only nod, cursing herself for not anticipating this. It was common practice at some bigger newspapers to pay people to listen to the police scanner and write up briefs on what they heard. Lopez basically was asking her to do the same thing, but in her case, she would be one of the people talking on that scanner as well. Since anyone could hear what was said over a scanner, it made every emergency call public purview. She could technically and legally write a story on all radio communications or public police and EMS reports, as long as it didn’t violate patient confidentiality laws. She knew Gerald would think it was unethical. As for herself, she didn’t know what to think.
“I . . . I don’t know if I can do that,” she said.
Lopez’s phone began to ring. He said a quick “Sorry” and answered it. He listened to the person on the other end and then said, “I’ll be right there.” He hung up. “I actually have to get back to the office. Something’s come up. We’ll finish this soon.”
Then she was sitting by herself in the middle of the sunny courtyard, where she was left to explain to the waitress that they needed to cancel their orders and to wonder if she would have to quit her job.
Gil sat in the lobby of the Capital Tribune, waiting. Joe was next to him, texting on his phone to who knows who. He was finally quiet except for the clicking of the keys.
Gil looked up at the two security cameras pointed into the lobby, a room no bigger than a two-car garage. A glass door off to the left led to the newsroom, while the door they were waiting next to had the words MANAGING EDITOR stenciled in gold.
The receptionist, an older Anglo woman with white hair and round glasses, had been helpful at first when they asked where the Zozobra box had stood. She had gotten up from her desk to stand in the exact spot. Which just happened to be in the direct line of sight of one of the cameras. When Gil asked if anyone who dropped off items in the box stood out, she seemed hesitant, but eventually said no. When Gil asked for the videotapes of the lobby for the last few weeks, the receptionist lost any will to help. She had called the managing editor and told them to wait.
As Gil sat, he looked at walls painted in a watery green and accented by badly framed newspapers from big news days gone by. There was one from the end of World War II and another from the moon landing. The building itself had a damp feel, a strange occurrence in the desert. Of course, it had probably been built in the 1800s, and at least parts of it were still adobe.
Gil looked at his watch again as the door opened and the managing editor came in, saying, “I am so sorry, gentlemen. I got here as soon as I could.”
He was a trim man with lightly graying hair, wearing a white dress shirt and bolo tie. They left the outer office and went into Lopez’s, where they all sat down at a heavy conference table.
“How can I help you?” Lopez asked.
“Well, we spoke with your receptionist, who said we had to talk with you about getting copies of your tapes from the security cameras in the lobby,” Gil said. “We think they might have some information we need on them.”
“Information that pertains to the skull you found in Zozobra?” Lopez asked. Gil wasn’t surprised he already knew about the skull. It was Lopez’s job, after all, to get the news.
“We can’t say, sir,” Gil said, though he was unsure why he added the “sir” at the end, except that Lopez seemed to be the type of man who was addressed as “sir” regularly. He wondered if Lopez was ex-military.
“Of course,” Lopez said. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I can’t help you without a court order.”
“Oh come on,” Joe said, exasperated. “It’s not like we’re asking you for any state secrets. We just need to look at the tapes.”
Lopez smiled sympathetically. “I realize your frustration, but this is I something I am required to do according to our code of ethics. I hope you understand. I am happy to give you the name of our attorney, if it would speed the process up.”
“Dude, we can make copies of the tapes ourselves and have the originals back to