American Outrage Read online

  “It’s like surgery,” Jake said in a low voice, glancing over his shoulder. Catherine Anastacia sat drinking coffee with her mother at their kitchen table. “You rush it, you lose your patient.”

  “All that crap about you playing the trombone,” Muldoon said in a whisper. “The fucking Music Man?”

  “When she started talking about the time she was Desdemona,” Jake said, “that was the only common denominator I could come up with. Did it work? All of a sudden it’s her and me, two high school wannabes versus the world.”

  “Well, can you close the deal?” Muldoon asked. “Jesus, when you got her going about the little sister with the boyfriend who smacked her I thought you had it locked up.”

  Jake’s eyelids drooped and he sighed. “I’m close.”

  The two of them went back into the kitchen and sat down with the women. Jake made small talk for another five minutes before he gave Muldoon a look.

  “Listen,” Jake said, reaching across the table and covering Cath-erine’s hand with his own. “You don’t have to do this with me, but I want you to understand that it’s not about the television show. I mean, this is my job, but I’m friends with a guy in the DA’s office and what we’re doing here is really trying to work with them to make sure this kind of thing won’t happen to someone else.”

  “They told me not to talk to anyone,” Catherine said.

  “Steve Cambareri and I go way back,” Jake said, taking out his cell phone. “He’s the assistant DA. Do you want to talk to him? I can call him at home if you don’t believe me.”

  Jake gave her that smile.

  “No, I believe you,” she said.

  She looked down and drew a deep shuddering breath, then she sucked her lips into her mouth, looked up at him, and nodded.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Muldoon backed slowly out of the room to call in the crew. When the shot was set up, he pulled Jake aside and in a low voice said, “You are back in the saddle, my man.”

  They put Catherine deep in the shadows of the kitchen. She felt more comfortable in the shadows and her mother told her strangers wouldn’t be able to recognize her.

  When it was done and they had cleaned up and were walking out the door, Muldoon grabbed Jake and hugged him, clapping him on the back. Jake’s smile erupted.

  “She still looked gorgeous,” Muldoon said with an excited hiss. “You could tell. The shadows made it even sexier. Wait till you see this nutcase we’re going to interview now. Wait till you see when I smash-cut the two of them together for this piece. Can I ride over there with you?”

  Jake let Muldoon ride with him, and by the time they had finished with the husband of the other victim, Jake had to admit that they had something special.

  “We should celebrate,” Muldoon said. “Bury the hatchet like you said.”

  “Nothing against you at all, Conrad,” Jake said. “I’m glad we’re past all that, but I’ve got this other thing.”

  “Sure. So, tomorrow’s a light day. All we have is the cop who found them in there. I’ll e-mail the schedule.”

  Jake gave him a nod and got into the Taurus. He checked his messages. Still nothing from Cambareri.

  Jake was used to getting the shake from story subjects who didn’t want the publicity, but not from people he knew. He was the guy even old acquaintances were happy to see, the good-looking TV star they’d brag to their friends about.

  He called the ADA’s office. The secretary said Cambareri was in and asked him to hold on.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Carlson,” she said after a few moments on hold, “the district attorney just called him in on something urgent. I think something to do with you.”

  17

  JAKE LEFT HIS CELL NUMBER AGAIN, making his voice as pleasant-sounding as he could, and thanked her, then drove twenty minutes to the police station. He planned to follow up on his complaint from last night despite the skepticism of the cops who had showed up at the hotel. Before he went in, he decided to try Cambareri again.

  The secretary asked, “Is this you, Mr. Carlson?”

  “I know,” he said. “I went through a kind of dead zone and I thought maybe Steve tried to call me back.”

  “Well,” she said, “he’s on another call right now.”

  “Look,” Jake said, “I know he’s busy and I know I’m asking him to do me a favor here, but could you just ask him if he’s got the number I was asking him about? I got a call from a restricted phone last night and he was going to check with a contact he has at the phone company to get me the number. Someone made a threatening call to me and Steve was going to help me out.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Carlson, but—”

  “He doesn’t even have to get on the phone,” Jake said. “Would you just ask him, please? It’ll save us both a lot of headaches. I hate to keep calling you, but this is kind of urgent.”

  She put him on hold and he stayed there for a good three minutes before she returned.

  “Mr. Cambareri says he already left a message on your home phone earlier today, Mr. Carlson,” she said. “And he asked that you stop calling this office.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  Jake hung up.

  He dialed his home number and got the answering machine. The second message was from Cambareri.

  “Jake, Steve. Two things. First, the number where your call came from is an Albanian social club on the west side, so whatever you’re doing, stop. Word is these guys are part of the group cutting off people’s heads up and down the East Coast—Boston, New York, Philly. That brings me to number two. I don’t care who’s trying to kill you, you don’t throw my name out to a street cop you don’t know, because you have no idea who his uncle might be. Especially when you’re drunk. Thanks for nothing. Friend.”

  The click was profound.

  The district attorney’s offices were in the public safety building on the same block as the police station. He got out of the car, pulled on his rumpled jacket, and circled the station. There was a parking lot on one side of the public safety building and a garage beyond that. Jake checked his watch and positioned himself so he could see across the entire lot.

