Page 21 of Justice Delayed

“I checked out that reporter, Brogan Gilmore.” Raines didn’t offer any more information.

“Am I going to have to pull every last bit of information out of you?” Quentin snapped, his irritation inching closer to volcanic. “What did you find out?”

“He’s been with theHeraldfor nearly a year, writing mostly local news stories, such as the one on the Kwikie Mart robberies.”

“He seemed older than someone just starting out as a journalist.” Gilmore had phoned Quentin’s office earlier this morning to schedule a brief meeting for Wednesday. Quentin had instructed his secretary to fit the reporter in right before lunch to give him an excuse to cut their meeting short if necessary. He wanted to find out all he could ahead of time.

Raines cleared his throat. “Gilmore spent his early years as a journalist bouncing around in the Midwest at medium-sized city papers in Nebraska, Indiana, and Kentucky, where he was a finalist for a Pulitzer in investigative reporting for a series on the abuse of mentally ill adults in state-regulated homes. That landed him a job as an investigative journalist for theNew York Dispatch.”

“Why did he leave New York?”

“Ten years ago, he wrote a series of sensational stories that showed prominent board members of a national charity headquartered in New York diverting the organization’s funds to their own pockets. That series snagged Gilmore another Pulitzer nomination. But then a reporter at theWashington Leaderwriting her own story on the scandal discovered that Gilmore had based his reporting on a single source, which had fed him altered documents showing the misappropriation of funds. That single source, a disgruntled former employee of the charity, had spun circumstantial evidence into corruption. Gilmore would have found out the same thing had he actually investigated the story instead of relying on that one source.”

“I bet theDispatchwasn’t too pleased to find out their star investigative reporter had done such shoddy work.” Quentin resumed his pacing. A clearer picture of Gilmore began to emerge.

“The paper launched a full investigation and discovered that not only had Gilmore neglected to corroborate the source’s accusations in the charity scandal, but he also had fabricated unnamed sources to collaborate his findings in the Kentucky series that netted him the job in New York.”

Quentin allowed a small smile to cross his lips. People like Gilmore he understood—always looking to get ahead any way they could. “He sounds like a rather shady character.”

“That he was. After theDispatchbooted him, he didn’t work in journalism until theNorthern Virginia Heraldhired him.”

“Good work.” Quentin’s irritation with the other man’s delivery style had vanished with the information on the reporter.

“Do you want me to keep following Harman?”

“Yes.”

“What about Gilmore?”

Quentin debated whether or not having someone keep tabs on the reporter would be worth the expense. “Not yet. But send me daily updates on the woman’s activities.”

Raines agreed, and Quentin ended the call. Now that he knew what kind of man Gilmore was, he knew just how to ensure the reporter wouldn’t be overly eager to help his niece.

ChapterTen

Melender set her grocery bags onto the kitchen counter, then picked up her ringing cell phone. Caller ID displayed a local number, one she didn’t recognize. Probably a telemarketer but maybe it was Brogan calling with an update. “Hello?”

“Digging up the past is never a good idea.” The softly spoken words breathed a chill over her like the wind roaring up the mountain ahead of a storm.

Silence.

She pressed the phone to her ear. “Who is this?”

“A friend who’s concerned that you might be taking on more than you can handle.”

She pushed her fear down enough to respond more calmly. “Friends introduce themselves.”

“You wouldn’t want to meet me.”

Melender recognized the menacing tone, even though she couldn’t say whether the caller was male or female. It was the same tone she’d heard from bullies in prison, those who made promises they had every intention of keeping. But seventeen years behind bars had shown her the only way to handle a bully was to call their bluff. “I’ve met worse.”

The caller chuckled, a sound more sinister than light-hearted. “Ah, so the wildcat has grown claws.” A short pause. “Keep your eyes on the future before someone gets hurt. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to find yourself back in that cell, now would you?”

She snorted. “You think you can scare me with prison? I served my time. Every. Single. Minute.”

A low growl emanated from the phone. Melender had heard a similar sound once from a cornered mountain lion right before the big cat clawed a black bear to pieces.

“Ah, but it’s not just you, now is it?” The hushed voice continued. “There’s Brogan Gilmore, not quite a saint but perhaps useful to your quest? I think you’d really hate to have his handsome face disfigured, now wouldn’t you?”

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