Page 8 of Poison Wood
And yet I feel like I’m crossing an even bigger line as Carl squares the camera in front of me.
“Ready?” he says.
I put in the unfamiliar earpiece. “Ready.”
I hear the studio in my ear. My pulse quickens.Say it. Disclose it.I stare into the camera lens, and Carl points to me.
“Good afternoon, I’m Rita Meade reporting live from Key Biscayne, Florida, where a female body has been discovered just offshore at Hobie Beach tangled in old fishing nets. I’ve learned the identity of the body is believed to be that of Laura Sanders. I’ve also learned law enforcement is not ruling out the possibility this is a homicide.” I pause. My earpiece is slipping. Shit. I press my finger to my ear and work to keep my face neutral.
“Are you there, Rita? We seem to be having some technical difficulties.”
“No, I’m here,” I say, pushing on the foreign earpiece, but it’s too late. They’ve cut from me.
Carl pulls back from the camera and clears his throat. “Well, that was a first.”
I pluck the earpiece from my ear and place it in Carl’s hand. “It’s fine.” Or maybe it’s lucky, I think.
He squints at me. “You okay? You don’t sound like yourself?”
I exhale. “I need to tell you something.”
His expression darkens. “What?”
I glance at the scene next to us, then back to him. “Laura Sanders is the source who reached out to me. And when she did, she sent me an article on a school where a skull was found during a recent renovation.”
“And?” Carl says, setting his jaw.
“And it’s a school I went to. And I think the skull belongs to a girl I went to school with.”
“What the hell, Rita?” Carl throws his hands up. “You told Dom this, right?”
I shake my head.
“Holy shit.”
“Carl, I’m going to tell him.”
“You just went live and didn’t disclose any of this.”
“I know, but—”
“You let me come down here without telling him. He’s going to think I knew and kept it from him too.”
“No, he’s not. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Rita, no way Dom’s going to think I didn’t know.” He rubs his face. “This is bad.” He points to the scene. “You can’t go back over there until you tell him.”
“They’re going to move the body soon. I’m going to talk to the next of kin—then I’m going to call Dom and fill him in. You don’t have to go. I have my phone and that wireless mic. I can get the visuals.”
“Dom will be pissed if I’m here and you shoot the vis.”
“I’ll be fast,” I say.
Carl shakes his head, but he holds his camera up.
Marshall Sanders stands off to one side, his shoulders slumped. Their money couldn’t help Laura stay alive, but it will help in her death. Money talks when it comes to death, loudly. I wonder ifMarshall is going to be talking. Showing up here with a lawyer tells me he knows up to 70 percent of women are killed by an intimate partner.
I walk toward him and the man in the suit. Marshall should have brought a family spokesperson with him, not a lawyer. I can handle lawyers, but those spokespeople are brutal. They are usually related to the victim in some capacity, and they are ruthlessly protective of the next of kin.
