Linda nodded approvingly in her direction.

  “That’s good to hear,” he said.

  Rather than seat them at the big conference table like the Padres suits, he gestured toward two squat chairs in front of his giant desk, where they were below his eye level once they were all seated.

  “Linda tells me you’ve gotten us into a bit of a pickle,” he said.

  Katrina glanced over at Linda, but she was staring straight ahead at their boss.

  If she wants me to follow her signals, why doesn’t she look at me?

  Katrina couldn’t tell if he was joking, but she was prepared to defend herself.

  “I was being facetious, Katrina. No need to panic.”

  “Okay, good,” she said, laughing nervously. Linda didn’t even crack a smile.

  “No, but seriously, we’re in a tenuous situation here,” he said, cocking his head to one side, which struck her as a trick he’d learned in business school to appear compassionate.

  “We want to avoid embarrassing the paper and its owner but still cover the news. Of course, we don’t want to withhold important information from our readers, but at this stage, we don’t need to insert the Battrelles’ names—or information about their personal assets or business holdings—into any story. We can say Vincent and Michael are members of Vitaleron’s board of directors, because I assume we’re going to be naming the others as well, but that’s it. Anything else is irrelevant.”

  As he waited for Katrina to answer, she looked at Linda, and this time, the editor nodded for her to go ahead.

  “Okay,” Katrina said, unsure of what else to say.

  I guess I’ll wait to see what happens at the news conference, which he doesn’t seem to know about.

  With that, John Palmer stood up to signal that the meeting was over. When Linda jumped to her feet, Katrina followed her lead.

  “Thank you, ladies,” he said. “Very nice to meet you, Katrina. I’m sure you’ll do a fine job with this story. We’re expecting great work from you.”

  “It was nice to meet you too,” Katrina said, thinking the exact opposite.

  “Linda, can you stay a minute?” he asked rhetorically.

  “I’ll come find you when we’re done,” Linda said to Katrina, who returned to her desk, her lower abdomen now in outright rebellion.

  What’s going on? Don’t they understand that it’s wrong to shield the publisher and his family like this, to refuse to even consider that they might be witnesses or possibly involved in these deaths somehow?

  She sat with her face in her hands until she heard Linda’s voice behind her.

  “Katrina?”

  As she turned around, Linda nodded toward her office and started walking that way. Following dutifully, Katrina felt her coworkers’ eyes on her as she passed them.

  “Shut the door,” Linda said.

  Katrina did as she was told, holding her notebook on her knee, poised to take notes.

  “Let’s be clear on what you’re supposed to be doing,” Linda said. “Just so you know, I get copied when you run database checks, and it seems you’re getting into the weeds. We’d like to get you back to the Fontaines. Remember I asked you to explore their influence in the philanthropic, social, and business communities? We want our readers to know about these people, what their contributions were, and where their company is with the drug trials. Not property and affiliations between board members and how much money the Battrelles have invested in Vitaleron.”

  Geez. Talk about Big Brother.

  “But I’ve been doing that,” Katrina said. “In fact, I just interviewed two women who went to high school with Victoria. I’m also going to call Simon’s brother, William, before I head out to the news conference at the cop shop this afternoon.”

  “Good. Remember, we’re expecting a series of stories from you as they develop, Katrina, not one long thumb-sucker.”

  Series? When did it become a series?

  “Okay, but it seems like there are some land mines here,” Katrina said, “and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to ignore or walk around them.”

  “Do your best. I’m sure everything will be fine. There is no I in team, Katrina. There’s plenty to do without wasting time going through SEC records or the Battrelles’ property and lawsuits. Are we clear?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 18

  Goode

  Monday

  After dropping the security footage at the RCFL, Goode reached police headquarters twenty minutes before the media event’s scheduled start time. He planned to watch every Vitaleron exec arrive, checking for strange twitches, sweating, shaking, or odd behavior that could stem from unauthorized dosing of the drug.

