Paul Cullen, a naive reporter, stumbles into the Media lime light while covering a string of murders in the city. As life would have it, this young man learns more about the inner workings of the Mayor's Office and the devious criminals that govern the local streets than he could ever learn from college. The young reporter is ill prepared to deal with the events that start unfolding on his night shift and is quickly overwhelmed by the ambitious, calculating brutality of the city's quiet meetings and backdoor deals. Emotionally haunted by the frightening reality that surrounds him, Paul finds hope in an unlikely ally - the daughter of a slain victim - Ellen Moran. Struggling together to survive, they attempt to discover the bloody truth behind a serial killer's motives and the incumbent Mayor's battle to keep his political career alive. A career that lives and breathes on the television screens of the city's voters and becomes the only tool the young couple have to fight with.

Headline News

Backdoor DealsBy K.J. Ashton

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 K.J. Ashton
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-7778-2

Chapter One

Across town stood Paul Cullen, a news reporter for channel thirteen, a tall man of twenty-eight endowed with square shoulders and a youthful face.

Hearing an echoing crack, Paul glanced towards the sky. "Thunder?" he mumbled. "Not tonight Buddy," responded the portly vender. Focusing back to the situation in front of him, Paul handed the vender four dollars and took the hotdog. "Ketchup and relish are at the end," burped the vender as he pressed past Paul for the next customer. Paul smirked sarcastically as he squeezed the bread of the hotdog that felt three days old. "Thanks a lot," fell from his lips.

Stepping off to the side of the vendor's roach line, Paul breathed a sigh and tried to relax. Looking at the food in his hands he quietly consoled himself, 'At least I will have a hot cup of coffee, a hotdog and a moment of peace before the city's nightlife starts to come alive on the streets tonight.'

The graveyard shift was the only slot open for a fledgling reporter just out of College. In Paul's mind, it was a matter of paying your dues and earning his bones in the news industry.

Reflecting, he remembered his college professor lecturing, 'Successful reporting is easy, you simply find something that grabs the people's attention and report on it!' It sounded simple enough to Paul at the time, but was proving to be harder in real life. The only question left in his mind was how long would it take and how much this simple success would cost him personally.

This night felt different than the rest to Paul. His gut told him his shift would only deliver one of two endings. One would drag on with no end in sight. The other ending left him with the expectation of something more than the usual price to pay.

Stepping away from the curb and heading towards the channel thirteen news's van, Paul could see the driver Steve perched behind the wheel. His appearance gave the impression he hasn't shopped for new clothes since the eighties and the blank look in his eyes left one wondering if anyone was home - ever.

Paul smirked as he crossed the yellow lines in the street and continued thinking about Steve. 'Another misfit college student - just looking for a way to pay for his tuition. Not a bad guy, just one in need of a haircut and soap.'

As Paul opened the door to jump in, the police scanner blurted out "Shooting on the eastside, Female, Sully's Bar Washington Street." Steve pumped out the obvious "Lets roll!" and threw the van into drive. With that Paul chucked his hotdog and coffee out the window and buckled in.

'So much for the food and peace', he thought. It was probably for the best as he looked into the passenger's side view mirror and watched the three day old bread bounce in the street.

Paul leaned forward and started scratching around the glove box for a microphone. Retrieving the microphone and a hairbrush, Paul reached out the window and adjusted his hair in the passenger's side mirror. Catching Steve chuckle he responded, "Its show time and I might as well look my best."

It didn't take long to reach Washington Street and even less time to make it to the bar. Paul noticed the crime scene was already swarming with the men in blue; but mentally noted they were the first news-channel to arrive and a crowd had gathered on the fringe of the yellow tape and appeared to be growing.

Stopping the van in the middle of the street, Steve slammed it into park. Instinctively Paul jumped out and headed for the center of the action, knowing Steve would be in hot pursuit with the camera. Trying to slip under the police tape, Paul felt a cop grabbed his shoulder "That's close enough buddy," he ordered. Paul stopped and questioned, "What's going on?" pointing the microphone to the policeman's jaw.

The cop smiled indignantly "J-walking, now get back under the tape." With a shove, Paul found himself on the wrong side of the tape and the wrong side of the story. Backing up into Steve's camera Paul cursed, "Damn Cop is not going to stop us." Steve lowered the camera and spoke, "You find a way through, and I'm going high." With a nod of his head, Paul turned and noticed a clear view of the scene from the sidewalk. Breaking through the crowd and onto the sidewalk, Paul panicked over the time it took and feared their chance for a scoop was slipping away.

Quickly scanning the tops of the heads he found Steve. He was perched on top of the news channel van, thumbs up and camera on. Paul now realized why Steve parked in the middle of the street. 'You earned your tuition tonight', Paul thought.

