The Replacement Child - By Christine Barber Page 0,59
end of the Santa Fe Trail in the 1800s. Its renown had grown from that.
The real estate along it was the most expensive commercial property in Santa Fe. When the Gap opened a store on San Francisco Street across from the Plaza in the late 1990s, the newspaper wondered in its editorials what was becoming of Santa Fe. A brand-name store on the Plaza? Treason. But by the time the Starbucks opened down the street, the groans had turned into simple grumbling.
Lucy tossed her tamale wrapper into a garbage can and walked back to work, dodging a group of children and harried mothers.
Once in the newsroom, the receptionist greeted her with, “Some cop is trying to get a hold of you. He said he’d call back.”
Finally. It was about time Major Garcia decided to call her back. She’d left him two more messages since getting to work.
Her phone was ringing as she sat down.
“Ms. Newroe?” It was a man, but definitely not Garcia. “This is Detective Montoya. We spoke yesterday?” Like she could forget. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Would it be possible for me to come down there to talk to you?” Interesting, she thought. Most likely he wanted to ask for the names of the anonymous sources who had leaked the info about Melissa Baca’s drug use.
A half hour later, Montoya and Lucy sat in the conference room at the newspaper. She had a cup of awful-tasting coffee in front of her. She was gripping the Styrofoam cup in her hand purely for composure, like a smoker feeling calmed just by holding a cigarette.
“I heard you have a copy of Melissa Baca’s autopsy,” Detective Montoya said. So, he was going to try to talk her out of using it.
“And?” The less she said, the better.
“I was wondering if you could do me a favor. I’m not asking you to break any rules, but I wanted to see if I could get a copy of the report.”
Lucy was surprised. Definitely not what she had expected. “Don’t you people have one?”
“I don’t have access to the report,” Detective Montoya said. Then she knew: he was being shut out by the state police. “I’m acting as the liaison for the family. I’m trying to help them through the process and be there as a spokesman for them.”
She finished the thought for him: “And it would help if you knew what the autopsy said before it hit the papers tomorrow so you could coach the family on what and what not to say?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that.”
Lucy admired Montoya for coming to her with his hat in his hand. The relationship between the media and the police was adversarial at best. Newspapers used the police to get the crime stories that sold papers. The police used the newspapers to print the stories that showed the public they were keeping the city safe. Montoya had just stepped over a well-established invisible line. Lucy wondered why.
“I should have it around nine P.M. I don’t feel comfortable faxing it to you. I can come drop it off when I get off work around eleven P.M.,” Lucy said.
She wasn’t actually breaking any journalistic rules by giving him the autopsy, but she was stretching a lot of unwritten ones. Most editors wouldn’t even have considered it, not wanting to encourage a relationship with the police. But she had a reason: if she scratched his back, maybe he would scratch hers. She needed help with the Patsy Burke problem. And he could give it.
Not that she would get in trouble for giving Montoya the paperwork. She would be very careful. She would not reveal where they had gotten the autopsy from—not that she actually knew. Tommy hadn’t told her. And Tommy was already calling the family to get their comments, so Montoya wouldn’t have time to tell the relatives how to spin the details. Montoya wouldn’t even see the autopsy until eleven P.M., so technically she wouldn’t be leaking any information—by that time, the story would be up on the Capital Tribune’s Web site and accessible by the general public.
Montoya hesitated. “Actually, I’m going to be out doing some legwork.”
“On the Baca killing?”
As he answered yes, she watched him. She didn’t like the look he gave her. She still didn’t know him well enough to be able to interpret his looks. He looked like he didn’t trust her.
“Fine. Just tell me where and when to meet you. Denny’s? Village Inn?”