Ricky shook his head. “No. Just try to talk him into keeping me on staff if this turns into something.”
Torchlight’s editorial pool shared the large top floor of a converted Toronto townhouse. She climbed down the steep stairs to the second floor, went down the hall and knocked twice on the editor’s door.
“Come in.” Somehow Vince’s salt-and-pepper hair seemed even grayer than usual. His tweed jacket was pushed up over his elbows. She laid the printout on his desk. He leaned on his desk with both hands and stared down at it. “What am I looking at?”
“Something Ricky found online.” She took a deep breath. “I think this might be who I saw kill Brian Leslie.”
“I seem to remember Ricky showing me this printout before.” Blue eyes glanced up under bushy eyebrows. “You already know what I’m going to say about it, don’t you?”
Yup. Theories were for the writers’ meetings. Facts were what got printed in the paper.
“I know we can’t just print that these three random men might have been involved in this murder without something solid behind it.” Reporter Thinks She Kind of Remembers Seeing Three Masked Men Who Could Be the So-Called Faceless Crew was hardly a headline she’d put on the cover of the paper, either. “But I’ll get something solid. I’ve put in calls to the police, Sarah Leslie and the crown attorney’s office. I’m just waiting for someone to call me back.”
Not to mention, she’d also tried calling her older sister. Chloe was a detective in Northern Ontario. While this was hardly her jurisdiction, her sister had an incredibly practical way of looking at things that Olivia found both infuriating and helpful. Besides, it was always wonderful to hear her voice. But Chloe hadn’t called her back, either.
“Well, I’ve never seen police and the courts put such a tight lid on a story.” Vince sighed like an ancient freight train billowing steam. “And every news outlet in the country will be after an interview with Sarah.”
“Yes, but not every news outlet has a reporter who was there in the garage when her uncle died.”
“Oh, you don’t need to remind me.” A reluctant half smile crossed the newshound’s lips. “You should probably be thankful I didn’t fire you over that.”
A flush rose to her cheeks.
“Any progress tracking down the other witness?” he asked.
“Daniel? No, but I’m pretty sure he said something about being a carpenter.” And also a bodyguard. Her memories of him were so larger-than-life it was hard to know if they were all real. “But his truck was pretty distinctive. I thought that if I went around visiting some construction sites, I might find someone who knows who he is.”
“From now on, I want you to limit your pursuit of this story to email and telephone.” Vince crossed his arms. “This whole Faceless thing looks more like urban legend than fact, but anyone capable of murdering a man and blowing up his car inside a government building is more than capable of taking out a lone reporter. We can all sit down as a writing team next week, talk it through together and decide how to proceed. There might be other tacks we can take on this.”
Her heart sank. “You mean, there might be other reporters you could put on this story.”
“We’re a family here, Olivia.” Vince frowned. “You know that. As an editor, it’s my prerogative to assign stories however I think will serve the paper best. Jack is our crime reporter. He’s got expertise in things like this. True, he’s off on a book tour right now, but he’ll still be able to take lead on this one remotely.”
She looked down at the ground. Just because Vince liked to say the staff were family didn’t mean it was accurate. Everyone was loyal to the paper, but it wasn’t the only loyalty everyone had. Jack had his book tour. Their sports reporter Luke was working freelance from new digs up north after having reconnected with his former sweetheart. Everyone was keeping an eye out for other opportunities to pay the bills. She came to work every day expecting to be told to pack her metaphorical suitcase. What good was a family if some people just left to chase their own dreams—and others were kicked out?
Her cell phone started to ring. She glanced at the number but didn’t recognize it.
“I’ll let you get that.” Vince leaned back. Worry filled his gaze. “Monday, I want you and I to sit down and talk through your future with the paper. I’m sorry, I know you really want to move to writing full-time. I’m just not sure that’s where your talents are best suited.”
“Got it. Thanks.” She nodded numbly.
How on earth am I going to change his mind over the course of a weekend?
She went out into the hall and closed the editor’s door behind her. Thankfully, the caller hadn’t given up. “Hello?”
“Hello, Olivia?” The voice was deep and soothing, yet somehow it still managed to send shivers running down her spine. “This is Daniel Ash, the man from the parking garage.”
Her breath caught in her chest. Daniel?
For a moment, she nearly ran back into Vince’s office to put the call on speakerphone.
If only he hadn’t just said he was thinking of assigning the story to someone else and that she didn’t belong in the writing pool.
“Daniel! Hi! Hang on.” She glanced over her shoulder and then slipped down another flight of stairs. In a moment, she was outside in the muggy August heat. She leaned back against the brick. “It’s...it’s really great to hear from you. How did you find me?”
“Your name and newspaper were on your press badge. I found your cell number on the newspaper website. You’re a reporter, right?”
She glanced at the windowsill above. “I am.”
At least until Monday.
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Is there any chance you could you meet me for coffee? I’m looking for advice about talking to the press...and you’re the only reporter I know.”
“Sure. Of course.” She pressed her lips together and hoped she already knew the answer to the question she was about to ask. “About what kind of story?”
She heard Daniel take in a long breath and let it out slowly.
“It’s about Brian Leslie’s murder.”
Heat shimmered off the highway like a mirage. The weather report had predicted dangerous thunderstorms all weekend. Olivia glanced at her cell phone. It had been about an hour and a half since she and Ricky had left Toronto and started north, and her cell phone signal was down to just one bar. A rundown motel and camping trailer park loomed ahead. A giant tattered clown sign told them to take the next exit for their fairground.
She shivered. “I think we turn here.”
They pulled off the rural highway onto a smaller country road. When Daniel had told her that he’d be at his house in the country until some time next week, she’d decided it was better to offer to drive up there to meet him right away, instead of telling him she might be unemployed by the time he came back to the city.
When she’d told Ricky, he’d immediately offered to drive up with her, even though she suspected