The Friday Edition (A Samantha Church Mystery) Read online

  The two women stared at each other. Sam’s blue eyes were faded filled with fatigue. Judie’s eyes were as Sam usually saw them: clear, sharp and eager.

  “This death should be ruled a homicide,” Judie said matter-of-factly.

  Sam nodded slowly keeping her eyes fixed on the folder.

  “You’ve felt this way all along about Robin’s death, haven’t you? Just as I have.”

  “I saw bruising against her right temple. Like I said, that’s consistent with someone holding a gun to her head. But it was never recorded here,” Judie said, tapping the report.

  Sam felt flushed and her heart began to gallop. When she spoke her voice was filled with frustration.

  “A gun? No one told me that.”

  “I’ve been over and over this. Robin’s injuries were consistent with being pushed, rather than having fallen over the railing. They must’ve forced her to the door at gunpoint and when she wouldn’t jump, they pushed her.”

  Sam closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead hard. She felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach.

  Judie went on. “To duplicate the fall, we dropped a mannequin from Robin’s balcony.”

  “What happened?”

  When Judie spoke, it was slow and deliberate, knowing she treaded on fragile territory. “We determined that the spot where she landed wasn’t consistent with an accidental fall, or from jumping.”

  Sam breathed a deep sigh of relief, feeling satisfied. “I’ve got to tell Rey, but he still hasn’t returned the page I sent on Saturday. It’s not like him and I’m worried something’s happened.”

  “Who’s Rey?” Judie asked.

  Sam told her how she met Rey. “It just isn’t right that he hasn’t called back,” Sam said.

  Both women kept their attention silently fixed on Robin’s autopsy report.

  “I’ll call Grandview PD today and talk to the detective who’s handling the case. We’re going to reopen it as a murder investigation,” Judie said.

  “Let me have the story first, Judie, as an exclusive. Robin would have come to me first too. But we won’t have it until Friday. The dailies could have a field day if they get it before we do.”

  Judie nodded in agreement. “I’ll wait until Friday morning. It’s hard as hell to find someone around here on Fridays.”

  When their eyes met, Judie winked. It made Sam smile.

  “Perfect,” Sam said remembering her last conversation with W. Robert Simmons.

  Sam struggled to get to her feet making every effort to move as little as possible. Judie picked up the phone and dialed one of the doctors. Sam waited while Judie finished the conversation.

  “Go to the third floor and tell them I sent you,” Judie told Sam as she hung up the phone. “It won’t take long.”

  When she collected herself, she looked at Judie, sitting behind her large desk with her hands folded and resting under her chin.

  “Thanks, Judie, I couldn’t do it without you.”

  “Just be careful, please,” Judie said and shooed Sam from her office.

  Sam arrived at the Perspective shortly before ten and saw Nick Weeks as she entered the building. She saw that he was looking at his watch, but she didn’t care. The exam took longer than expected, but she was glad she agreed to be looked at by the doctor. Expect to be sore the next few days, he told her. As she walked to her desk, her gaze flickered toward Wilson’s office. It was dark.

  She reached her desk and paged Rey again. A call came for her ten minutes later.

  “It’s about time, Rey,” she whispered and sighed deeply.

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  Sam felt her heart drop. “Jonathan? What do you want?”

  “You sound disappointed,” he said.

  “I was expecting another call,” Sam said trying to regain her composure. “What’s up?”

  “I’m on my way to work, but I want to stop by. I’ve got a story.”

  “What kind of story?”

  “I’m about ten minutes away,” Jonathan said ignoring her query. “I’ll fill you in when I get there.”

  “Fine,” she said and hung up.

  She greeted him at the reception area a few minutes later.

  “What happened?” Jonathan asked, pointing to her lip.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I walked into a wall the other night,” she said in a voice that didn’t elicit further response.

  She lied, but it was a truth she wanted him to believe. She knew he thought that she had been drinking.

