LITMIR.BIZ

      WTSJ was in a squat concrete-block building near Pritchard, a town abutting Mobile to the north. The receptionist’s eyes were shadowed with grief, but she forced a smile.

      “Lincoln’s the station manager. He’s on the air two more minutes.”

      She put us in a small anteroom. Lincoln Haley was in the adjoining studio, visible through a thick window. Haley was mid-forties, square-jawed, a neat beard. His forehead was high and protruding, like it was filled with songs. Racks of CDs were at his back. He wore a black headset and spoke into a microphone the size of a beer can. He saw us looking, flashed two minutes with his fingers, leaned over the microphone. Speakers filled the anteroom with his voice.

      “ …coming up on the hour, time for Newsbreak. After the hour it’s the Queen Bee, Miss Pearlie Winston, bringing you the best in funk’n’blues in the whole United States …Now I’m gonna take you to the top with Marlon Saunders …”

      Music kicked in. Haley stood, set the headset on the table, rubbed his face. A man worn past the tread. The studio door admitted a large and brightly dressed woman. She gave Haley’s hand a squeeze. He appeared in the anteroom seconds later, khakis, sandals, sweater, hands in his pockets.

      “I’ll do anything if it helps find the animal who hurt Teesh.”

      Through the glass I saw the woman put on the headphones, pull the microphone close. She took a deep breath, a big fake smile rising to her face.

      “This is Pearlie Winston, queen of the funky scene …”

      Haley reached to a switch, killed the speakers.

      “Pearlie’s heart is broken, but she sounds like she’s about to break into song. It’s tough. Taneesha was like my daughter, everybody’s daughter. She was …w-was …”

      “Tell me about Ms Franklin’s job,” Harry said. “At your own pace.”

      Haley nodded, composed himself.

      “We’re a small station, Detective. When Pearlie’s not on the air, she’s selling advertising time. When I’m not broadcasting or managing things, I’m the electrician. Teesh was our reporter, but sometimes wrote ads.”

      “You’re probably not ripe for a takeover by Clarity Broadcasting,” I said. Clarity owned Channel 14, Dani’s employer.

      Haley’s eyes darkened. “Everything Clarity touches turns to garbage; profitable garbage, but soulless.”

      “Ms Franklin worked here how long?” Harry said.

      “Started as an intern two years back. That girl had boundless enthusiasm.”

      “Did she want to be a DJ or whatever, on the air?”

      “She did the midnight show for several months. But talking between tunes was too tame for Teesh. Her dream was to be a reporter. Teesh had the aggression, the drive. She just needed more polish. I moved her into our tiny news department. You would have thought I’d given her a job on CNN.”

      Harry said, “Was she working a story last night?”

      “Not an assignment. But Teesh was always looking to break that big story, find something no one was supposed to know, putting the light on it. I told her we didn’t have money for investigations. But she thought of it as training, kept at it on her own time.”

      “Self-propelled,” I said.

      “Know who she wanted to be like? That investigator on Channel 14, uh, I can’t recall names …blonde, big eyes, kind of in-your-face, but sexy with it …”

      “Uh, Danbury?” I said.

      Haley snapped his fingers. “DeeDee Danbury. Teesh spoke with Ms Danbury a few times, asked questions. Teesh called her a kick-ass lady with a mind all her own.”

      “I’ve heard that about Ms Danbury,” I said.