B. J. Winters

What looks like a routine follow-up on a newspaper story leads two investigative journalists to a plot of kidnapping, murder and revenge.  It's just a typical summer in Chicago!

This story turned out to be a combination of the Godfather, the Divinci Code and His Girl Friday.  Overall a fun two year virtual collaboration with my Canadian friend C. 

Bible Quotes figure in the clues - hidden messages sent from one character to another via a series of postcards.  Try to unravel the hints:

1) Leviticus 24 17 - chapter 2

2) 2 Chronicles 7:13-14 - chapter 4

3) Mathew 5:17 - chapter 6

4) Mathew 2:14 - chapter 6

5) Romans 12:19-21 - chapter 10

6) Ecclesiasticus 34:3 - chapter 18

We're done some rewrites recently, and will continue to work on this one with your suggestions.   Thanks for the early support and recognition.

Name: Scott Crawford

Gender: Male
Age: 32
Zodiac Sign: Cancer
Nationality: American
Current Residence: Chicago, IL
Height: 6' 1"
Weight: 175
Body type: Athletic
Hair: Blond
Eyes: Blue

+++++++++++++++++

Personality: A curious cat

Quote: "I've hardly had time to sit, let alone stir."

Biography/Family: Navy brat.  Lived in 13 countries.  Three sisters.  Parents both still living.

Education: University of New York

Attire: Dress casual (dockers/polo shirts)

Strengths/Likes: Very smart - tends to get involved in things he shouldn't

Weaknesses/Dislikes: Doesn't sleep much

Bad habits: Doesn't share much about himself which leads people to draw their own conclusions.

Speech: Slight New York accent

Theme song: In the End - Linkin Park

Name:   Contessa Gianni Haven Morgano

Alias:   Tessa Morgan

Gender: Female
Age:   28
Zodiac Sign:  Capricorn
Nationality:    Italian-American
Current Residence:   Chicago, Ill
Height:  5’ 3”
Weight:  111

Body type:  
Hair: Red
Eyes: Ice Blue

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Personality:   Italian - enough said

Quote:   What you see is what you get but not everything you see is real.

Biography/Family:   Both parents deceased.  Twin to brother Dante.

Education:   University of Florida   
Attire:   the range is broad; looks great in anything from a burlap sack to an haute couture evening gown.

Strengths/Likes:  High IQ, accomplished pianist, loves pillows and has no less than seven on her bed.

Weaknesses:  Something about pillows (see above)

Bad habits:  struggling with quitting drinking

Speech:  English, Italian and Chinese

Theme song:   Let it Rain – Amanda Marshall http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=WB8m-y7exww  

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Other names of note:

Darla Perelli, Kate Moreno, and Gail Torrance  - disappeared or killed

Pascal DeMarco, Cy Esposito, Dante Morgano - disappeared of killed

Father Luke Cuzzeto - priest

Detective Eric Blaine - police officer in Chicago

Marcy Finch - police officer in New York

Marlayna Reed - editor of the New York post

I like to use real locations.  This takes place in Chicago, and New York City.

CHICAGO

The Navy Pier 

The Smith Museum of Stained Glass (at the Navy Pier)

St. Joseph's Basilica

Chicago Tribune Building

NEW YORK

The Westin - New York

The black waters of the lake sucked the air out of the car as it rolled from the shore to the depths beyond. The two men who stood on the rocky beach could well have brushed their hands in satisfaction. But they didn’t. No smile arched their faces; no congratulatory words passed their lips. A woman was dead.

“All for nothing,” one of them said, hiding his hands in his pockets.

The other lit a cigarette and blew smoke in the direction of the sinking car. The white fumes faded just as the hood of the convertible sank. “There are always innocent victims in war.”

“We are at war?”

“Yes.”

“War has no winners.” He would not look back. There was nothing to see but regret across the calm waters of Lake Michigan. “May God have mercy on your soul.”

As he turned away, the other was left to wonder if the prayer was for the dead girl, or for him…

~***~

Chapter 1

Click, click, click…

Each press of the enter key advanced a page in the news archives. Facts flashed on the computer monitor like Christmas lights, and Scott Crawford sat at his desk watching the display. The reporter’s instinct was running hot, but so far, his fingers and brain weren’t finding anything inspiring.

He was bored.

No fires, police corruption, or kidnappings came over the wire. Even gossip on the internet didn’t spark his interest. That left Scott with the archives. He needed an idea, a story to throw on the editor’s desk before 5 p.m. so that he could go home, grill a steak and sleep. Hunger kept him clicking.

Fingers paused—a missing person from a month ago—the daughter of a wealthy Chicago restaurateur. Scott leaned forward, his nose moving closer to the monitor. He refused to put on his glasses, preferring the vanity of squinting. He traced the text below the picture of a woman in her twenties as he tried to absorb the sketchy facts.

Sniff.

