not going anywhere,” he said squeezing her arm. “Let me clear up these dishes. Want to go to the gym before we get to work?”
“Not unless The Gym is a clever name for an all you can eat dessert buffet,” she said standing. “Let me help you.”
“You’re lucky you don’t have to workout to stay in shape,” he said. “Here, I’ll get this. You get your stuff and take it into the office,” he said. He thought she was fit, she laughed inside her head. The two flights of stairs to her apartment often left her in need of oxygen. She looked around. The condominium was bigger than she originally thought.
“Where’s the office,” she asked looking around the living room trying to figure out which hall to take. Will gave directions and met her in the office. She started taking notes and her computer out of the bags.
“Use my docking station,” he said. She put her laptop in the docking station and pushed the button.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” she said. She pulled out a folder marked “disc” and opened it. She had printed the documents. “I found the news articles,” she said handing three separate stacks of stapled papers to Will. “Here they are. I also have police reports, medical files - don’t ask me how I got those - and some notes from people I interviewed. The one about the illegal immigrant drug dealer shooting one of his delinquent accounts is the hardest because no one wants to admit they saw anything in case this guy gets out of jail any time soon. The other two are an eight year old little boy being killed by a van that jumped the curb while he was walking to school. The van took off. Police have a description, but it didn’t have license plates. The last story is about RJR Corporation acquiring a shipping company.” Will flipped through the documents.
“Okay,” he said. “Let me go over these and see if anything jumps out at me since I’m looking at it with fresh eyes.”
“Sure. I’ll work on the rest of this stack,” she said and started going over the remaining documents in the folder.
Two hours later Kristine tossed her pen on the desk and rubbed her eyes. “Well, someone is cooking their books. That’s all I have here.”
“I’ve been through these four times. There has to be something here that ties them all together,” he said pulling off his reading glasses.
“I need a break,” she said. They went to the living room. She picked up the newspaper from the coffee table and started to scan it. Will watched her. “I’m not that interesting,” she said without looking up from the paper.
“You have no idea,” he said laughing. “What’s wrong?” She looked puzzled.
“This woman looks familiar to me, but I don’t know why,” she said. She read the headline over the photo. “Wife of Robert Rawlings Leaves a Legacy of Giving.” The story said Carolyn Rawlings was the wife of Robert James Rawlings, the billionaire who owned RJR Corporation along with several others. Carolyn spent her life donating her time and money to charities. She drowned in her bathtub after slipping and hitting her head. Her housekeeper found her. Kristine had a quick flash of the initials RJR. “Hold on,” she said jumping up and running to the office. She brought back a stack of papers. “I know it’s here somewhere,” she said.
“What are you looking for?” Will asked sitting on the edge of the couch. “Let me help.”
“I’ve got it,” she said holding up one of the documents. “RJR acquired a shipping company.” She looked at the photo. “Will, this is the woman who gave me the disc,” she felt weak. “What if they killed her?”
“Are you sure?” He stood up and looked at the picture. He put his hand on her back to steady her as she swayed. “Sit down.” She sat down and put her head between her knees. Will picked up the cordless phone sitting on the coffee table while rubbing Kristine’s back with his other hand. “Joyce, get me Bronston in Business,” he said. He waited a minute. “Bronston, it’s Will. I want everything you have not in print on Robert James Rawlings. Email it, or give it to Joyce and have her fax it to me.” There was a pause. “Yeah, thanks.” Will hung up. He sat on the couch next to Kristine. She sat up, put her head in his chest and let him hold her. She suddenly, and oddly, felt safe. He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go see what else we have on him.” She nodded, and they went back to the office.
They searched the paper’s records and the internet to find as much as they could on Robert J. Rawlings. They found some photos. The more Kristine saw, the more positive she became Carolyn Rawlings was the woman in the street. There was a photo of Carolyn, Robert and a son named Ralston. Ralston looked to be in his early forties in the photo. About an hour into their search, the fax machine buzzed. The fax was six pages long - mostly hand written. Will read through the faxes as Kristine continued to look at the computer screen.
“Rawlings has some subsidiaries that he keeps under wraps and no one has ever been able to completely tie him to them. Some of the holdings are also overseas in some war-torn countries. Macnamar, Stormage, Carolston, Farmcorp, CRR…”
“Wait. Did you say Farmcorp?” she asked looking up at him.
“Farmcorp,” he confirmed. “Why?”
“The boy’s father worked for Farmcorp,” she said looking through the stack of papers on the desk. “Here it is. It’s on his insurance information from the hospital,” she said flipping through the stapled stack. “Where are his other corporations?”
“Mostly in countries in Africa, but there’s nothing specific mentioned,” he said looking at the information on the fax.
“Sudan?” she asked.
“Doesn’t say.”
“The drug dealer was here illegally from Sudan,” she said with her heart beating so hard she could feel it in her throat. “The police said he wouldn’t say a word to them. They thought he didn’t speak English so they brought in an interpreter, but he just didn’t want to talk.”
“I wouldn’t talk either if I thought I was going to end up on a slab in the morgue. I’d let them put me on a plane back to Sudan and just turn around and come back,” he said.
“So Robert Rawlings is our connection. Now all I have to do is fill in the holes and tie all of it together,” she said excitedly.
“I don’t like this,” Will said apprehensively. “If this guy is willing to kill his own wife and an eight year old little boy, he wouldn’t think twice about a reporter.”
“Will, you have to separate the editor from the other stuff. If I was Bronston or Newman sitting here with this story, would you be so worried?”
“I’m not in love with Newman,” he said sincerely and quietly. Her mouth fell open. “But, I’d still be worried. I don’t want any of my reporters dying for a story. I may be a newsman, but I’m a human being first.”
“You’re in love with me?” she whispered, stuck on his first words. “I didn’t know it was that far along. Will, you don’t even know me,” she said quietly. “If you knew me, I don’t know that you’d feel the same way.”
“Kris, I’m not a silly teenager.”
“I know, but think about it. I’m a royal bitch. No one in the newsroom