  “What’s so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?” she asked when they reached her desk.

  “I guess you haven’t heard.”

  Sam shook her head. “Heard what?”

  “One of our officers was killed over the weekend.”

  “That’s too bad. Who?”

  “Rey Estrada.”

  She felt a part of herself break off and fall away. “Rey?” she said in a hollow voice.

  “Did you know him?”

  Sam tried to stay focused, but felt on the verge of passing out. Her blood rushed in her ears and her heart felt like it was about to explode. It took the strength she had left to stay alert. She sat down heavily in her chair.

  “Well … I … I’ve heard the name on occasion, but, no … no I … I didn’t know him personally,” she stammered. “What … what happened?”

  There was a brief silence as Jonathan pulled a chair next to her desk. She stared numbly at her desk calendar, aware of nothing.

  “Sam? Are you okay?”

  She blinked several times and looked at Jonathan, trying to collect herself.

  “I’m … I’m fine. What happened?” she asked as she reached for a reporter’s notebook.

  When she did, Jonathan saw that her hand was shaking.

  “Rey was directing traffic at an intersection on Wads and a car hit him.”

  “Wasn’t he wearing one of those bright orange vests?” Sam asked and glared at Jonathan as her anger rose within her, the picture suddenly snapping into place.

  “The driver apparently had some kind of a seizure and ran into him. They took him to Lutheran, but he was DOA.”

  Sam tried to write, but it was difficult to maintain her composure. All she managed to do was swirl small, heavy black circles in her notebook.

  “When did it happen?” she asked in a voice as fragile as she felt.

  “Saturday afternoon.”

  Sam jotted down his response and underlined it twice.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. I had a bad night. What else?”

  Jonathan provided the rest of the details and ended by telling her Rey’s funeral would be Wednesday.

  A half-hour later he was gone. Sam sat and stared, anesthetized, at Wednesday’s date. January 28. She circled the date several times with her pen.

  Wilson entered the newsroom and was walking to his office when he noticed Sam, her forehead resting in the palm of her hand. He stopped and watched as she continued to circle the date, unaware he was there.

  “Sam,” he called softly.

  She did not respond.

  When he touched her shoulder she looked at him. Her eyes were red and her lip stood out like a beacon.

  “Sam, what’s the matter?”

  The concern in Wilson’s voice was evident as he touched her shoulder. His touch was meant to comfort her, but she recoiled from it. She felt cold and empty. She was trying and failing miserably to keep the tears from coming. Wilson saw and felt her frustration.

  “Come with me,” he said and headed for his office.

  When they were inside, he closed the door.

  “Sit here. It’s more comfortable,” he said, motioning her to the couch. He sat in a chair facing her.

  All she needed was a moment of silence and she had it now. Everything came forward in an absolute burst of fire.

  “How the hell could they have known about Rey?” Wilson asked.

  Sam shook her
head, too exhausted to speak.

  Wilson studied Sam. She looked small and lost against the pattern of the couch, too frail for the forces that lined up against her. She told him about her morning visit to the coroner’s office. He put his hand on her knee. His tempered touch brought her eyes to his. They were soft and yielded the first sense of relief she had felt in days. She made a small attempt at a smile.

  “Go home,” he said.

  “No.” Her voice was emphatic. “I’m not leaving until I write the story Judie and I talked about this morning.”

  “Then I want you to lie here and rest awhile before you start. Understood?”

  She looked at him and nodded, feeling too powerless to argue. He kept a hand-woven, fringe-knotted Mexican blanket draped over the back of the couch. He had received the gift from a friend who had gone to Mexico and kept it in his office as a reminder of her. It was the color of the rainbow. Wilson covered Sam and she was asleep within minutes.

  It was nearly noon when Sam opened her eyes. It took a moment for her to focus and when she did, she saw Wilson sitting at his desk. His light tap-tap at the keyboard provided a soothing sound that made Sam feel safe. She did not want to move.