  By definition, the news conference couldn’t start until the media arrived, but the rule of thumb was to wait for the network affiliates so speakers didn’t have to repeat themselves. “Ready Rhona” Chen from Channel 10, who earned her nickname from the time Goode saw her wrapped around a cop at 3:00 a.m. in a Denny’s parking lot, was often late because she liked to make an entrance.

  Goode stood under a tree near the portable podium, a good vantage point to observe the entire courtyard. As the TV trucks pulled up, reporters spilled out with their thick makeup and hair sprayed in place, videographers trailing behind them.

  Stone did the stop-and-chat on his way to help the PIO set up the speakers’ podium, where the media also set up their mics, next to the fountain. “A couple national network shows called about doing a live feed this morning,” he told Goode, with a mix of excitement and dread in his voice. “They’ve already named this ‘The Sex-Drug Death Case.’”

  “Great, just what we need,” mumbled Goode, who wore a long-sleeved white shirt and aquamarine tie for the occasion. He hated collared shirts and ties because they were restrictive, and he felt self-conscious as he tugged at them. But he’d even stopped for a haircut on the off chance that he was asked to speak or was pointed out as the lead detective.

  When Katrina arrived, she came over to say hello and compliment him on his haircut.

  “Nice ’do,” she said, leaning in to whisper “Is that Darren McMurphy?” as she pointed toward the men in dark suits lined up next to the podium like a soccer team guarding their jewels before a penalty kick.

  “Do you mean the cocky-looking one, second from the left? We went to high school together—he was a year ahead of me. He was a dick then and I’m sure he still is. But I’ll deny having said that.”

  As Chief Baxter approached the podium, Goode moved away from Katrina to make room for Foster and Byron under the tree, noticing that Mayor Jack Norton was AWOL.

  “Thanks for coming today,” Baxter said, introducing Dr. Largo, the chief medical examiner, who stood beside him, along with Stone, Goode, and their team.

  “Let me also introduce some of our city’s business leaders from Vitaleron. Standing beside me is Darren McMurphy, the son of our esteemed Port Commission chairman, Patrick McMurphy, who owns some of our biggest hotels on the harbor and Mission Bay,” Baxter said, waving to an older man in a navy blazer standing alone by the fountain, who nodded in response.

  “Darren ran the campaigns for the last two mayors,” Byron whispered. Goode knew that Darren’s father was an unpaid adviser to the mayor with his own office at City Hall, which in his mind was a blatant pay-to-play reward. He should have known that Darren would also be involved in politics.

  It’s obviously a family affair.

  Ready Rhona started talking with another female TV reporter right next to Katrina, oblivious, because their mics were recording the chief’s comments from the podium. Goode could see Katrina getting agitated at the women, who glared at her when she shushed them.

  Baxter mostly repeated what the lieutenant said on Saturday, and he still didn’t explain why the two deaths had been deemed “suspicious.”

  C’mon, Chief, throw them a bone.

  “We can’t go into too much detail right now,” Baxter said. “Although we completed the autopsies over the weekend, the cause and manner of death are still under investigation. I’ll let Dr. Largo take it from here.”

  Stepping up to the mic, Largo tried to quiet the crowd of reporters, who were buzzing about the “news” conference being a misnomer.

  “Excuse me,” Largo repeated several times. “Due to the suspicious and unusual nature of the death scene, the detectives are still exploring some unanswered forensic questions. We hope to know more once the toxicology tests come back. But in the meantime, we can report that Victoria Fontaine was three months pregnant. We send thoughts and prayers to her family.”

  “Who’s the father?” one reporter yelled out.

  “We don’t know yet,” Baxter interjected. “We’re doing DNA tests to try to determine paternity, because the father will likely be a person of interest. We’re also running the fetus’s profile through CODIS to see if the father has a criminal record,” he said, referring to the federal database known as the Combined DNA Index System.

  “Who reported the murders?” another reporter called out.