  A few minutes before five, people started coming out. Most of them left through a side door. A few came around from the front entrance. At ten after, the flow of people dropped off to a trickle. At five-thirty, Jake was beginning to think he must have missed Cambareri when he saw his old friend come out the side exit sharing a laugh with another man in a suit. Jake went right for them.

  With ten feet to go, Cambareri spotted Jake and his smile faded. He said something to the other man, who stared at Jake for a second, then shrugged at Cambareri before moving on. Cambareri started walking, too, right past Jake, addressing him on the move.

  “What do you want?” he asked, eyes forward.

  “Steve, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean? Everything’s fine and all of a sudden you ask me not to call you? I got shot at last night.”

  “I’m no sucker, Jake,” Cambareri said, taking a set of keys out of his pocket. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. You aren’t fooling me twice so cut the bullshit.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jake said, putting a hand on Cambareri’s shoulder.

  The ADA spun and knocked his hand off, drawing back a fist.

  “Are you that fucked in the head?” Cambareri asked. “Are you such a scum-sucker that you don’t even know the difference anymore?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I asked you to get me a phone number. Some guy threatened me. Jesus, last night they tried to kill me.”

  “And I just got my ass handed to me by my boss. You told me this was about your son, not your TV show,” Cambareri said.

  “It is about my son.”

  Cambareri shook his head and turned away, unlocking the door to his car. “Save your bullshit for people like Catherine Anast
acia.”

  Jake opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Yeah,” Cambareri said with a bitter smile, “I heard about what you did out there. The mom called the second the interview was over to say they did it for us, so the next girl wouldn’t have to go through that. They wanted us to know that. That’s nice, Jake. You must feel real good about yourself.”

  “That’s got nothing to do with this, Steve. That’s my job. She agreed to do the interview. That’s why we’re here in the first place. It’s complicated, trust me.”

  “What’s complicated about lying?”

  “I told her convicting this guy would save other people from going through the same thing. That’s true.”

  “Yeah, like we need you guys to convict him? We don’t want her talking.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “You’re working with the DA’s office? We ought to bust you and your douchebag friend for impersonating an officer.”

  “I didn’t say that. I didn’t say I was working for you.”

  “No, you just hinted that you were, throwing my name around like I’m part of this shit. Forget about last night. That cop you insulted is the chief’s nephew. Now I’m the guy in the office who’s connected to the TV people who are fucking with one of our top witnesses for the biggest trial in five years. Do you know how pissed my boss is? I’ll be back to traffic violations by the time this is over.”

  “Steve—”

  “Then you try to use me to get in on this whole Albanian thing,” Cambareri said, getting into his car. “I’m not your friend, Jake, and you’re not mine.”

  The ADA slammed the car door and started the engine.

  “What about the Albanian thing?” Jake asked, pounding his fist against the window. “What did you find out?”

  The car jolted backward, out of its space. The tires chirped as Cambareri rounded the corner for the exit.

  18

  JAKE’S STOMACH WAS EMPTY. He found a McDonald’s and went in. He remembered the first time he’d been in one as a kid, one with the real golden arches, anchored in the parking lot front to back and sheltering the entire building. The golden arches were a big thing back then, something his parents might take them to three or four times a year and the only restaurant he ever ate at until college.

  He ordered fries and the biggest coffee they had and sat at a plastic booth in the corner looking out over all the empty chairs and the women behind the counter whom he caught pointing his way and giggling so hard they had to hold on to their blue paper hats to keep them from falling off their heads. Jake shook his head, took out his BlackBerry, and read Muldoon’s report to New York, telling them about how well the interviews had gone and hinting at a ratings spike for sweeps. There were a spate of congratulatory e-mails coming back at them, and one from Katz specifically asking Jake to call and check in.

  Jake dumped the last pieces of French fries from the box into his mouth, then dialed Katz.

  “You okay?” the executive producer asked.

  “Good as I can be,” Jake said, sipping coffee.

  “Because Muldoon told me there’s some other story you’re working on that I’m supposed to know about.”

  Jake’s gut turned. He took a deep breath, thinking about how it would all sound. Crazy.

  “I just need the guy to lay off a little,” Jake finally said.

  Katz was silent for a few seconds before he said, “Lay off how?”

  “I’m trying to help Sam find his biological mother,” Jake said. “We got him from an agency when I was working here in Syracuse. I’m just asking some questions.”

  “Jake, this is sweeps. This story is your chance to get things right. I understand about Sam and Karen. I can’t imagine everything that involves, but do your job, okay?”

  Jake ran a hand over his face and shook his head.

  “There might be a story here,” Jake said. “I think there’s some tie-in with the adoption agency where we got Sam and these Albanian criminals, like an international human trafficking thing.”

  “This isn’t Nightly News, Jake,” Katz said. “Get me the bunker man.”

  “Okay,” Jake said. “I’m on it. I gotta go, though, I’m getting a call from home.”

  When he clicked over, Jake heard Juliet, crying.

