Page 7 of Dead Air
"What really happened?" Lawson leaned forward. "I couldn't save my partner. The shooter escaped. I live with that every day."
Blackwell watched her for several heartbeats. "You're smarter than that. This case has layers you haven't talked about."
"This case has a podcaster trying to make money off a dead cop."
"Listen to my previous episodes before you judge my motives." Blackwell pulled out her phone. A sleek device in a leather case. Everything about her screamed expensive. Money from podcast success or family wealth. Either way, she'd never understand what it meant to work cases where every mistake could cost lives.
"Here's a sample from episode two. Maybe it'll change your perspective."
The screen lit up before Lawson could protest. Blackwell's recorded voice filled the office, crisp and professional.
"Detective Landry's death marked the beginning of her partner's downward spiral. Erin Lawson received three excessive force citations in the following five years. Two insubordination charges. Multiple incidents involving alcohol during work hours. Department sources describe increasing isolation, obsessive behavior around cold cases, and open defiance toward supervisors."
Lawson knew exactly what each citation represented. The excessive force reports came from suspects who resisted arrest—suspects in whose faces she saw Monica's killer. The insubordination charges stemmed from refusing to let cold cases die. The alcohol incidents were Wednesday mornings when bourbon seemed more manageable than facing another day of unsolved mysteries.
Blackwell paused the playback. Her eyes never left Lawson’s face.
“You missed the public indecency charge,” Lawson said. Her voice came out flat, emotionless. Inside, her blood turned cold. Those records weren’t public. Personnel files lived in locked cabinets behind access-controlled doors.
“That charge got dropped.” Blackwell didn’t hesitate. “The night in lockup didn’t.”
The night in lockup. Lawson remembered fragments. A bar fight that started when someone made a joke about dead cops. Waking up in a cell with bruised knuckles and a split lip. Richardson bailing her out at dawn, his face a mask of professional disappointment.
Heat flooded Lawson’s chest, rising into her throat. “Where did you get this information?”
Blackwell’s smile widened just enough to show teeth. “Multiple sources. People who think it’s time for transparency.”
Multiple sources meant a conspiracy. Someone wanted Lawson destroyed. The question was who and why. Richardsonhad protected her career despite her mistakes. Other officers avoided her but didn’t actively work against her. The leak came from someone with access and motivation.
“I also know about the prescription medications,” Blackwell said. “Anxiety. Depression. Sleep aids. All prescribed after Detective Landry’s death.”
The prescription history was protected medical information. Someone had violated federal privacy laws to give Blackwell ammunition. This wasn’t journalism anymore. This was warfare.
She stood and gathered her equipment. “I’ll contact you again soon. When you’re ready for that interview, you have my contact information.”
“You didn’t give me a card.”
Blackwell paused, genuine surprise crossing her features. Then she laughed. “You’re right.” Her hand disappeared into her blazer and emerged with crisp white cardstock. “Oversight on my part.”
The card was heavy stock paper with raised lettering. Leah Blackwell, Investigative Journalist. Dead Air Podcast. An email address and a New York phone number.
She left without another word. Expensive perfume lingered in the air along with the taste of dread.
Lawson grabbed her phone the second the door closed. Claire’s number was already highlighted. The call connected on the second ring.
“This can’t be legal,” she said instead of hello. “She has my disciplinary file, Claire. My complete disciplinary file.”
“Take a breath.” Claire’s voice carried that lawyer calm that made everything worse. “What exactly happened?”
“Blackwell ambushed me at work. Played audio from her next episode. Every mistake I’ve made since Monica died. The drunk tank, the write-ups, all of it. Tell me she broke some law.”
Papers shuffled in the background. Claire was probably reviewing case files while they talked. Always multitasking, always thinking three steps ahead. It made her a great lawyer but a frustrating friend.
Silence stretched across the connection. “Depends how she obtained the information,” Claire finally said. “If department personnel leaked it …”
“Of course someone leaked it! Personnel files aren’t public record!”
“Then the leaker might face consequences. But she’s protected as a journalist. First Amendment covers reporting information she receives, even if the source obtained it improperly.”
