governor’s staff. We’re counting on you for an exclusive. However, make sure you get a quote from the governor on these death watch notices.”
Cori started to object.
Grant Forsythe cut her off. “So we’re officially labeling this story Death Watch?”
“That’s what the terrorists are calling it in their notices,” Helen said.
Grant shrugged. “Just asking.”
An intern placed a pile of pink telephone memo notes in front of Helen. She sifted through them quickly. There were at least a dozen. As the meeting broke up, she handed them to Sydney.
“These are the calls that have come into the station in response to the noon broadcast, people who say they’ve received a death watch notice,” Helen said. “Follow up on them.”
Sydney shuffled through the notes. “Have any of them passed the deadline?”
“What do you mean?” Helen frowned.
“Each death watch notice gives its victim forty-eight hours. Have any of them lived past their designated time to die?”
“Good question,” Helen said. “Find out.” She turned toward her office.
“What if we could find one of them,” Sydney called after her. “Someone who has received a death watch notice who is targeted to die before the eleven o’clock broadcast? We could put them in protective custody, so to speak. Have a doctor standing by. Security. The whole nine yards. Do everything we can to keep them living past their designated time to die.”
Sol joined them while Sydney was talking.
“A waste of time,” Hunz said.
“For what purpose,” Helen asked, “other than the obvious one of saving a life?”
“If we can interview someone who has survived a death watch threat,” Sydney said, “it’ll prove the threats are not always fatal. It’ll give people hope.”
“We’re not here to save the world,” Hunz said. “Our job is to report the news.”
“I like the idea,” Helen said.
“People will see KSMJ as crusaders against the axis of evil,” Sol added. “They’ll view us as saviors. The station with a heart. It’ll make an industry splash. Let’s do it! A live feed from the scene.”
“Run with it,” Helen said. “Only don’t take any unnecessary risks. We still don’t know who’s behind this. This whole thing is scary.”
Grant Forsythe walked up, overhearing Helen’s comment. “If the deaths continue at this pace, we’re going to see panic in the streets. Riots. Global anarchy.”
“Do you really think it’ll go that far?” Sol said.
Cori Zinn joined them. She handed Sydney another pink memo slip.
“My intern just handed me this,” she said. “It’s a lead on your story.”
Sydney took it reluctantly. She read it.
Billy Peppers. McArthur Park. 4 p.m.
“He wants to meet you. Says he knows who’s behind all the mystery deaths.”
“Is he a credible source?” Hunz asked.
Cori tried her best to hold back a grin. She couldn’t.
“Remember that story I did last year on mental insanity among the homeless?” She had everyone’s attention and was milking it. “One of the guys I interviewed called himself The Rev.”
“The guy who said he talked to angels,” Grant said.
“That’s the one.” Cori looked disappointed that Grant had stolen her thunder. “Anyway, he called the station. You weren’t available so the call was passed to me. I asked him if he wanted to leave a message. He said he wanted to meet you. I asked what it was about. And when he told me, I insisted I needed more information if we were to take him seriously. So he told me who is behind all the deaths. We can stop wondering now.”
“Well, who is it?” Helen said.
Cori held out for as long as she could.
“The Devil!”
Everyone laughed.
“He’s serious!” she cried.
CHAPTER SEVEN
J effrey Conley’s house in Covina was shut up tight. Bright yellow police tape across the front and rear doors marked it as a crime scene. There were no cops around now.
Sydney and Hunz interviewed Conley’s neighbors. They
Cori started to object.
Grant Forsythe cut her off. “So we’re officially labeling this story Death Watch?”
“That’s what the terrorists are calling it in their notices,” Helen said.
Grant shrugged. “Just asking.”
An intern placed a pile of pink telephone memo notes in front of Helen. She sifted through them quickly. There were at least a dozen. As the meeting broke up, she handed them to Sydney.
“These are the calls that have come into the station in response to the noon broadcast, people who say they’ve received a death watch notice,” Helen said. “Follow up on them.”
Sydney shuffled through the notes. “Have any of them passed the deadline?”
“What do you mean?” Helen frowned.
“Each death watch notice gives its victim forty-eight hours. Have any of them lived past their designated time to die?”
“Good question,” Helen said. “Find out.” She turned toward her office.
“What if we could find one of them,” Sydney called after her. “Someone who has received a death watch notice who is targeted to die before the eleven o’clock broadcast? We could put them in protective custody, so to speak. Have a doctor standing by. Security. The whole nine yards. Do everything we can to keep them living past their designated time to die.”
Sol joined them while Sydney was talking.
“A waste of time,” Hunz said.
“For what purpose,” Helen asked, “other than the obvious one of saving a life?”
“If we can interview someone who has survived a death watch threat,” Sydney said, “it’ll prove the threats are not always fatal. It’ll give people hope.”
“We’re not here to save the world,” Hunz said. “Our job is to report the news.”
“I like the idea,” Helen said.
“People will see KSMJ as crusaders against the axis of evil,” Sol added. “They’ll view us as saviors. The station with a heart. It’ll make an industry splash. Let’s do it! A live feed from the scene.”
“Run with it,” Helen said. “Only don’t take any unnecessary risks. We still don’t know who’s behind this. This whole thing is scary.”
Grant Forsythe walked up, overhearing Helen’s comment. “If the deaths continue at this pace, we’re going to see panic in the streets. Riots. Global anarchy.”
“Do you really think it’ll go that far?” Sol said.
Cori Zinn joined them. She handed Sydney another pink memo slip.
“My intern just handed me this,” she said. “It’s a lead on your story.”
Sydney took it reluctantly. She read it.
Billy Peppers. McArthur Park. 4 p.m.
“He wants to meet you. Says he knows who’s behind all the mystery deaths.”
“Is he a credible source?” Hunz asked.
Cori tried her best to hold back a grin. She couldn’t.
“Remember that story I did last year on mental insanity among the homeless?” She had everyone’s attention and was milking it. “One of the guys I interviewed called himself The Rev.”
“The guy who said he talked to angels,” Grant said.
“That’s the one.” Cori looked disappointed that Grant had stolen her thunder. “Anyway, he called the station. You weren’t available so the call was passed to me. I asked him if he wanted to leave a message. He said he wanted to meet you. I asked what it was about. And when he told me, I insisted I needed more information if we were to take him seriously. So he told me who is behind all the deaths. We can stop wondering now.”
“Well, who is it?” Helen said.
Cori held out for as long as she could.
“The Devil!”
Everyone laughed.
“He’s serious!” she cried.
CHAPTER SEVEN
J effrey Conley’s house in Covina was shut up tight. Bright yellow police tape across the front and rear doors marked it as a crime scene. There were no cops around now.
Sydney and Hunz interviewed Conley’s neighbors. They
Similar Books