"This is Paul Cullen with a breaking report for News center thirteen." With a quick glance to the covered body lying behind him he continued, "It was suppose to be a night of celebration, but for this unlucky woman, it was her last". Mustering up the most sympathetic face he could, "Pandemonium has struck this evening when a patron of this bar was ruthlessly gunned down in the street!" Being pushed by the crowd Paul continued, "Police are uncertain as to a motive, but by the looks of the scene here tonight, why is not as important as who would do such a cold blooded act." Steve pointed down the street to the arrival of another channel's news van, and gave the thumbs down to let Paul know there exclusive party was about to be crashed. Steve then changed Paul's attention by pointing past his shoulder.

The EMT's were lifting the sheet-covered body onto a gurney and rolling back towards the ambulance; Saint Bridget's Hospital was painted on the side of the ambulance. Paul knew where his next stop would be.

People began gathering in force. The pointing fingers and look of fear across their faces told Paul this was the story that people wanted to know about. This News story would get him off the night shift and into prime time.

Paul raced back to the van, "Steve!" he said winded. "Get me back to the news station right away." "What? Why?" Steve questioned. "I need to switch to my car so I can get to the hospital without the other news stations knowing were I am going" Paul replied.

Jumping in the van and throwing the microphone into the glove box, he waited for Steve to enter with the camera and grabbed the tape from inside. "No one is going to scope this story from me." With that the vans wheels screeched down Washington Street and back to the News Station. The white lines of the road blurred into a solid streak as the city light's flashed in his eyes. For a brief moment, Paul could feel his future taking off and his career kick-start into the limelight.

Near the barroom door of the crime scene stood a seasoned detective. A barrel chest man with strong hands and a piercing stare that probed past the murky lies of the unlawful. To his friends he was known as a practical joker with a wicked laugh; to his enemies he was known as the arresting officer that could not be bought.

His eyebrow sharpened as his eyes shifted wildly back and forth upon the crowd. To the inexperience observer, he appeared confused and overwhelmed by the flashing red and blue lights. But to the seasoned hunter, he was alert and on the prowl. Constantly searching the faces of the spectators for the look of a killer, a clue, a sign, or the face of a murderer reveling in his kill.

"Detective Ford," came from inside the barroom and broke his concentration. With a final glance at the mayhem the detective walked inside and approached his fellow detective.

"What do you have Tom," questioned Ford. "Not much, I have been talking to the bartender and patrons." Looking away from the detective he continued, "But no one seems to remember her or any one she was with." "There has to be something!" blurted Ford. Turning away from Tom he continued, "There always is." Stepping into the recesses of the barroom he began searching for a clue. Something that would stand out from the ordinary or perhaps something did not belong in a bar

His eyes locked onto a booth in the far corner causing his body to stop short. "Bingo!" popped out of Ford's mouth as he motioned his hand in the direction of his eyes. "Bingo, what's that; Saturday at the church hall?" mocked Tom as he followed Ford over to the table. Ford' eyes opened wide with anticipation as he closed the distance between himself and his hard found clue.

Under the light, sitting next to a salt and peppershaker sat a clear glass jar. Reaching out he paused and turned. "Get the duster in here," and swung his attention back to the jar. Straining to peer through the glass, the detective's mouth closed with a subtle grin. In the center of the container rested a small statuesque insect.

"What is it?" questioned Tom as he broke the silence. "A praying mantis, the ultimate hunter and the killer of insects," replied Ford before he turned his attention back to the clue. "Hello little one," rolled off his lips, "You look a little out of place my friend." After a slight motion to insure the insect was still alive he stepped back and allowed his gaze to bounce around the booth in search of more clues.

The duster approached from behind "You need some finger prints." The detective turned "I want to know who has touched this jar and who sat at this booth." The duster's face looked baffled and responded with a reluctant "Ok" as he opened his kit on the floor and began his tedious duty.

"You think this is a lead?" sarcastically mocked Tom, "It's probably someone's pet." Turning to face the Tom "It's no pet, it has to be a lead - why the hell else is it here?" Blurted Ford. "Maybe he's waiting for a bingo game to start?" replied Tom. With a wicked laugh Ford replied, "Or maybe he's waiting for your number to be called." As the laughter stopped, both men turned and stared at the glass cage.

Pulling into the space marked visitor's, Paul threw the car into park and stepped into the glowing light of the Hospital sign. "Emergency Room," he mumbled. Frowning he continued to the entrance as he thought of the lifeless body that moments before laid on the sidewalk.

Passing through the electronic doors and walking up to the first desk, Paul announced his arrival to the lady on the other side. "Excuse me," he said to a heavyset woman that didn't bother to look up, "Yes." she grudgingly replied. "I'm looking for the morgue." Hearing this, she stopped shuffling the papers in front of her and glanced up. In a single moment her eyes calculated, summed and processed Paul. "Name of the deceased?" she replied. "I'm not sure." Sensing his hesitation she blurted her question, "Are you related?" Knowing his next question would meet with a wall of hospital policy he improvised. "My brother was engaged to a young woman I only met briefly at a family get-together," pausing briefly for effect. "A few moments ago, I received a phone call that she was dead and was sent here. He is on his way here now and I was hoping to meet him to help cushion the shock." Finally, looking her in the eye in hopes to validate his lie.