  “Mr. Carlson, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry.”

  “What, Juliet? What are you talking about?”

  “I can’t find Sam.”

  “Where’s Louie? Is he walking Louie?”

  “Louie is here, Mr. Carlson,” she said, sobbing. “I looked everywhere. Sam’s gone.”

  19

  WAIT,” JAKE SAID. “Did you try his cell phone?”

  “It goes right to his voice mail. He’s gone.”

  Jake nearly fell on his face getting up out of the booth, then his knee buckled and he grabbed the table, knocking over his coffee. He pulled a five from his wallet and dropped it onto the table before stumbling out the door. With one hand still holding the phone, he pulled away from the curb. A kid in a Range Rover screeched his brakes and leaned on his horn. Jake kept going, instructing Juliet to call 911 and conference him in. With Juliet’s sobbing and Jake’s panicked insistence, the interchange with the operator was explosive.

  He raced up the nearest ramp to the highway and wove through the traffic with a heavy foot. He was nearly to the airport by the time they were finally connected to the Nassau police. Jake took a deep breath, doing his best to stay calm.

  They tried to brush him off as if he were overreacting, but when Jake got a lieutenant on the line and promised that he’d be making the news if someone didn’t meet him when he landed, the cop sullenly agreed. Jake got a one-way ticket and raced up the escalator. The security line wasn’t long, but Jake cut to the front, showing his ticket to the agent and telling everyone that he was sorry, but it was an emergency. When the checker asked for his ID, Jake took out his wallet and found only money and credit cards. His license was missing, so was his press ID.

  Jake tried to explain about his missing son. He even threw the show’s name out there and asked for a supervisor. One of the TSA agents recognized him. He began to beg. The supervisor pressed his lips tight and shook his head.

  Jake remembered showing his ID to the cops after his jump. He checked the departure board. He could make the last flight of the day to LaGuardia, but he’d have to hurry. He struggled through the airport on his throbbing knee, got his car, and headed to his first hotel. He dug into the pocket of his suit coat and came up with two key cards, one from each of his hotels. He’d never checked out of the first. That, at least, would save him some time. The whole trip, he kept trying Sam’s cell phone, but it went right to voice mail as Juliet had said, meaning it was turned off.

  When he reached the downtown hotel, Jake asked the valet to wait. He gimped across the sidewalk and into the lobby. The man behind the desk had pomade in his hair and a small beard. Jake put on a smile, said hello, and walked on past, doing his best to stand straight. While he waited for the elevator, he peeked around the corner and into the bar, not expecting to see the two men from the night before, but unable to stop from checking.

  The elevator chimed and he stepped on. At the door to his room he fumbled with the lock, putting the key in the wrong way before opening the door and flipping on the lights. He scanned the area. On top of the dresser, resting on the TV Guide, were both his press ID and his battered license, right where the cop must have set them down. Jake snatched them up and froze. The blood running through his chest went cold and he took a step back. It was only a small noise, but he was sure he’d heard it, coming from the dark recess of the bathroom, its door open just a crack.

  Someone was there.

  20

  JAKE LOOKED AT THE DOOR to the balcony, which was closed up tight. If he rattled the lock he might have a bullet in his back before he could get out there and jump again. Just the thought of doing that on his bad knee made him wince.
Instead, he grabbed the lamp off the desk, wrenched it so that it snapped free from its cord, and flipped it over in his hand so he could smash the intruder’s face with its heavy base. He crept toward the dark bathroom, his breathing ragged. He reached for the knob with a trembling hand. The dark crack in the doorway was four inches wide. If he could pull it shut, he could make it to the stairwell out in the hall before whoever it was could get a shot at him.

  He raised the lamp high over his head, stepping slowly. Something moved in the darkness. The door was flung open. Jake’s heart leapt, and he swung the lamp. Too close. Its base smashed into the frame of the door with a crack, and the figure darted back into the darkness.

  “Dad.”

  Jake staggered, shaking, then he reached inside the door and flicked on the light. Sam smiled up at him, a mouthful of metal braces.

  “I almost killed you.”

  “That would have been bad.”

  Jake hugged his son to him, gripping him around the dark blue hooded sweatshirt.

  “What happened?”

  He held Sam’s shoulders at arm’s length.

  “I took the train,” Sam said. “I heard someone coming and I wanted to make sure it was you.”

  “Sam.”

  “I heard the message from that guy about someone threatening you. I couldn’t just sit there. I mean, what kind of kid would do that?”

  “Where’s your phone?” Jake asked.

  “My battery died,” Sam said. He stared at Jake for a second before he said, “Oh, I got the fax for you.”

  He took a folded piece of paper out of the pocket in front of his sweatshirt and handed it to Jake. Jake unclenched his teeth and took a deep breath, letting it out with a hiss. Sam had circled the address of Tarum Jakul International in New Castle, Delaware.

  “Didn’t you think to call me?” Jake asked, looking up. “Juliet is hysterical.”

  “You would’ve said no.”

  Jake took out his cell phone and dialed the house.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” he asked, waiting for Juliet to answer.