Page 3 of Justice Delayed

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. Although the brand of soda wasn’t important, if giving him that tidbit of information would satisfy his curiosity, then she would happily oblige. She had been wiping down the cooler doors and had made it to the one on the far end, which was why the would-be robber hadn’t seen her when he’d come in with his mask and gun. A free-standing display of two-liters had been near the endcap of the salty snack aisle right beside her. Picturing the display, she snapped open her eyes. “Dr Pepper.”

“Good.” The reporter scribbled it down. “Can you describe the robber?”

Sure, she’d give him the exact description she gave the police. “About five feet, eight- or nine-inches. He wore a black t-shirt with a grinning skull on the front and a pair of baggy jean shorts. He had on a werewolf mask.”

Gilmore asked her a few follow-up questions about the incident, but Melender kept her replies short nearly to the point of rudeness. Gilmore raised his eyebrows at her clipped answers but didn’t say anything. Finally, he snapped his notebook closed.

Melender snuck a quick look at the wall clock above the door. 4:45. If she hurried, she could make it to the store and home again before reporting for work at seven o’clock. “I need to go. Mr. Patel, I’ll see you Friday night.”

“No, wait, wait, Miss Mel.” Mr. Patel waved at her as he hurried to his office. “I have something for you.”

Melender shifted her feet, wanting nothing more than to flee the store and the reporter’s scrutiny.

“Have somewhere to go, Ms. Harman?”

Melender whipped around to lock eyes with the reporter studying her. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

He edged closer to her, dropping his voice to nearly a whisper. “Don’t you think it’s strange that Mr. Patel’s son was here during all three robberies?”

Melender frowned. She never liked Mr. Patel’s son, who generally worked overnight on Fridays when she cleaned. While Veer had never bothered her, she steered clear of the younger man for reasons she couldn’t articulate. “Veer was working the other two times?”

“Yes.” Gilmore started to say something else, but Mr. Patel’s return interrupted him.

“Miss Mel, here you go.” He thrust an envelope into her hand.

Melender opened the unsealed flap and gaped at the bills stuffed inside. “I don’t understand.” She looked at the money, then into Mr. Patel’s beaming face.

“It’s ten percent of what robber didn’t get. One hundred and seventy dollars.” Mr. Patel tucked his hands into his pockets. “You did tremendous good deed. You take, keep, give away—it yours.”

Blinking back tears, Melender put the envelope into her purse. “Thank you, Mr. Patel.”

The reporter jotted down the exchange in his notebook. “That will make a nice ending to this piece. Thanks again.” With another look at Melender, he headed toward the door.

Thanking Mr. Patel again, Melender hurried after Gilmore to plead that her name be kept out of the article before he drove away. But all she saw was the taillights of the reporter’s SUV as he drove out of the parking lot, taking with him her quiet life.

ChapterTwo

“Solid piece on the Kwikie Mart robberies.” Marcus Fallon stood near Brogan’s desk.

Brogan automatically hit the save button on his current work before turning his full attention to his boss. The seasoned editor and owner of theNorthern Virginia Heraldrarely complimented his reporters. “Thank you, sir.”

Despite Brogan’s fifteen years of experience, Fallon hadn’t treated Brogan any differently from his fresh-faced colleagues who populated newsrooms of small newspapers like theHerald. Nearly a year into his job as a general assignment reporter for the daily news outlet, Brogan still had the uncomfortable feeling he had to prove his integrity and journalistic chops with each piece he submitted. But if that’s what it took to redeem his career, he’d do it.

“It looks like there’s more to the story than the heroic efforts of a cleaning woman.” Fallon unwrapped a piece of chewing gum and popped it into his mouth.

“I agree. The timing of the robberies seemed too convenient to me.” Brogan paused to gauge the older man’s reaction to his statement. He wanted to pursue the angle of Mr. Patel’s son working each time the robberies happened, but if he pushed too hard, Fallon was just as likely to assign it to another reporter. If Brogan played his cards right, this story had the potential to springboard him back into the investigative work he craved.

Fallon didn’t speak for a moment, the clacking of computer keyboards and muted conversations of the three other reporters signaling a busy newsroom. The editor straightened. “Okay, why don’t you do a little digging into that and have a follow-up piece on my desk by three p.m. on Saturday.”

“Sure.” Brogan kept from showing the relief and delight coursing through his body. Three on Saturday meant he had a shot at the Sunday edition, the biggest print run of the week. Like most community newspapers, theHeraldlived online except for the Wednesday and Sunday print editions.

“Keep me abreast of any developments and fill out a photographic request with Seth.” Fallon took a step away from Brogan’s desk then tossed over his shoulder, “And be sure he gets a photo of the soda-throwing cleaner.”

Brogan agreed. He’d certainly like to see Mel Harman again, and if the reason had more to do with her dark-blue eyes and hair as white blonde as the sands of a Caribbean beach, he wasn’t going to say so.

* * *

By Friday afternoon,Brogan had the basic outline of Veer Patel’s life, and it was much as he had suspected. According to some of his friends, the younger Patel frequently stopped by MGM National Harbor in Oxon Hill, Maryland, an easy distance from Fairfax. A source at the casino told him that Veer owed thousands of dollars to the casino, although Brogan hadn’t managed to nail down the exact amount.

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