a curse that even all his previous bad deeds had not earned. And what’s more, he had not asked for this. Had not agreed to this. A bargain might have been struck, but there surely had been a bait and switch.
Even in his worst moments of being dope sick, he never would have consented to an unholy rebirth. And the one thing he knew for sure about his new incarnation?
It was irrevocable.
You didn’t come back from shit like this.
As night fell on Caldwell, Jo was alone in the newsroom and typing furiously at her desk, her coat still on, her need to pee something she had been ignoring for hours now. When her office phone rang, she let it go to voice mail. When her cell rang, she picked it up on the first ring.
“How’s Lydia?” She stopped what she was doing. “Everything okay now?”
There was a long pause. Which said enough, didn’t it.
“No.” Bill’s tone was sad and hollow. “They lost the heartbeat. And now she’s starting to bleed.”
“Oh . . . God, Bill,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. Do you need me to do anything?”
“No, but thanks.” He cleared his throat, and then spoke briskly, as if he were determined to be professional. “How’s the story coming?”
Jo leaned back in her chair and looked at Dick’s closed door. The boss had left at three-thirty, which had been a relief. With all the other staff gone and Bill not at his desk, she’d hated being in the office alone with the guy.
“Good,” she said. “I’m about to finally meet your contact, Officer McCordle, down at the scene. And I did end up interviewing the guy who found the body. I also got a non-statement from the Pappalardo family. I’m just spell-checking the update now. Do you want me to send it to you before I put it up on the website?”
“I trust you. And make sure your name’s on it.”
“It’s better to just leave it under yours.”
“You’re doing all the work, Jo.” There was another pause. “Listen, I better go back in there with Lydia.”
“Take care of your wife, and tell her I love her and am thinking of her.”
“Thanks, Jo. I will. And I’ll text you when we’re home.”
As she ended the call, she stared at her phone. Then she put it face down on her desk. Rubbing the center of her chest, she forced herself to hit spell-check on the file. No mistakes. She spell-checked again. Reread the three paragraphs.
Just before she went through the posting process, she focused on the byline. William Eliott.
The initial story, the one she had written five hours ago and put up online as well as into the printed paper version for tomorrow, had gone under Bill’s byline. Even though he was right. She was the one who had typed the initial twenty-five hundred words after doing all the reporting.
Glancing back over at Dick’s door, she thought about how much she needed this job. Granted, it wasn’t as badly as Bill needed his, especially during this medical emergency, but it was bad enough now that she’d moved into her new apartment by herself.
Whatever. She was doing a favor for a friend—
Her cell went off and she answered without looking at the screen. “Bill, is there something else—” Jo frowned as an unfamiliar voice started talking. “Wait, Officer McCordle? Are you canceling on me?”
“No, I’m leaving the station now.” The cop lowered his voice. “But you’re not going to believe who they think did it.”
“Who?”
“Carmine Gigante.”
Jo sat forward. “The Carmine Gigante? And is that senior or junior?”
“Senior.”
“I don’t suppose you have any way of reaching him.”
“He hangs out at the Hudson Hunt & Fish Club. But I happen to have his cell phone.”
“Can I have it?” When there was a hesitation, she rushed in. “All of my contact with you is off the record. You can trust me. No one will know where I got the number.”
“I’d really prefer to deal with Bill.”
“I promise. You can trust me.”
As he grudgingly recited the digits, she wrote them down and then ended the call. Taking a couple of deep breaths, her hands shook as she started to dial.
The male voice that answered was gruff, congested, and accented with a whole lot of Brooklyn. “Yeah.”
“Mr. Gigante?”
There was a period of silence. “Yeah.”
“My name is Jo Early. I’m a reporter with the CCJ. I’m wondering if you have a comment on what happened to Frank Pappalardo’s nephew, Johnny?”