DOWN TO THE WIREALSO BY DAVID ROSENFELT Dont Tell a Soul Play Dead Dead Center Sudden Death Bury the Lead First Degree Open and Shut
DOWN TO THE WIRE David Rosenfelt Please e-mail David Rosenfelt at dr27712@aol.com with any feedback. Your comments are very much appreciated.This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.DOWN TO THE WIRE. Copyright 2010 by Tara Productions, Inc. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.[http://www.minotaurbooks.com] www.minotaurbooks.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Rosenfelt, David.Down to the wire / David Rosenfelt. 1st ed.p. cm.ISBN 978-0-312-37394-81. JournalistsFiction. 2. Investigative reportingFiction. I. Title.PS3618.O838D68 2010813'.6dc22
2009041135
First Edition: March 201010 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Debbie
DOWN TO THE WIREIF YOURE A CORPSE , you should get your name in the paper.Thats what Chris Turley always thought should be the bare minimum. But this particular corpse was going to get shut out, at least from Chriss paper, the Bergen News .Chris watched as the poor guy, covered with a blanket, was loaded into the coroners van. It was a rather unglamorous way to go, knocked over like a bowling ball by a speeding Toyota whose driver didnt even have the decency to hang around afterwards.Chris was standing, and the victim was lying, on Grand Avenue in Englewood, New Jersey. It was a mostly commercial area, and there would not have been many people around when the accident took place. Chris imagined that the driver might have gone on to Route 4 and then exited the area, to avoid detection and capture, though there were certainly no pursuers to evade.The police were not releasing the victims name, pending notification of his family, assuming he had a family. By the time the name would be made public, it would be past the deadline for Chris to file his story.That meant that the only chance the deceased had to get his actual name in the paper would be if he turned out to be a person of status, unlikely in this Englewood neighborhood, or if the police were to eventually catch the per petrator. If the victim were not already dead, Chris would not recommend that he hold his breath waiting for the arrest to be made.Chris had a mental game that he played with himself whenever he covered an event of any kind. He tried to imagine what would have to happen to turn it into a Pulitzer Prizewinning story. Since it was two oclock in the morning in thirty-degree weather, he wasnt much in the mood for mental game playing, but as he had to wait for the police briefing anyway, he gave it a shot.Turning this pedestrian, hit-and-run-of-the-mill death into a Pulitzer would take some doing. The corpse would have to turn out to be a nuclear scientist and the hit-and-run driver would have to be a KGB agent. And not just any KGB agent, but Vladimir Putin himself. And since the KGB was known not to exist anymore, he, Chris Turley, would uncover through his investigative reporting that the agency had been resurrected, and was in cahoots with Al Qaeda.And then the Pulitzer committee members would come crawling and the Nobel people would be on all fours right alongside them. And the Oscar, Emmy, Grammy, and Golden Globe lackeys wouldnt be far behind.Of course, at times like this, Chris told himself he wasnt in this for the glory. He became a journalist to protect the peoples right to know. It would just be nice if along with that right to know came an obligation to care. Because the truth was that no one was going to pay any attention at all to his story about an anonymous man killed by an anonymous driver on Grand Avenue in Englewood at two oclock in the morning.It was 3:30 by the time Chris filed his story back at the newsroom. Even at that hour, with only a skeleton night staff on duty, the place had an energy level that Chris always noticed. It was true of every newspaper office Chris had ever been in; there was a busy, bustling quality that was tangible, even when there was no business or bustling going on.The story would be in the online edition almost immediately, so that when the Pulitzer judges woke up they would have no trouble finding it.Now, if the police would only catch and arrest Vladimir Putin....
