Sleep Don't Come Easy by Victor McGlothin Page B

desperate enough to make this up. Damn! Do you really believe—I have done some fucked up shit I’ll admit, I’m pretty devastated over this, but Todd, I need to do this!”
    One fake story and she was forever on the shit list. Integrity wasn’t an option in this job, though. A reporter had to be trusted to report the facts objectively, concisely. People depended on them for the truth, and Fatema had blown her credibility sky high. He didn’t trust her. As much as he tried to pretend everything was water under the bridge, Todd had lost respect for her, and it hurt.
    â€œI think you may be looking for a story where there is none,” he spoke quietly. “You miss your friend. You feel guilty about your relationship. I don’t know, Fatema. I just don’t think I can trust your judgment right now.”
    â€œYeah,” she muttered. “My judgment.”
    â€œIf it were any other victim, if—” She looked at him, begging him to trust her. “But after what happened—”
    â€œI said I was sorry, Todd.” She sounded like a kid.
    â€œThat’s not enough and you know it.”
    â€œI panicked.”
    â€œTo say the least.”
    She shrugged. “But thank goodness you caught me. Otherwise, I’d have made a complete fool of myself.”
    â€œAnd me. And this paper. And I can’t risk letting that happen.”
    Tears flooded her eyes. “Well, if you don’t trust me, why don’t you just fire me, then?” she said, more out of frustration than anything.
    The twinkle in his eyes assured her that he wasn’t ready to go that far. “What? And lose the best creative writer reporter I have?”
    â€œFuck you, Todd.” She tried not to smile.
    â€œOh, don’t I wish . . .” He grinned, and nodded reflectively. “Yeah.”
    â€œDon’t make me file harassment charges,” she quipped.
    â€œA man can dream. Can’t he?”
    She laughed.
    â€œYou used to believe in me, Todd,” she said softly. “I hate it that you don’t anymore.”
    â€œSo do I, Morris.”
    â€œThen let me work on this. I swear, when it’s all said and done, I’ll bring you something front page worthy.”
    â€œI’ll see you in a week, Morris,” he said with finality. “If you aren’t willing to come back on my terms, then maybe you need to consider not coming back at all.”

The City’s Finest
    L ucas’s assistant escorted the burly detective into his office.
    Baldwin held out his hand to the mayor and introduced himself. “Pleasure, Mr. Mayor. Detective Bruce Baldwin. I’m honored to meet you sir, and thank you for your time.”
    Lucas motioned for the man to sit down. “Well, when you told me you were investigating Miss Robbins’s homicide, Detective, I cleared my afternoon calendar to make time.”
    The mayor had a terrible habit of deciphering a man by his suit. Detective Baldwin’s suit looked as if he’d slept in it, and he was definitely fast on the way to outgrowing it. Baldwin had an exemplary background with the Denver Police Department spanning thirty-five years, starting out as a traffic cop. He’d worked his way up through the ranks to detective, working in the narcotics unit, street gang task force, and finally landing in homicide, where he seemed to be planted until retirement. Early in his career, he’d been awarded numerous citations and awards, but in the last ten years, there was nothing.
    â€œHe’s a good cop,” Baldwin’s captain told the mayor when he called to inquire about him. “Could’ve been a great cop, but he seems content with just being good.”
    Baldwin followed the rules. He never made waves, and kept to himself according to the captain. “Been married a couple of times, I think. Even has some kids, but he doesn’t say much about any of that,” he