“Five years.”
“Right. For five years you’ve sat in on meetings, listened in on telephone conversations, seen me at my worst, which is actually when I’m at my best.”
“Yes, and so?”
“How could you not see my manipulation for what it was?”
She dropped back onto her bottom, making the bed springs squeal.
He was still laughing a phlegmy laugh. “You’ve seen me do it to unsuspecting people a thousand times. From postmen to producers to politicians. But when I used it on you, you were blind to it.”
She sagged against the pillows on the bed, too dismayed to speak.
“You came into my office with your cheeks flushed, asked for a minute and then spent thirty advancing the possibility that something was wormy about that Mellin investigation. Ineptitude, or a cover-up, or whatever.
“You insisted the case, ergo our story that documented it, warranted another look. And why? The main reason why? Because of a blood moon, a phenomenon shrouded in mystery and superstitious bullshit.” He paused for a beat. “I was riveted.”
“What?”
“It’s juicy. It’s blood-tingling. But even if the spooky moon stuff doesn’t amount to anything, I can smell the stink of corruption in that PD all the way up here. The more I warned you not to meddle in it, the more hell-bent you became to fly down there and talk to Bowie. ”
“You bastard.”
“Would you rather me not have needled you into it?” He waited, then said, “I didn’t think so.”
“Why didn’t you intercede with Brady? Wouldn’t that have been simpler? You could have advised him to postpone the broadcast until—”
“Because that suck-up wouldn’t have agreed to anything I suggested. And even if he had agreed to hold off until we’d done more investigating, he’d have sent someone else down there to do it. One of his flunkies, not you. You discovered the tantalizing hook that everyone else had missed; you deserved to be the one to pursue it.”
“All right. So, knowing that, why didn’t you just say, ‘Here’s your ticket, Beth, be on the next flight?’”
“I had to test your conviction. If it was only a fanciful idea that had fired your imagination, I had to know it. I had to save you from committing professional suicide.”
“And protect your own butt in the process.”
“You’re damn right. I’m nothing if not self-serving. I’ve never pretended to be otherwise. But the more I pushed you, the harder you pushed back. In the end, you were willing to risk your job and reputation on this theory that the next blood moon is going to spell doomsday for some young woman.”
“What if nothing happens and I’m proven wrong?”
“What’s the harm? You may eat some crow, but only in front of me, and I won’t tell. We’ll sell Brady on the lie about your vacation with old friends, and he’ll be none the wiser. Not that he’s all that wise to start with,” he added under his breath.
“You’re not taking John Bowie into account,” she said softly. “Whether I’m right or wrong, he’s already suffered severe consequences because of my meddling.”
“True. By busting his boss’s nose, he’s probably screwed his future in that police department, but if he has as much grit as you’ve implied, he’ll land on his feet.”
“I hope you’re right.”
After a thoughtful moment, he said, “I should have paid more attention to his disgruntlement back when we started considering that case as an episode.”
“Is this another manipulation?”
“No. I swear on my next cigarette. I think I missed an opportunity. If I’d contacted Bowie myself, and handled him right, he—”
“Handled him right? We could have sold tickets to see you try.”
He barked a laugh, coughed, and spat. “Well, if I’d gotten him to open up, we’d have had another story with a different ending.”
So would John, she thought. Perhaps a happier one.
Max took a few gravelly breaths. “Just how mad at me are you?”
“I want to be, but how can I be? Your maneuvering got me here. I’m mad at myself for not seeing through your bluff.”
“Cut yourself some slack. I’m an unprincipled, cagey son of a bitch with decades of conning to my credit.” Then in all seriousness, he said, “You’ve got the makings of a great story here. Tom Barker, asshole extraordinaire, whose malfeasances need to be exposed. Bowie, the dour, reluctant hero with integrity. Plus a blood moon and the spookiness that conjures. Jesus, gives me goose bumps just thinking about it.”
“The blood moon or the story?”
“The Emmy. Get it for me, Beth.”
Chapter 16
John heard the bedroom door opening behind him. He turned in his chair at the folding table, now serving as their shared desk. “How’d it go?”
As she was walking over, Beth absently gathered her hair into a ponytail and secured it with a stretchy band. She sat down in the chair beside him. “It was interesting.”
“That’s an interesting adjective.”