  “As I said, we haven’t determined these were murders yet. I repeat, these are still suspicious deaths at this point. The 911 call came at 9:00 p.m. from an adult male who reported hearing ‘shots fired’ on La Jolla Farms Road but wouldn’t give his name.”

  “When will the autopsy reports be ready?” the same reporter yelled.

  “As you know, we always wait for the toxicology results before we complete the reports—” Largo said.

  “—and because this is such a high-profile case, we may ask the court to seal them,” Baxter said, interrupting. “No offense, folks, but your stories can interfere with our investigations.”

  The crowd erupted into a cacophony of objections. “Hey, now, everybody, calm down,” the chief said. “We’re not there yet. Nothing’s in stone.”

  “What’s so suspicious? Sounds like a double suicide to me,” Rhona hissed at her cameraman. “I bet she OD’d and he offed himself because they ran out of funding. They haven’t announced anything about the drug trials in more than a year.”

  “Ask the chief,” he hissed back.

  “Chief, why, exactly, are you calling these deaths suspicious?” Rhona yelled.

  Silence fell over the crowd. “That’s all we have for you,” Baxter said, evoking a chorus of even louder objections. “But, before you go, the Vitaleron team wants to say a few words.”

  Goode, who could feel Katrina watching for his reaction, tried to maintain a blank expression. But he couldn’t resist giving her a quick wink. She smiled back and glanced away before anyone saw.

  Darren McMurphy started off by introducing his fellow board members, including Dr. Warren Russell, who looked as distraught as when Goode last saw him. Same with Michael Battrelle, who was still in a state of fluster.

  “It’s a shame that the tragic deaths of our founding partner and CFO brought us here today, but we have a few announcements,” Darren said. “I’ll be taking Dr. Fontaine’s place as chairman of the board. Michael Battrelle, our board treasurer here to my right, will replace Victoria Fontaine as CFO. These other gentlemen, all of whom have stellar professional qualifications, will pitch in where necessary to ensure that the Vitaleron ship stays on course. We want to ensure our drug trials for this globally important marital aid move forward without delay.”

  So, now it’s a marital aid? That’s interesting marketing.

  After scanning the Vitaleron execs for strange behavior, Goode saw nothing untoward in the corporate types, other than too much product in their hair.

  Frankly, they all look jumpy and sweaty to me.

  Michael Battrelle nodded sullenly as Darren stepped away from the mic to make way for the new CFO, who looked positively stricken, the color drained from his face.

  “We want to reassure stockholders and the public that everything is fine,” Michael said in a shaky voice that negated his stated intent. “We want the police to resolve this case as soon as possible so we can all get back to work and get this exciting drug out to the public as planned.”

  Well, he’s a bundle of nerves. Did he not know about the pregnancy until now?

  Chapter 19

  Katrina

  Monday

  By the end of the presser, Katrina was irritated. She no longer had the exclusive scoop about Victoria’s pregnancy, which was the only real news at the event. But she did get a chance to see Darren McMurphy in the flesh. He was just as Goode described.

  She made a note to ask whether the paper’s attorneys could file a motion to unseal the autopsy reports if necessary, because if these deaths were in fact murders, the public had a right to know.

  Although the female reporter from Channel 10 was unprofessional for talking during the chief’s comments, she did ask a relevant question that he should’ve answered. Katrina almost never asked questions at pressers, because she didn’t want to share her insights with competitors.

  The police are acting extra cautious, claiming they still don’t know what happened at the house, but I bet they have a better handle on the case than they’re letting on. I bet they also have a suspect or two in mind.

  That said, Katrina was thrilled that Michael Battrelle made a public statement, because the newspaper could no longer force her to omit his entire family from her story. She fully intended to describe Michael’s pale and shaken appearance, even though Linda would probably take it out. If they didn’t do their jobs, the competing media would do it for them, which would only embarrass the newspaper. The Advocate might even spout more of its conspiracy theories.

