story, Kenny?”
WCNY’s news director, looked up from the statement.
“Well,” he stammered, “Mary and I have assigned eight reporters to get information from the police, witnesses and passersby.”
“Tanya is our main network correspondent and has already given several live updates,” Mary, the assignment desk director, added. “We’ve also called in three camera crews that were scheduled off today.”
“Okay, keep on top of this, because I don’t want to be scooped on any information. This is our story and cost is not a factor.” Doherty turned to Ryan and smiled. “Ryan, if we stay live for the rest of the morning, what type of money are we talking about?”
Roberts pulled out his calculator and started inputting figures.
“As a network roughly $2 million,” the accountant said, “and as a station roughly a hundred thousand.”
“We’re losing most of that money for commercials that would have run during The Nation Today,” Kim, the head of marketing, added. “If this had happened at the tail end of the show, our losses would have been a lot smaller.”
“So, Stanley, as the show’s producer and segment scheduler, I guess this is your fault, isn’t it?”
Stanley didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t sure if Doherty was trying to lighten the mood or if he was simply stating what everyone else was thinking. The notion of rushing to the washroom to vomit again washed over him.
Hoping the comment was meant as a joke, he said, “I’ll bring it up at our next production meeting.”
He was too nervous to look around the table to see anyone’s reaction.
“Very well,” Doherty said with a sly smile before proceeding. “So, Charlie, that only leaves you. As president of the station, what do you think of this mess?”
“I hope the police locate this psychopath soon and that she gives us an exclusive interview before the trial. Other than that, it looks like everything’s under control at this point.”
“All right then, here’s my view,” Doherty said, leaning forward in his chair. “First, let’s get that statement on the air. Next, get those extra crews out on the street, instead of reading papers in the newsroom. Send a couple of them down to police headquarters with whatever other anchors or reporters we’ve got covering this thing. Make sure any information reported is first confirmed by one other source. I don’t want any wild theories masquerading as fact. Leave that to the tabloid shows. As far as our continuing coverage, we stay with the story until the victim’s identified and his family is notified. After that, we’ll air special reports throughout the day whenever any new information comes to light. Also, let’s get a reporter covering our co-operation with the police—show the cops screening tapes etc. etc.”
“What about our on-air personalities?” Kenny asked.
“Jason and Susan until the end. They’re both professionals, they know what they’re doing.” Doherty looked at Mary. “Keep those experts coming. There’s nothing duller than two anchors babbling to each other—although that ‘not since Oswald’ stuff played pretty well. Let’s do some research on how often this type of thing actually happens. Remember, you’ve got the network’s archives right downstairs with 40 years of murder and mayhem at your fingertips.” Doherty looked at the faces before him. “Any questions?”
“What about tomorrow’s show?” Stanley asked tentatively. “Do you want two hours rehashing this thing or say, the first hour—depending on what happens today, of course.”
“The studio windows will be covered and the street microphone is gone,” Doherty said without hesitation. “Those are certainties. The rest we’ll play by ear as the day’s events unfold. The killer may be in jail by noon and then we’ll have to decide how much coverage the killing warrants. Regardless, the first guest will be some eminent psychologist who can help counsel those viewers affected by having witnessed a live execution.” Standing, he added, “And don’t think people aren’t calling their employers right now saying there’s no way they can come in today. Whether we like it or not, this thing’s going down in television history.” He let that sink in before adjourning the meeting.
As everyone rushed back to their posts, Doherty asked Stanley to stay behind.
“Stanley, I know you’re living through your own personal hell. I want you to know I’m not holding you or anyone else responsible for this incident.”
“I appreciate that, although I’m not so sure everyone shares that view.”
Doherty walked toward the door.
“You’re probably right,” he said before disappearing down the hall.
Stanley slid back into his chair and stared at the ceiling tiles.
In a near whisper he said, “If anyone finds out how Barker came to stand before that microphone this morning, Colin, your opinion of me is going to change drastically.”
* * *
“Come on, let ’em through,” the officer said as he watched the ambulance attendants make their way toward the body.
The onlookers were now over two thousand strong with more joining the group with every bus that stopped near the studio. The four corner subway walk-ups were also jammed with the arrival of each new train.
Then there were the small independent groups of people actually making the news. Crews from every television and radio station were on the scene, all clamouring to get the best shot or a great sound bite for their bosses.
In no time, agents from all the major crime squads were flashing their credentials to the cops securing the immediate area. FBI, DEA, the terrorist unit, the bomb squad. Their bickering about jurisdiction came to an immediate stop with the arrival of Detective Michael Speers.
“This is an everyday occurrence in my neighbourhood, gentlemen. That it was televised doesn’t change that. Now, everybody out of my way!”
Speers was a very imposing individual, standing 6’4” and weighing a muscular 270 pounds. His chestnut brown eyes, crooked nose, scarred right cheek, pursed thin lips and cropped black hair relayed to everyone within striking distance he meant business.
Speers walked to the body, bent down and lifted the blanket. He saw the man’s right temple had been blown away and congealed blood was everywhere.
“Where’s forensics?” he barked at the officer in front of him.
“On their way, sir.”
“ETA?”
“10 seconds?”
Speers glared up at the officer and was ready to question him when the forensic team descended upon him.
“Very well, officer.”
While forensics took pictures, measurements and samples, Speers listened to the station’s security guard giving his statement to an officer.
“Yeah, I saw her,” he insisted. “Came right under the barrier.
