And could the paper stay in business for another year?
There was a new gunslinger in town: Lisa Greening, who had come in as managing editor under the publisher. Lisa had eight years of management experience, two years at the New York Times, three at the Chicago Tribune, and three at the L.A. Times.
Her claim to fame had been an investigative report for the latter on the PC Killer, a smooth con man with a foot fetish who’d terrorized the Pacific Coast, luring women, killing them, and keeping their feet in his freezer as trophies.
Greening had won a Pulitzer for that story and had parlayed it into her new post at the Chronicle.
Since Cindy was the Chronicle’s crime desk reporter, she felt particularly vulnerable. Lisa Greening knew the crime beat as well as Cindy did — probably better — and if she failed to live up to a very high standard, Cindy knew she could become a budget cut. Greening would pick up her territory, and Cindy would become a freelancer working for scraps.
Half the editors in the room had given status reports, and Abadaya Premawardena, the travel editor, was up.
Prem was talking about cruise ship packages and discounts on Fiji and Samoa when Cindy got up and went to the back of the room and refilled her mug at the coffee urn.
Her last big story, which was about Hello Kitty, a jewel thief who preyed on the rich and famous, had been a huge and splashy success. The thief had either skipped town or retired, probably due to the work Cindy had done. But that was old news now, and the next big story, the kind that sold newspapers, had yet to appear.
Cindy sat back down as Prem finished his report, and Lisa Greening turned her sharp gray eyes on Cindy.
“Cynthia, what’s coming up for us this week?”
“My ATM mugger story is wrapping up,” Cindy said. “The kid was arraigned and is being held without bond.”
“That was in your column yesterday, Cynthia. What’s up for today?”
“I’m working on a couple of ideas,” she said.
“Speak up if you need assistance.”
“I’m good,” said Cindy. “Not a problem.”
She flashed a smile at Greening, a smile that was both charming and confident, and the editor moved on to the next in line. Cindy couldn’t have reported anything about the next hour.
Only that it was finally over.
Chapter 10
CINDY LEFT the editorial meeting in a deep funk. She walked down the hall to her office and before even sitting down called Hai Nguyen, her cop contact in Robbery.
“Anything new on ATM Boy?” she asked.
Nguyen said, “Sorry, Cindy, but we’ve got no comment at this time.”
Cindy believed that Nguyen would help her if he could, but that woulda-coulda sentiment was of no help to her. While the cops and robber worked out their deal, Cindy still had eight column inches to fill by four o’clock today.
How was she going to do that?
She had just hung her coat on the hanger behind her office door when her desk phone rang.
The caller ID read “Metro Hospital ER.”
She grabbed the receiver and said, “Crime desk. Thomas.”
“Cindy, it’s me, Joyce.”
Joyce Miller was an ER nurse, smart, compassionate, and companionable. She and Cindy had once lived in the same apartment building and had bonded over single-girl nights, drinking cheap Bordeaux and watching movies on Sundance.
“Joyce. What’s wrong?”
“My cousin Laura, she’s acting weird. Like she’s just visited an alternate universe. You met her at my birthday. She works for a law firm. She loved you. Listen, I talked her into coming into the ER by saying I’d get her some sleep meds, but she won’t let a doctor touch her and she won’t call the police.”