The lady paused in thought and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for your loss. The morgue is in the second level of the basement." Standing slightly and pointing her jingly arm down the corridor she continued, "Go down this hall, turn right and take the elevators to the lower level. After you step out of the elevator you will need to take the stair case on your left to get to the second level." Thanking her briefly and adding a quick sniffle for effect, Paul followed her finger down the hall.

As he walked down the corridor, Paul's mind began to wonder about the young woman's family. Very Soon they too will have to walk down this hall, look upon her lifeless body and ID her face. 'Did she have children? Did she have a career? Was she in love? Why her?' he wondered. 'What made her so different from all the other women in the bar tonight? What was the reason she received a death sentence?'

A nagging question that bounced around in Paul's head until it started a morbid thought process into motion, a process that forced him to question when and how his own life would come to and end.

Arriving at the waiting elevator, Paul stepped inside and pressed the lower level button. Slowly descending he could feel his chest tightening as he started to mumble, "Hell of a way to earn a living, chasing the murdered for tomorrows headlines." Shaking his head from side to side, he rubbed his chest to relieve the discomfort and felt his heart beat quicken, "I hate feeling closed in," he mumbled.

Looking up at the floor indicator to see what level he was on Paul continued talking to himself, "How long does it take to go down a level?" Finally, the elevator bounced to a stop and the doors opened, Paul stepped out into a vacant corridor. Hesitating to take a quick breath and feeling some how relieved he was out of the metal box of the elevator. Paul turned for a quick glance to the closing doors behind him, spinning around for a moment and began struggling to remember if she said turn left or turn right to the staircase? Turning around one last time, Paul stared at a sign on the wall behind him. 'Morgue' with a blue arrow pointing left. Paul's mind began to flicker away from the news mission at hand and wondered about the business of the dead. 'How sterile and inhuman a practice this must be, to be the undertaker of another persons hopes and dreams, to be the last stop of another's life'.

Following the arrow Paul came to the staircase and stepped down. As each foot landed, he could hear the heels of his shoes echoing off the concrete walls around him. With each stride forward Paul could feel his body grow incrementally colder. The deeper he descended into the hospital catacombs, the colder and closer Paul became apart of the young woman's repose, the nearer he came to questioning when his own end was at hand.

At the final descending step, Paul focused his actions and turned in the direction of the next blue arrow. Looking down the final corridor he could see a pair of swinging doors. A bright light shined out of the small port windows and along the floor towards him. Instantly his mind flashed back to his days in college and the lecture of the Valhalla legend;

"At night when the Lunar Cycle is full, Odin will stretch out his arm with a guiding light and there will appear a glittering road on the waves of the sea to guide your way ..., linking the world of the after life to the world of the mortals"

"I guess tonight I will follow the light that is stretched out at my feet", he mumbled with a nervous smile and stepped forward on the floor.

Arriving at the doors, Paul heard a voice talking and paused to listen. "Hello Ms. Jane Tuckerman; sorry to make your acquaintance tonight."

As he peeked through the glass ports, Paul saw a man who looked to be in his early fifties. Standing five foot seven, and slightly balding, pear shaped with fingers thickened by his practice. His appearance looked sterile except for the indication of two-day-old facial hair.

The naked victim of tonight's heinous crime lay before him and Paul watched as he circled the metal table and cracked his knuckles. "I bet when you went out tonight you never thought you would end up here?" Questioned the scruff y looking man who paused for a response from the dead.

Paul shook his head from side to side and composed himself with a deep breath. 'Remember you're looking for the scoop to report on, not here to get personal.' After a hard blink of his eyes he continued, 'Just find something people are interested in and report on it.' Glancing through the portal a final time, Paul gave himself some final thoughts of encouragement, 'This guy has to be a little cracked, he can't be to hard to ply.'

Pushing the doors open and stepping threw to the other side, Paul barked out his greeting, "Hello there!" The Coroner, startled by the noise, twitched his body in Paul's direction and expressed his discontent of the intrusion with a cold stare into Paul's eyes as he spoke. "It's about time the police showed up," and turned his back to Paul's approach. To Paul's ear, his speech was sluggish and unwilling and gave the appearance of a feeble mind that reluctantly worked.

Not phased by the coroner's reaction, Paul approached the table and felt his chest tightening once more as an invisible hand wrapped around his heart and squeezed tighter with every step forward.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Headline Newsby K.J. Ashton Copyright © 2009 by K.J. Ashton. Excerpted by permission.
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