  Wilson could feel her eyes on him and looked at her over his reading glasses.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  Sam nodded. “A little.”

  “The publisher of the Post probably wouldn’t let you sack out a few hours on his couch,” Wilson said playfully.

  She couldn’t help her laughter. “I doubt he would either. Thanks. I guess I really needed that.”

  Wilson nodded as if to say ‘of course you did.’

  Wilson’s face clouded. “Sam, maybe you ought to have some help on this. We can bring in another reporter. We can’t let things get out of hand any more than they already have.”

  Sam was adamant. “No, Wilson, please, what’s happened isn’t going to stop me. I’m going to write Judie’s story and then I’ll …”

  Her voice trailed off. Wilson waited for her to speak, but she didn’t know what she planned to do next. She felt isolated and lost without options. She didn’t know what to do next. Everything was closing in on her.

  “Please trust me, Wilson, I know what I’m doing.”

  He watched her leave. When Sam settled in front of her computer, she thought of Robin as she straightened her shoulders and sat perfectly tall in her chair, ignoring every ache in her body. She scanned the notes from her meeting with Judie and within the hour wrote the first draft.

  The bold headline read:

  Balcony Death Ruled a Homicide

  “The death of a prominent Truman County assistant district attorney, who plunged to her death from her apartment balcony Christmas Eve, has been ruled a homicide.

  The Truman County Coroner’s office determined this week that 28-year-old Robin Marino’s injuries were consistent with being pushed from the balcony, rather than falling, as had been previously reported, according to deputy coroner Judie Rossetti.

  Marino’s death had originally been ruled a suicide by Grandview Police detectives investigating the incident, but detectives reopened the case this week as a murder investigation after being contacted by the coroner’s office, Rossetti said.

  After Marino’s death last month, the coroner’s office duplicated the fall by dropping a mannequin from her apartment balcony, Rossetti said.

  “The test was conclusive,” she said. “The spot where Robin Marino landed wasn’t consistent with an accidental fall or a suicide.”

  An investigation continues.

  Marino had been with the District Attorney’s office for three years at the time of her death ...”

  When Sam finished writing, she stared at the last six words of her story for what seemed a long time.

  At the time of her death …

  When her story was published Friday, Judie would call her source at KCNC, Channel 4, and tell her to read the story in the Grandview Perspective. Sam knew one call would start the ball rolling. Before long, the dailies and the television stations would have their own reporters covering the high profile story.

  Sam stopped in to say goodnight to Wilson.

  “How’s the story going?”

  “Okay for a first draft,” she said.

  “Would you like to grab a bite to eat?” Wilson asked.

  “Sounds good, but I have to pass.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone tonight, Sam.”

  “Thanks for the nice offer, but thought I’d stop at the market and get something good and healthy to eat. I can’t remember the last time I ate a green vegetable.”

  At the small corner market where Sam often shopped, she selected chicken and fresh zucchini, green peppers and onion. She was waiting at the checkout when her cell phone chirped loudly. She immediately thought of Rey and the last time she had paged him. Her heart felt heavy.

  She pulled her cell phone from her purse. And something else. A business card. The back of the card faced her. Puzzled, she turned it over and saw the blue police shield. Her knees buckled slightly and she grabbed the cart handle for support. Sam remembered only one place Rey could have carelessly left it.

  The records room.

  “Oh, no,” Sam said loud enough that the woman standing in front of her turned and stared at her.

  You saw what happened to Rey Estrada. You’re next!

  The next line left her numb.

  It’s probably a good idea to keep an eye on your daughter.

  Sam gasped and backed away from the cart. The woman in front of her turned again and looked annoyed. Sam grabbed her purse and, left the cart in the checkout line and ran to her car. She drove home and called Jonathan the minute she walked in the house. She didn’t mention the text message, but asked about April. Jonathan told her she already had her bath and was in bed.

  Sam hung up the phone, relieved. She sat for a long time on the edge of her bed and stared out the window to the dark street below. Morrison meowed loudly at the bedroom door.

