Sweet Anger(28)
“Who did you weasel the room number out of?” he asked.
She smiled at him with mischief. “That’s my secret.”
They finally reached the floor they were looking for. Kari pulled the stairwell door open to peer into the hall. “I hope the illustrious Mr. McKee hasn’t posted a guard.”
There was none. Silent and unseen, they slipped down the hall and into the patient’s room. The middle-aged man lay in his bed awake, twisting the sheet between his hands.
“Who are you?” He looked like a frightened rabbit as Kari and Mike moved into the room.
“I’m Kari Stewart, Mr. Hopkins. How are you feeling?” she asked kindly.
His fearful eyes darted from Kari to Mike and the camera, then back to Kari. Recognition dawned. “Are you the girl on TV?” he asked, no longer showing apprehension but interest.
Kari had learned a long time ago that when people see someone in their living rooms every night, they feel that they know him personally. In situations like this, that feeling of familiarity came in handy.
“Yes.” She sat in the chair next to the bed and unobtrusively switched on the small tape recorder she carried. She nodded to Mike and instantly heard the soft hum of the video recorder as the camera clicked on. “You’ve watched me on television?”
“Sure Emma and me—” He broke off as his lip began to tremble and his eyes filled with tears. “She’s gone now.”
“I read that in the newspapers. Would you like to talk about it?”
“I didn’t mean to kill her. I don’t even remember doing it.” He began to cry in earnest and the focus on Mike’s camera rolled in for a close-up.
“You’ve got to admit, it’s powerful stuff.”
“Yep. So is something else when it hits the fan. And that’s exactly what’s going to happen if we air this piece.”
Exasperated, Kari let loose a deep sigh and turned her back. She paced the small confines of the editing room as Pinkie watched her interview with the alleged murderer Hopkins one more time. “It’s good, Pinkie.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t good.” He stood up. “I just don’t know if it’s journalistically good.”
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t presented both sides.”
“The other side has already been presented. You read McKee’s statement in the paper. He wants a conviction and a death sentence.”
“He wants a conviction. He wasn’t quoted as saying he wanted a death sentence.”
“He’ll get around to it.” She placed her interlaced fingers beneath her chin as though she were pleading with him. “Think of all the times bad press has convicted someone before he ever came to trial.”
“So, you’re going to set that right by making it your business that Hopkins gets off?”
“No. I’m just giving him a forum.”
“He has one. In court.”
She forced down her rising temper. “Pinkie, I’ve had this beat for almost two months. Have I slandered Mr. McKee?”
“You’ve come as close to the wire as you can without actually doing it,” he reminded her.
“And people are paying attention. Our ratings are up.”
He had to admit that and, after all, that was where the bottom line was drawn. Whether he approved her methods or not, Kari had made her reports on city hall, and particularly those regarding Hunter McKee, as colorful and stimulating as her entertainment critiques had been.
“All right,” he conceded. “Against my better judgment, it airs on tonight’s news.”
“Thanks, Pinkie.” She kissed his cheek.
Querulously he rubbed it off. “I just wouldn’t want to be around to see McKee’s reaction.”
As it turned out, no one was around except Kari when he came storming into the newsroom. She had arrived early, excited over the impact her interview with Hopkins had had and wondering what she would do today as a follow-up.
At this time of morning, a few reporters and photographers were straggling in, but they were congregated around the coffee machines. She was alone in her cubicle when she looked up and saw McKee looming over her angrily.
“Well, good morning, Mr. McKee. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“Don’t be cute with me, Kari. I saw your story on last night’s news.”
“Oh?”
“And I’m mad as hell about it.”
“Isn’t that bad for your public image?”
His lips compressed into a hard, thin line. “How did you get into Hopkins’s hospital room?”
“I walked.”
He took a threatening step toward her. His large frame seemed to fill the small space. To keep herself from feeling at a disadvantage, she rose to her feet. But when she raised her eyes to meet his, she realized just how minuscule the office was. He was standing far too close.