Full Tilt - Rick Mofina MIRA

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could do here. She was already on thin ice for using her job with Newslead the way she did and against Chuck’s caution.

      “Okay, thanks.” Kate returned to her car.

      She drove away feeling defeated.

      How could she just leave? It was like she was losing Vanessa again. She had to do something.

       What? What can I do?

      As she struggled to find a solution, the answer came around the next curve in the shape of a roadside rest area. Kate pulled in and parked at the extreme edge, nearly out of sight. She checked her phone. There was still service here; the signal was good. She consulted her map, the aerial photo, then coordinated things with the compass app on her phone. The crime scene was less than a quarter of mile northeast through dense forest.

      Kate locked her car, adjusted her bag so it rested on her back, found a straight branch to use as a hiking stick and set off into the woods. The terrain was treacherous. She was glad she was wearing flat shoes today. Thick underbrush concealed the uneven ground. Leafy low-lying branches tugged and pulled at her. She sought deadfall to cross a creek. Several times she was convinced she was going the wrong way but stayed true to the northeast direction of her compass.

      Some thirty minutes after she’d set out, Kate heard distant voices carrying into the forest and spotted flashes of yellow and white through the woods. Then she reached the clearing and the blackened ruins of the barn. The scene was ringed with yellow tape. Technicians in white coveralls were probing it, sifting the debris.

      A number of vehicles from Rampart PD, Rampart Fire and county and state police were parked at the far side. Keeping to the edge of the woods, Kate moved toward them, where she was able to get closer without anyone noticing her.

      The air carried the smell of charcoal and the memory of death.

      As the forensic people worked with funereal care the reality hit Kate full force.

       Did Vanessa die here?

      Anguish swelled in Kate’s throat as an image came to her:

       Vanessa is young and they’re crossing the street. Kate’s taking her hand; the earth shakes as a huge rig thunders by. Fear rises on Vanessa’s little face, but she trusts her big sister, loves her, worships her, as her little fingers tighten around Kate’s.

      Needing to be closer to the ruins, Kate reached into her bag for her compact digital camera. It had a high-quality lens and she zoomed in on the jagged black tangles of planks and trestles. With each picture Kate stepped closer, and with each photo her heart broke a little more. Moving in, she scoured the burned rubble, her camera offering more detail the nearer she got. She focused on a series of charred beams jutting from the aftermath. They were tagged, indicating they’d been processed. On patches of the wood that were not burned, Kate saw crude markings scratched into the surface. To see them better she needed to get closer—she needed to do the unthinkable.

      Kate lifted the tape to step into the scene but hesitated.

      She’d be breaking the law.

       But this could be the last thing my sister touched.

      Her heart raced.

      She might never be this close again.

      Kate stepped into the scene, taking more photos. Moving in deeper, she looked beyond the beams, noticing pockets within the devastation that appeared to be gridded, cleared and tagged. She concentrated on those areas, zooming in, taking—

      “Hey!” Keys jingled as a uniformed officer trotted from one of the vehicles. “Step out of there now! You’re under arrest!”

      Rampart, New York

      Kate could hear her pulse thudding in her ears.

      Over that, she heard the police radio dispatches.

      She was in the backseat of Rampart Officer Len Reddick’s patrol car. He was in the front verifying her Newslead ID, which he held in his hand. She could smell his cologne and peppermint gum. His jaw muscles pumped away, letting her know that he was still pissed.

      “That’s right, Kate Page,” Reddick chawed into his microphone. “Page. Poppa Alpha Golf Echo. Employee number seven-two-six-six.”

      Kate’s wrists throbbed against the metal handcuffs. The cuffs were an overreaction because Reddick was angry that he’d failed to spot her. She’d seen the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition splayed on the front seat when he put her in his car.

      He’d seized her camera, her phone and her bag, then read Kate her rights.

      As his radio crackled, she looked out the window.

      This morning she’d kissed Grace goodbye; now she was handcuffed and facing charges. She knew that it was wrong to step into a crime scene, but she was compelled by a raw feeling that her sister had been here.

       I can feel it, I can just feel it.

      As Reddick pawed through her things she endured the sting of humiliation and, when he found Detective Brennan’s card, braced for what was to come.

      Reddick’s inquiries to his dispatcher had launched a train of trouble. Calls were made to Newslead to alert her editors. Brennan was called and was en route. He’d insisted on questioning her, as it was his scene. Reddick meantime had waved over one of the forensic technicians to examine Kate’s camera and phone to review the pictures Kate had taken.

      Kate’s heart was racing. So far, Reddick hadn’t patted her down.

      She’d taken precautions to save her photos. The instant Reddick had discovered her inside the crime scene, she immediately removed her camera’s stamp-sized memory card, slid it into her sock, then, moving as fast as she could, installed a new card and resumed taking more photos. If the police didn’t find her hidden card, she could look at the images later.

      At that moment, Reddick’s cell phone rang.

      “Your people in New York.”

      Kate raised her cuffed hands and Reddick passed his phone to her. He stepped out of the car to show the technician Kate’s phone, allowing her some privacy.

      “It’s Reeka. What’s happened?”

      Kate’s stomach tensed.

      “I think I should talk to Chuck, Reeka.”

      “He had to go to an emergency meeting in Chicago. I’m your supervisor, talk to me.”

      “Didn’t Chuck tell you why I’m here?”

      “He told me nothing. You should’ve advised me if you were assigned something on your day off. Why are you under arrest in Rampart?”

      Kate explained everything to Reeka, exposing the fact she’d gone over her head to Chuck.

      “So, from what the police just told me,” the temperature of Reeka’s voice plummeted to a prosecutorial level, “and from what you’re telling me, you go up there on your time for personal reasons, then present yourself as a Newslead reporter to try to gain access to a crime scene, are refused, then you later breach the scene and are now facing charges.”

      Kate admitted that was correct.

      “You’re aware of Newslead’s policy on how our reporters are to represent the organization and conduct themselves, especially at crime scenes? You’re aware of that, Kate?”

      “Of course.”

      “Yet, you’ve clearly violated it.”

      Kate said nothing.

      “I’ll be discussing your situation with senior management. Until then, I suggest you get yourself an attorney.”

      The call

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