WHAT TIME DID YOU get back here last night?The questioner was Dani Cooper, the papers entertainment editor and resident gossip columnist.Close to three, he said.I just missed you, she said. I left around two thirty.He smiled. Why so early? It was a significant part of Danis job to hit the late-night New York hot spots and then write about celebrity sightings. She also would have been responsible for hitting the New Jersey hot spots, but unfortunately, New Jersey was a hot spotfree zone.She shrugged. It was a movie premiere, and the film was so bad that nobody wanted to hang around late at the party afterwards. You should have come.To the bad movie, or the dreary party? Dani was always inviting Chris to things, and couching it as a work function, not a date.It wasnt that bad, she said. I got plenty of stuff to write about.Dani managed to be constantly upbeat, without falling into the dreaded perky category. Part of this was because its tough to categorize a five-foot-eleven woman as perky, but mostly it was because she combined her natural optimism with an obvious intelligence. She felt that at any one moment in hers or anyones life there were good and bad things going on. She made a conscious effort to focus on the former, while remaining realistic about the latter.Maybe next time, Chris said. Even though he didnt have a girlfriend at the moment, one thing Chriss life was not lacking for was female companionship. As a good-looking, single, heterosexual thirty-something he was doing reasonably well in that department. Dani was definitely someone he found attractive, but he just felt that to start a relationship in the newsroom was to invite disaster. They flirted occasionally, nothing serious, and nothing he planned to act on.Yeah, right, she said, knowing better. Good piece you wrote, though. What a way to die, lying there on a cold street, killed by a son of a bitch who didnt even have the decency to stop.Chris could hear the anger in Danis voice, and though he had heard it a number of times before as she railed against some injustice, it always surprised him. What would you do if you got your hands on that guy? he asked.They would need dental records to identify him, she said, and then smiled.The phone rang and she picked it up. News desk. Cooper here. She listened for a moment, then asked who was calling. After hearing the answer, she handed the phone to Chris.Who is it? he asked.She smiled. A concerned citizen.Chris took the phone and said, Turley.The male voice on the other end said, Mr. Turley, is this really you?Im afraid so.Im a big fan of your work. Your writing is terrific.Thank you, Chris said. How can I help you?Actually, I think I can help you. Ive got a pretty big story for you to write about.Chris frowned for Danis benefit as a way of telling her that he was talking to a loser.Really? Chris asked, trying to sound interested. What might that be?Its about corruption by a high-level government official. And I can prove every bit of it.Ill need specifics, Chris says.Ive got them. When can we meet?Why do we have to meet? Chris asked. Why dont you just tell me about it?Ive got documents; we definitely need to meet, the man said. It will just take a few minutes. When Chris hesitated, he continued. Believe me, Mr. Turley, this will be worth your while. I wouldnt waste your time.Okay. You want to come here?No. I dont want to be seen there. I want to do this anonymously.Chris rolled his eyes for Danis benefit, but decided he might as well find out what the man had to say. They finally settled on a park in Teaneck, across from a small medical office building, at 2:30 that afternoon. Chris knew where it was because he had been to an orthopedist in that building for a basketball-related knee injury. You wont be late, will you? the man asked. Im a little nervous about this.Ill be there, Chris said, and then hung up. Thanks a lot, he said sarcastically to Dani.Sorry, but when he said it was a concerned citizen I thought he was joking, and that he was a friend of yours, Dani said. I guess not, huh?No, but dont worry about it. Maybe itll turn out to be something.Dani nodded. Right. I mean, this is how Watergate started.No, Watergate started with a break-in at Democratic Party headquarters.But Deep Throat was also a concerned citizen, she persisted.He shook his head. No, Deep Throat was the number two man at the FBI.Youre not going to give an inch on this, are you?He smiled. Im not planning to, no. This back and forth was typical of the banter between them, with the only difference that this time he seemed to come out on top. It was a small, and rare, victory.Chris spent his lunch hour doing what hed done on at least five lunch hours in the previous month. He went car shopping with his friend Craig Andrews, going to showrooms and checking out the latest models. Craig was a midlevel city bureaucrat with the official title of deputy commissioner of housing and development, and would jump at any chance to get out of the office.Craig and Chris had been friends for almost five years, ever since Chris wrote a favorable article about a piece of legislation that Craig, then a city councilman, was supporting.Craig had called to offer his thanks, and in the ensuing conversation discovered they had been hanging out at the same sports bar for years without having ever met. Except for the fact that Craig was a Jets fan and Chris was a Giants fanatic, they learned over time that they shared pretty much the same view of everything.Actually, what the two men did on that lunch hour wasnt actually car shopping; it was more like car looking. They didnt have the money to buy the kind of cars they would want, not even close, but they did buy lottery tickets every week, so it couldnt hurt to be prepared.Chris sat in the drivers seat of a Porsche, and for a few brief moments was imagining himself out on the open highway. When he got out, Craig came over and said, What do I have to do to put you in this car today?Steal it, Chris said.After a solid hour and twenty minutes of deflecting the questions of actual car salesmen, it was time for Craig to go back to the office and Chris to meet the corruption whistle-blower.You want me to come with you? Craig asked. In case hes a psycho killer luring you into a trap?What would you do if he was?Craig shrugged. Probably nothing. Ive got to be back for a three oclock meeting, and besides, psycho killers intimidate me.I thought women intimidate you?Craig nodded. And pushy salesmen and people who walk around wearing army fatigues. But psycho killers are the worst.Chris laughed. Go to your meeting. Ill get by without you.Any chance youll tell me what kind of political corruption youre investigating? Craig asked. Im asking because Im political, and someday I hope to be important enough to be corrupt.I dont even know, Chris said. But when I find out, you can read about it in the paper.And some guy just called you out of the blue?Thats right.Craig was barely able to conceal his surprise at this, mainly because he knew his friend was lying. He could never reveal how he knew that, but the deception was worrisome and confusing. Why would Chris suddenly become secretive and distrustful, particularly on a matter like this?There was no way for Craig to raise these questions, so he dropped the subject entirely. As they were walking out, Craig looked back at the sports car they had just been admiring. You think either of us will ever get one of these?If we did, what would we have to look forward to?Craig shrugged. Id think of something. See you later.
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