At an old fashioned Stella desk in the dingy halls of the chronicle's basement library, Alice Barry scrolled through four-year old articles on microfiche. It was late. After eight, working alone in the underbelly of the building, she felt as if she were some isolated Egyptologist scraping the dust off long-buried hieroglyphics tablets. She now knew why it was referred to as "the Tombs."
But she felt she was unto something. The dust is was coming off secrets, and something worthwhile would soon be clear to her.
February. . . March, 1996. The film school shot by with in distinguishable speed.
Someone famous, the Cleveland bride's friend had said. Alive pushed the film onward. This was how stories were earned. Late nights and elbow grease l.
Earlier, she had called the public relations firm Hannah Simon had worked for in San Francisco,Bright star media. News of their former staffer's death had reached them only that day. Alive inquired about any feature films Bright stat might have had association with, she was disappointed when she was told the firm didn't handle films. The capitol, she was told. The concert palace. That was Hannah's account.
Undeterred, Alice plugged Beight star's name into the chronicle's data bank. Any subject of articles, names, companies, review written in the past ten years were recorded there. To her mild delight, the search cane back with several live response.
It was assiduous work, and discouraging. The articles covered a period of more than five years. That would tie in with the time Hannah was in San Francisco. Each article was on a different microfiche cassette
It required going back into the files. Requisitioning three items at a time. After four sets, the night Liberian handed her a clipboard, saying, Here, Barry. It's all yours, knock yourself out.
It was quarter past ten- she hadn't heard a peep from anayone in over two hours- when she finally came upon something interesting.
It was dated February 10, 1995. Arts today section." For local Band Sierra. New film taps into a hot."
Alice closed her eyes shot down the text. Fast forwarding to anything that stuck out; plans for their album, an eight city tour. Quote from the lead singer.
Sierra will perform the song at tomorrow night's bash at the capitol to kick off release of the film crossed wire."
Her heart stood still. She zoomed ahead to the following day's Art section.
She consumed the article almost in a single suspended breath: ". . . took over the capitol. Chris Wilcox. The star, was there," A photo, with a dishy actress
. "Bright star. . . Other recording stars in attendance."
Her eyes travels over the three accompanying news photos. I'm tiny print, underneath each shot, she noticed the photographer's name: photography by Sal Esposito. Property of the chronicle."
Photography. . .Alice jumped out of her seat at the microfiche desk and hurried back through the musty, ten-foot-high stacks of bundled, yellowing editions. On the other side of the tombs was the chronicle's photography morgue. Row and rows of unused shots.
She had never ever been in here. . . didn't know how this was laid out.
Creepy, creepy place, especially this late at night, in a flash she recognized that the aisles were chronological. She followed the signs at the end of each aisle until she found February 1995. She ran her eyes along the outside of the stacked bins dated the tenth.
When she spotted it, it was on the highest shelf, where else? She stepped up on the lower shelf, on her tiptoes, and wiggles the bin down.
On the dusty floor, Alice frantically leaned through folders bunched up in elastic. As if in a dream, she came upon a folder marked in large black letters: "crossed wire opening-Esposito " this was it. . .
Inside were four contact sheet, several black-and-white glossies. Someone, probably the reporter, had written the names of each person, in pen, at the bottom of each shot.
Her eyes froze as she came upon the photo she was hoping for. Four people toasting the camera, with arms locked.
She recognized Hannah Simon face from the photos Moo had come back with. Red hair, curly. Trendy in laid glasses.
And next to her, smiling into the camera, was another face Alive knew. It took her breath away her fingers trembled with the realization that she had deciphered the hieroglyphics at last.
It was the trimmed, reddish colored beard. The narrow, complicit smile, as if he knew where all this might one day lead.
Next to Hannah Simon was the novelist Richard Zaddicos.
Moo's POV
I was totally surprised when Alice appeared at my door at half past eleven. With a look of wide-eyed elation and pride, she blurted, "I know who was Hannah Simon's lover was."
Richard Zaddicos," I replied. "Come on in, Alice, down, snippy." She was tugging at my Giants night shirt.
"Oh God; she groaned, loudly. "I was so pumped up. I though I had found it,"
She had found it. She had beaten Jude and Seattle. Two squads of trained investigators as well as the FBI. I looked at her with genuine admiration. "How?"
Too restless to sit, Alice stalked around my living room as she too me through the steps of her amazing discovery. She unfolded a copy of the news photo showing Zaddicos and Hannah Simon at the movie opening. I watched her circle the couch, trying to keep up with herself:Bright star . . . Sierra. . . Crossed wire. . . She was hyper. "I'm a good reporter, Moo," she said.
I know you are." I smiled at her. " you just can't write about it.
Alice stopped- the sudden realization of what she had overlooked hitting her like a pie in the face.
"Oh God," she moaned. "That's like being in shower with Brad Pitt, but you can't touch." She looked at me, half smiling, half nails were being driven into her heart.
Alive"- I reached out and held her- you wouldn't have even known to look for him if hadn't clued you in on Cleveland."
I went in to the kitchen. "You want some tea?" I called out.
She collapsed on the couch and let out anothe wail, I want a beer. No not beer. Bourbon."
I pointed to my small bar near terrace. In a few moment, we sat down. Me with my Nocturnal seasoning, Alice with a stiff glass of wild turkey, sin boy comfortable at our feet.
"I'm proud of you Alice, I told her. "You did crack the name. You scooped two police forces. When this is over, I'm gonna make sure you get a special mention in the press,"
"I'm am the press," Alive exclaimed, forcing herself to laugh. "And what do you mean, when this is over'? You have him."
"Not quite." I shook my head. Explained that everything we had, even stuff she didn't know- the vineyard. The champagne- was circumstantial. We couldn't even force him to submit a hair.
"So what do we need to do?""
"Tie Richard Zaddicos solidly in to the first crime."
Suddenly, she began to pleading? "I have to run with it, Moo."
No," I insisted. "No one knows. Only Kalistus and Gabriel. And one more. . .
Who?" Alice blinked
Agnes Okafor."
"The assistant district attorney? That office is like colander trying to sail across the pacific. It's nothing but leaks."
"Not Agnes," I promised. "She won't leak this."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because Agnes Okafor wants to nail this guy as much as we do, I said with conviction.
"That's all?" groaned Alice.
I sipped a soothing mouthful of teal, met her eyes, " and because I invited her into our group."