Page 33 of The Hardest Hit
“So why the fuck is it sending a photographer after my family?”
“That,” said Pete, “is an excellent question.”
Jackson stared at Pete and tried to decide how much he wanted to admit to the detective. Pete’s eyes narrowed.
“Jackson… you have that look.”
“What look?” asked Jackson innocently.
“That shark look. Like, all I’m seeing is the fin, but there are about twelve more feet of shark down there and I need to make a decision about whether I need to get my oars in or out of the water and I need to make it fast.”
“I think you should look into who owns the Intelligencer. I don’t think the editor, Marnie Perrault, decided to go after Eleanor on her own. She has to know that Eleanor has sued larger organizations over less. Also, they’re not targeting Eleanor. They’re targeting the family and specifically Evan. It’s making me uncomfortable. If I can’t dig up something soon I may have to bring in the legal department.”
“Are you sure Aiden is going to want to be involved in this? And do I want to know how you have come to these conclusions or know the editor’s name without reading my report?”
“Um, no?” offered Jackson. “Probably to both questions.”
“Uh-huh. OK. We’ll run with that for the moment,” said Pete sourly. “Anything else?”
“Um…” said Jackson.
“Oh, God, what now?” demanded Pete, pulling his coffee cup away from his mouth.
“Nothing big,” said Jackson. “I just ran across some old paperwork the other day at the house. It seemed a little weird. Do we have any files on the plane crash?”
“The plane crash,” repeated Pete, his face carefully blank.
“Yeah, the one that killed all our parents,” said Jackson sarcastically. There was no other plane crash in the world of the Deverauxes and Pete’s expression said he knew damn well what Jackson was talking about. “I don’t have anything on it. I had a little poke around and couldn’t find anything.”
Pete shifted uncomfortably. “You’re not going to either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Eleanor took possession of all of the files on the plane crash—digital and paper.”
Jackson frowned. “You didn’t keep any back-ups?”
Pete shook his head. “I gathered all the reports. I compiled the files and I handed them over. She said the matter was closed and that if I kept any copies I’d be fired. I’d just started working for her at the time, so I was pretty thorough. Pretty sure I got everything.”
“That didn’t strike you as an odd request?” asked Jackson, and Pete took a breath.
“At the time, not really. There were pictures of the bodies and toxicology reports. Those files were a tabloid’s daydream. I thought she was trying to control the information pipeline. In retrospect… yeah. Not that I have any intention of doing anything about that.”
“OK,” said Jackson with a shrug. That seemed fair enough. “Well, I guess, I can ask her for them.”
Pete grimaced. “I don’t know, kid. That doesn’t sound like the best idea. She’s pretty private in general, but the only time I’ve seen her be more touchy about a subject was when I was looking for you.”
“Huh,” said Jackson. “Well, OK, don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it one way or another. Thanks.”
“Uh-huh.” Pete nodded, still looking suspicious. Jackson didn’t blame him—Pete was a smart guy after all. “Meanwhile, FYI, Granger’s going to be in court this morning, probably around eleven.”
Jackson grimaced in dislike.
“You want me to send someone?”
Jackson shifted in his seat, trying to decide. “Nah, I’ll go myself. I’m tired of reading the reports. I want a look at Granger.”
“You’ve seen him,” said Pete.
