got it.” Vince strode away.
Brody grabbed his suit coat from the back of the chair and headed up the tile-floored hallway toward his office. Should he call Hallie and get the story firsthand? He could find her cell number on the interoffice list. Arriving at his desk, he opened the top drawer then froze, hand on the internal directory.
No, getting her on the phone was a bad move. Not only would she be up to her neck in police questions right now, but he didn’t want to have this conversation long distance. He had to look her in the eye and make her repeat the claim that Damon killed Alicia. Even then he wouldn’t buy it. He knew the young basketball player too well. In his experience, Hallie told the news with integrity and enthusiasm, but maybe her crusading nature got things exaggerated or misconstrued this time.
Brody frowned. Then again it was kind of hard to misunderstand a dead body. He sank into his desk chair, tugged at his left earlobe, and ruffled his fingers through his coarse brown hair.
A few months ago, Brody hosted the Golden Gophers star basketball player for a live interview, and the young man had brought Alicia along to watch. Yes, she sometimes treated Damon like gum under her shoe, but that day she’d been in a good mood, playful even. She teased the ball player about his “camera presence,” green eyes sparkling in that cameo-perfect face. Damon adored her. He would have given his life for her, not snuffed hers out.
Brody bent and pulled his trash can from under his desk. If he could get Hallie to himself for a few minutes and ask his questions, maybe he could start to understand. Fishing amongst crumpled papers, he came up with an invitation he’d chucked a couple of days ago. The rectangle of card stock showed a multi-colored cake with many candles on top and read: Guess Who’s 29. For Real!
The decision not to attend the surprise party thrown by Hallie’s two best friends had been a no-brainer—even though everyone at Channel Six was invited. Hallie and he hadn’t exactly hit it off in the three years since she’d joined the staff. Not that he didn’t find her attractive. Who wouldn’t? The camera loved that glossy, raven hair, those big, brown eyes and the gleaming, white smile against her smooth caramel complexion. She was all grace and wit. She was also openly disdainful of sports figures she considered “arrogant jocks.” And according to the cameraman who’d quit the station before Stan came on, she expected the moon from herself and everyone who worked with her.
Exactly the kind of high-maintenance trouble this thirty-five-year-old divorcé needed to avoid. After his experience with Deborah, only God’s unexpected grace saved him from becoming a bum on skid row rather than a man with a career he loved.
Brody flipped the invitation over and read the details about when and where. He’d really rather stick his hand into a piranha tank, but it looked like he was going to a party after all.
TWO
“Vince is here to do the story.”
Stan’s voice brought Hallie’s head up from the backrest on the news van’s passenger seat. A metallic blue sports coupe glided into a spot at the curb in front of the van. The crime reporter thrived on drama, even in his choice of vehicle. She flipped down the sun visor and used the attached mirror to help her readjust the enameled pins that partially tamed her mop of black waves, and then refreshed her Perfectly Plum lipstick. She frowned. Her eyes were almost as red as they were brown.
Giving a statement to the police had about turned Hallie into blubbering mush. In her head, Teresa’s dead white face kept popping up alongside Alicia’s battered features. Could she get through this TV interview with the tiniest shred of dignity? I’m going to need a boatload of strength, Lord. Grimacing, she climbed out of the van and smoothed her mocha colored pantsuit.
The sun shone just as warmly as it had when she and Stan first arrived at the house, so why did a quiver shoot through her stomach. Maybe it was the sight of a white-sheeted gurney being wheeled out the front door. The outline of the human form beneath the covers betrayed its grizzly burden. Stan was busy capturing the moment on film.
Hallie turned away toward the WDJN crime reporter.
“Busy afternoon for the cops in the Twin Cities metro area,” Vince said. “Three-car pileup on I-94, a convenience store robbery on Highway 100, a gang shooting near Hennepin Avenue in Minneapolis, and an apparent suicide in south St. Paul. But our top story—Golden Gophers star strangles girlfriend.” He let out a low whistle. “You ready to give Channel Six the scoop before every media hound with a police scanner descends on us?”
Hallie’s manicured fingernails jabbed her palms. “I need to do whatever I can to make sure Alicia Drayton’s killer gets what he deserves.”
Vince winked then motioned toward Stan, who took up a place in front of them, headphones on and camera ready. The crime reporter looked at his watch. “This’ll be live feed as the lead news story for the six o’clock broadcast.”
Hallie gasped. “Is it that late already?”
“Why? You got someplace else to be?” He shot her a one-sided grin.
“I do, but I’ll just have to be late, as usual.”
Stan began counting off seconds with his fingers. Vince squared his shoulders, and Hallie cleared her throat. Stan signaled they were on.
Iron-faced, the crime reporter introduced the location and the situation then turned toward Hallie. “When you came here today to interview Alicia Drayton for a story on Minnesota fashion models, you hardly expected to find yourself in the midst of a murder.”
“That’s very true, Vince.” Hallie’s voice cracked, and she swallowed. “Today was supposed to be a good publicity break for a young woman with talent, intelligence and a life of endless prospects before her, not her last day on earth.”
Vince’s hazel eyes glinted approval of her dramatic answer. “Tell us what you saw.”
Hallie opened her mouth, closed it, and then licked dry lips, tasking her lipstick. She could do this. The soft whir of the camera, the familiar microphone near her mouth, Stan’s homely, expectant face—this was her life, her career, and a fresh chance to use it to right a wrong, just as she’d intended when she became a reporter. A knot unraveled in the core of her being, and she lifted her chin.
“I’ll share with our viewers the same information I gave the police. When I approached the house, I heard strange noises from inside. I thought maybe someone was hurt and needed help. Since the front door was ajar, I hurried inside. Alicia lay on the living room floor, dead, and Damon Lange stood over her with a braided rope in his hand. A curtain tie, I think. The police will probably discover it was the murder weapon.”
Vince pulled the mic away from Hallie’s mouth and put it to his own. “There you have the testimony of Channel Six’s own feature reporter, Hallie Berglund, who this afternoon was an eye witness to murder. Golden Gophers player Damon Lange is currently being sought in connection with the death of his girlfriend, college student and fashion model Alicia Drayton. Anyone with information as to his whereabouts should call the number on your screen.” Vince turned toward Hallie again. “What went through your mind when you walked in on such a tragic situation?”
“Disbelief…Horror…Fear for myself.” Hallie crossed her arms, barely containing a shudder. “Lange chased me, but Stan, my cameraman, came into the house so Mr. Lange only shoved us down and escaped. I don’t know what he would have done if Stan hadn’t been there.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Ever since I confirmed Alicia was