There it was again, that annoying fragrance of perfume, some combination of lavender and citrus. It could have been her shampoo or something else; most days he tried not to get close enough to tell. Leaning to his left, Scott looked across the cubicle dividers in the bullpen office to see Tessa Morgan at her own computer station; one leg tucked under her small frame, the other pulled tight to her chest.

Casually, he stood and walked over. His long legs ate up the distance in six steps. Tessa’s office was not homey; no plants, no cute little personal items, nothing that made you want to enter, let alone stay. The senior writer didn’t glance in Scott’s direction as he entered, finding the focal point of her office, the computer, of more interest.

“Hey,” Scott said, flashing his best smile.

In the past week, he’d beaten Tessa to two bylines. Their competition was becoming gossip in the newspaper office, but he didn’t really care. It wasn’t that he really considered her a rival; she was just fun to play with. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “What are you working on?”

“The usual,” she said, tossing a long auburn curl from her shoulder.

The cool tone caused Scott to raise an eyebrow. “You’re not still mad, are you?”

With more force than necessary, she scribbled a note on the pad of paper beside her. The pencil tip snapped; Scott took that as confirmation. He put both hands in the air in mock surrender, cringing when her ice blue eyes lifted to his. “Look, it was nothing personal.”

“You’ve been here five weeks,” she snapped, her tone implying he lacked the knowledge and experience for the Tribune. “I’ve been here five years.”

“I earned my stripes at the Post.” He barely stopped himself from adding more, forcefully clamping his own jaw closed to hold the thoughts unspoken.

“New York,” she scoffed, as though it couldn’t hold a candle to Chicago. “You should have stayed there.”

Tessa lifted a hand like she was swatting at a bug. “What do you want, Crawford?”

Scott wasn’t deterred by the attitude. “Darla Perelli,” he stated. By the way Tessa’s hand stilled, he surmised she recognized the name. “You wrote an article a while ago—did she ever turn up?”

“Like a piece of lost luggage?”

Scott didn’t think he’d been insensitive, but he felt slightly embarrassed by her question. When Tessa set down the pencil she was holding and it rolled across her desk, he picked it up and twirled it, trying to appear casual. “That's not what I said.”

Tessa stood. She barely reached the height of Scott’s shoulder, but was an intimidating package all the same. “Must you?” she said, grabbing the pencil from his toying hands.

Words slipped out as his fingers lost their grip. “I read your piece and was thinking about doing a follow-up.”

“Why? She was just a waitress from a nearby spaghetti house. Hardly the type of person you’d choose to profile. You’re more into politics and scandal.”

“So are you.”

Tessa avoided the question by opening a drawer in her desk and produced a half-emptied mickey. Bringing the silver flask to her full lips, she took a sip.

Seeing Scott’s startled look, she said, “It’s chocolate milk. I couldn’t find my thermos this morning.”

Tessa’s private life was a bit of a mystery; even those who claimed to know her well, revealed few conclusive facts. With a blink, Scott said, “Maybe if you drank something stronger than dairy products, you’d relax a little.”

Her eyes shifted to the side to peer at Scott but she didn’t turn her head. Drawing in a short breath, she stated firmly, “I don’t drink!” and as if to accentuate the point, with her hand still a good foot above the desktop, Tessa brought the bottle down hard.

The sound echoed in the small office, the force vibrating across the desk. The office area was open, the cubicle walls short, and Scott could see a few co-workers taking an interest in their exchange.

“So,” she said, her voice almost a growl, “what has your research on this Perelli woman shown—anything interesting?” There was a small pause, “Something you need help with?”

The smile on his face was less bright, but still masked what he was truly thinking. For a second he almost said ‘maybe’ just to see what kind of reaction he would get. His fingers raked through his short sandy blond hair as he counted to ten. “Nope,” he said, glancing at the watch on his wrist, “I should be going.”

With a nod of decision, Scott stood and headed out of the cubicle without a backward glance.

Tessa watched as he left; her mouth dropped open in an apparent attempt to speak but with a second thought, she chose not to. Stepping up to her desk, she leaned against it. Dropping her head to her chest, she thought about what just happened, silently cursing. Why can’t you learn to play nice?

Lifting her head, she spotted a few co-workers looking her way. Her voice had risen during their exchange while Scott remained the man of cool Teflon. It was always Tessa who got the curious glances after their legendary exchanges—while the golden boy could do no wrong.

Tessa grabbed her bag and jacket, and left her cube. Across the aisle was Scott’s empty workspace. Brazenly she walked in; her hand hovered over the computer mouse as she stared at the blank monitor. Her hand moved closer and then stopped. After a second, she pulled it back sharply as if burned by something hot.

She turned, forcing herself to leave, and hurriedly took the stairs to the main floor. Bursting out the front doors of the Tribune, she shook her head slowly back and forth in disbelief. Even her thoughts betrayed her. Invade his privacy, all in the name of ego.

Tessa would have to find comfort for her nervous energy and curiosity elsewhere.

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