Part 5 (1/2)

”And that's a good thing in a journalist?”

”Oh, enough with the high-horse rhetoric. You make a reality TV show, Laurie. Embrace it.”

She shook her head. ”We're more than that, Brett, and you know it.”

”Fine, you've done some good work. And you've helped people. But that's only possible because of your ratings. You had a month to propose another host, and you kept dragging your feet. So you can thank me later for finding you someone as good as Ryan.”

She heard a tap at the door, and then Ryan walked in again.

She mustered her best smile. ”Welcome to Under Suspicion,” she said, as Brett popped the champagne cork.

She had barely finished her first sip of champagne when Brett asked about her progress on the Casey Carter story.

She began summarizing her meeting with Casey when Ryan interrupted. ”It's not an unsolved case. The entire premise of the show is to revisit unsolved cases from the perspective of people who have lived-quote, unquote-under suspicion.”

Thanks for telling me the premise of my own show, Laurie thought.

”Hunter Raleigh's murder is solved,” he continued, ”and the only person under suspicion was convicted and sent to prison. Case closed. What am I missing?”

Laurie started to explain that she and Brett had already decided that a wrongful conviction case would be a good next move for the series.

This time, it was Brett who interrupted. ”Ryan has a point. That case was a slam dunk. The girl had too much to drink at that gala and embarra.s.sed him in public. They probably had a fight at home. He was going to break things off, and she pulled a gun on him. As I recall, the evidence was overwhelming. The only issue, it seems, was whether she did it in cold blood or in the heat of the moment. I guess the jury gave her the benefit of the doubt on that score.”

”With all due respect, Brett, the last time we spoke, you said you didn't care whether she was innocent or not. Her name alone means viewers will tune in.”

Ryan did not even wait for Brett to respond. ”That's an old media model,” he argued. ”Fifteen minutes of fame is now more like fifteen seconds. By the time we air, she could be old news. And ratings are driven by young audiences. We need viewers who buzz about the show on social media. They've never even heard of Casey Carter.”

Brett pointed his champagne flute in Ryan's direction. ”Again, he's got a point. Do we have a fresh angle here, or is this just a rehash of her defense from fifteen years ago?”

Laurie felt the urge to down the rest of her champagne in one gulp, but she set down her gla.s.s instead. She wanted to be clear-headed.

She reached into her briefcase, pulled out the photograph she'd gotten from Casey, and handed it to Brett. ”That's our angle.”

”What am I looking at?” he asked.

”Casey has had fifteen years to study the evidence in her case. She can recite every word of every police report from memory. But after we spoke on Wednesday, she went home and started looking through everything with a new eye, including the old crime scene photographs. She thinks being out of prison let her see the images in a different light. She let herself remember what it was like to be with Hunter in that house.”

”Oh, please,” Ryan said sarcastically.

”That's when she noticed this,” Laurie said, gesturing toward the photograph.

”It's a nightstand,” Brett said. ”So what?”

”It's not a matter of what's there, but what isn't there. Hunter's favorite memento-a framed picture of himself with the President at a White House function recognizing the Raleigh Foundation-is missing. According to Casey, it was always there. And she studied all the other crime scene photos. The police photographed every inch of that house. And Hunter's picture with the President doesn't appear anywhere. Where did it go?”

”So you're taking a killer's word that there used to be a picture on that nightstand,” Ryan said.

”Our show works because we give every partic.i.p.ant's version of events a fair shake,” she snapped. ”It's what we call research.”

”Time out,” Brett said, forming his hands in a capital T. ”So a.s.suming she's right about the missing picture, what's the theory?”

”That the real killer took it as a memento. Nothing else was missing from the house.”

Laurie was relieved to see Brett nodding. ”So whoever took it would have had to know how much it meant to Hunter,” he said.

”Exactly.” Laurie was thinking again about the alternative suspects, especially Hunter's friend, Mark Templeton. Hunter had trusted him to run the finances of his most important initiative-a foundation named for his mother. To embezzle money from that particular fund seemed personal. Hunter was wealthy, handsome, powerful, and beloved. She imagined years of resentment building within a man who worked in his shadow, capped off by an accusation of financial wrongdoing and the threat of exposure. Two shots in the bedroom. The photograph on the nightstand of Hunter and the President, as if mocking him.

”Think of the ratings,” she said, nudging, knowing Brett's bottom line. ”The return of Sleeping Beauty: Casey Carter speaks on camera for the first time ever.”

She was infuriated when Brett's gaze s.h.i.+fted to Ryan for approval.

”How do we know that picture frame even existed?” Ryan asked.

”We don't,” Laurie said, ”not yet. But what if that changes?”

”Then you might just have a story to tell, so get on it.” Brett suddenly set down his gla.s.s and stood up. ”We better get going, Ryan. Don't want to be late to the book signing.”

”What's that?” Laurie asked.

”You know my historian friend, Jed?”

”Of course.” Laurie knew him because every time Jed Nichols published a book, Brett pressured the news division to find time slots for him to promote it. She also knew that Jed was Brett's best friend and college roommate from Northwestern. And then she made the connection. Nichols, as in Ryan Nichols.

”Jed's Ryan's uncle,” Brett explained. ”I thought I mentioned that.”

No, she thought. I would definitely remember.

Laurie stood on a stoop in front of a walk-up building on Ridge Street and Delancey, her index finger against one ear to block out the sound of traffic on the Williamsburg Bridge. She could barely hear her father on the other end of the line.

”Dad, I'm going to be late to Alex's.” She felt like she'd run late more times in the past week than in the last five years put together. ”Can you please take Timmy, and I'll meet you there.”

”Where are you? You sound like you're in the middle of the freeway. You're not still with Casey Carter, are you? I'm telling you, Laurie: the woman is guilty.”

”No, I'm downtown. But I need to talk to a witness.”

”Right now? You're still working?”

”Yes, but it shouldn't take long. I'll be there by the kickoff.”

When she hung up, there was a new text message on her screen. It was from Charlotte. Angela just got off the phone with Casey, who said you were there for hours. Angela told her not to get her hopes up. How'd it go from your end?