  “Here, kitty,” she said, patting her lap.

  Morrison jumped into her lap. She stroked him gently and he purred with delight.

  “How ’bout a treat?” Sam asked and scooped the cat into her arms, carrying him into the livingroom. She turned on the stereo before she went to the kitchen and Van Morrison began to spill out of the speakers. She gave Morrison a treat. She fell heavily onto the couch and wrapped herself in a blanket. She drank tea with lemon and honey hoping that the drink and the music would calm her. Morrison curled beside her.

  Thoughts of April pressed heavily against her. She got up and went into the bedroom and returned moments later with a small white box. She settled on the couch and opened it. Inside lay a baby tooth the size of a popcorn kernel.

  She smiled as she took it from the box and placed it gently in her palm. It was clean and white, so much prettier than her own. Unspoiled like hers from years of abuse from coffee, alcohol and tobacco. She had started to smoke as a teenager, but quit when she began to date Jonathan, at least managing to stay clean of one vice.

  April’s first tooth was a perfect specimen for the Tooth Fairy. She remembered how April had beamed the evening she brought her the tooth.

  “Can we put it under my pillow, tonight, Mommy?” she asked.

  Sam examined the tooth and said the Tooth Fairy would bring her top dollar. April got on her knees on her bed and, with great care, centered the tooth beneath her pillow, making certain the tooth would not fall to the carpet as she slept.

  “I hope I get a whole dollar,” April announced after she covered the tooth with her pillow.

  April looked at her mother. Sam was sitting on the bed next to her, rubbing her back gently.

  “In school, Meagan said the Tooth Fairy brings her a whole dollar every time she loses a tooth.”

  Sam laughed and said, “A whole dollar huh?”

  April nodded then shrugged slightly. “I think she likes to show off, but I’d bring a
real dollar to school and show her if the Tooth Fairy brought me one, too.”

  “I’ll talk to the Tooth Fairy when he comes tonight and see what I can do,” Sam said. “Now time for bed. The Tooth Fairy can’t come if you’re not sleeping.”

  April quickly snuggled beneath her covers and was asleep within minutes. The next morning when April woke, she slid her hand under her pillow. She felt a piece of paper. She clutched it and pulled it into view.

  It was a clean, crisp dollar bill.

  Sam found herself smiling at the memory. But it was replaced by something much more unpleasant that the judge had told her during the custody proceedings not too long after April lost her first tooth. Sam was standing before the court, listening to the judge speak about the tender years doctrine, how it was often prescribed that after divorce, young children were better off with their mothers.

  After all, they were the ones with tender mercies and the innate ability to nurture.

  But the judge, a rigid woman in her late sixties, didn’t see it that way in Samantha Church’s case. The judge had determined that her excessive drinking had hindered her care for April.

  “You have a serious drinking problem, Mrs. Church,” the judge had sternly told her. “Until you get your act cleaned up, and I mean by getting sober and attending AA meetings on a regular basis, I’ve determined that Jonathan shall have full custody of April Denise.”

  The judge arranged visits, not to Sam’s satisfaction, but there was nothing she could do.

  Except get help for her drinking.

  “I don’t have the problem with alcohol everyone likes to think I have,” Sam said to Morrison as she stroked him softly.

  She would never forgive herself if something happened to April. She picked up the picture of her daughter on the end table and looked at it for a long time. The little girl was a cherub, holding onto the last vestige of baby fat.

  She brought the picture to her chest and held it tightly. She fell asleep as Van Morrison played on in the background.

  During the night she had nightmares. Sam dreamed she was attending Robin’s funeral. She was standing at the coffin looking at Robin. Her head had been shaved. Her eyes were gray and open and she was looking at Sam, but there was no life in them. Robin extended her hand for her sister to take. But Sam folded her own hands tightly behind her back and stepped away from the coffin. She turned and ran out of the room.