  We could’ve been out in front of this, but now we’ll have it at the same time as everyone else, if not later. The TV stories will probably air before mine gets posted online tonight, and way before the paper comes out tomorrow. I like to be first. Always first.

  As soon as the speechifying was over, Katrina stepped away to call Vincent. They’d agreed that she should call his cell, rather than go through his secretary, to avoid unnecessary gossip. When he didn’t answer, she left him a voicemail.

  “We need to talk. I’d like to stop by your house after work tonight. Please give me a call.”

  Although she was curious about Alex’s whereabouts, she had to be firm. She couldn’t search for Vincent’s playboy son as a side job, because she needed to do that for the newspaper. It was a clear ethical conflict.

  A few minutes later, Vincent returned her call.

  “Did you find Alex?” he asked.

  “Sorry, no. I was at a news conference at the police station, where Michael announced that he’s replacing Victoria Fontaine as Vitaleron’s CFO,” she said. “But you probably already knew that.”

  She waited for a response, but there was none.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that Alex and Michael were both seeing Victoria?” she asked.

  “I don’t even know if that’s true,” he retorted. “Besides, it wasn’t relevant at the time, and I’m not sure it’s relevant now. Our families have always been close. Simon and I had some disagreements in recent years, but I never had a problem with Victoria. She was always a good kid, and she put up with her father, which wasn’t easy. He was a difficult man, but he was my business partner.”

  “Okay, but when we discussed talking to Alex’s friends about his whereabouts, it seems like you would have mentioned that he and Victoria were so close.”

  “Why would I do that if you couldn’t talk to her? She’d just passed away the night before.”

  “That’s exactly why I thought you would have said something.”

  He also hadn’t suggested that she talk to Michael, which didn’t make sense either. Unless the two brothers didn’t get along, as was implied by Goode’s “bad blood” question. But she decided to wait to ask that until she and Vincent were face-to-face.

  “I’m not sure where you got your information about her seeing Alex,” he said. “They had a falling-out a year ago. She and Michael were always friends, though he told me last night that they’d been dating for the past five months until she broke up with him Friday morning. No one tells me anything.”

  Friday morning? The day she died?

  “Is that why Michael looked so upset this afternoon, because he didn’t know about the pregnancy?”

  “I’m sure of it,” Vincent said. “I know I am. I had to hear it live on TV just now, for Christ’s sake. I was upset about Simon and Victoria, of course, but I had no idea there was a baby too. I’m not sure how this relates to Alex’s disappearance.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I just have to file my story first.”

  “I’ll be home,” Vincent said, “though I can’t say I’ll be very good company.”

  “That’s okay. I won’t stay long.”

  This wasn’t going to be easy. Vincent was going to accuse her of abandoning him, but she had to hope that when push came to shove he would agree that the newspaper had to come first. Or she’d made a huge mistake coming here.

  I left a good union job for this.

  The obvious ties between the Battrelles, Fontaines, and her own family concerned her, but she wasn’t ready to tell that to Vincent—or anyone at the paper. Not yet anyway.

  Linda’s eyes glazed over as Katrina recounted the slim news bite from the presser, but she came to attention as soon as Katrina mentioned the management changes at Vitaleron involving Michael Battrelle. Her tight lips registered surprise, then discomfort, as Katrina described the ring of TV cameras that captured his pallid face and visible distress as he spoke.

  “So that’s that, then, isn’t it? I’ll have to tell John Palmer that we have no choice but to go ahead with plan B,” Linda said.

  Katrina wasn’t exactly sure what plan B was, but she hoped it meant she was free to do her job properly.

  “Hold on, there’s more,” she said brightly. “The major news of the day, which other media outlets don’t have, is that the police served search warrants at Vitaleron headquarters and Dr. Fontaine’s surgical office this morning, where they were looking for syringes and doing drug audits. I’ve also got some juicy background info on Victoria Fontaine from two schoolmates.”