyes had a predatory gleam. “If Rayne’s friends trust you before the shit hits the fan, they’ll want to talk to you over all the outsiders. Convince them you’re someone they can trust. Make sure the story stays ours.”