Every Second

52

Manhattan, New York

Kate lifted her head from her work to the glittering spires of Manhattan’s skyline rising before her.

She and Stan were crossing the Hudson on the George Washington Bridge into New York City. It was late. She’d worked nonstop the entire return trip, filing story updates and making more calls in pursuit of information about Lori’s ties to Jerricko Blaine or Malcolm Samadyh. Most people she’d reached met her questions with, “Who? Never heard of him,” or “Not us, wrong Blaines.” She dialed another number, this one in Southern California, with little hope of a lead. The line was answered by a woman.

“Is this the home of Ramone and Wanda Blaine?”

“Yes, this is Wanda. Who’s calling?”

“Kate Page. I’m a reporter with Newslead in New York. I’m trying to reach relatives of Jerricko Titus Blaine. Are you a relative?”

The woman on the phone hesitated, then replied that, yes, she was related.

Kate sat ramrod straight.

“You’re related to Jerricko Titus Blaine?”

“Yes.” The woman sighed. “We figured someone would call us sooner or later-we’ve been watching the news all day and we weren’t sure if we should get involved, or what. We’re not sure how we could help.”

Pressing the phone to her head, Kate made a one-handed scramble into her bag for her pen and notebook, flipping through it to a clean page.

“You could talk to me-help me get the true facts?”

“All right. But listen, we’ve got nothing to do with him, or what he’s involved in.”

“Of course not. Can you tell me how you’re related to Mr. Blaine?”

“We’re cousins of Andy Blaine, Jerricko’s father. He was a great guy-real salt-of-the-earth man.”

“Was?”

“Oh-yes, he died in a car accident a long while back.”

“I’m sorry about your loss,” Kate said. “What about Jerricko’s mother? Do you know her very well?”

“I think she’s crazy. All Andy’s trouble seemed to start with her. Ever since they moved back to the States, all she did was rant about how much she hated living here, telling the boys this was a terrible country right from the start.”

“Sorry-can you backtrack a little bit? The boys?”

“Jerricko and his older brother, Mac.”

Kate couldn’t believe her luck, discovering that Jerricko had a brother. This call was good. “Jerricko’s brother-his name is Mac?”

“Yeah, short for Malcolm. That one was always trouble, especially after Andy passed away. Got in with the wrong crowd-no thanks to his mother-and did some…pretty horrible things.”

“Horrible like what?” Kate asked.

“Robbing convenience stores and that sort of garbage. He eventually went to prison, but when he got out he was right back to his old ways and… Well, a few years back he shot a police officer who caught him mid-robbery-ended up shot dead himself.”

Kate was stunned. Malcolm-the man Lori Fulton had shot after he murdered her partner…

“And just to confirm-this shooting, was it in Orange County?”

“That’s right. Santa Ana. About five, six years ago now I think.”

“Wait,” Kate asked, still trying to puzzle out one last detail. “Can you spell Malcolm’s last name for me, please?”

Wanda spelled it for her, S-A-M-A-D-Y-H, adding, “It’s Sam-a-dee-hah.”

“Got it. Thanks. But do you know why his last name isn’t Blaine, like his father’s and brother’s?”

The woman snorted. “Just more of his mother’s influence. He took her name when he got out of prison. She’d convinced him that there was nothing good that came from America, so he wanted to reconnect with his mother’s roots.”

Bingo! Kate thought, everything finally falling into place. Malcolm Samadyh is Jerricko Blaine’s brother. Lori shot Jerricko’s brother.

“Do you have a number for Jerricko’s mother, Nazihah?”

“No, sorry. She went back to Afghanistan, or Syria, someplace after Malcolm died-and we were never close. Like I said, she hated America and everyone in it, and that seemed to include us and the rest of Andy’s family.”

“Do you know why she hated it so much?”

“Well, she used to go on about how immoral we were here. And Mac’s death only solidified those beliefs.”

“Does Nazihah have terrorist, or jihadist sympathies?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Wanda said.

“Have police talked to you?”

“No.”

“Have any other reporters talked to you?”

“No, you’re the first. But, hey, I should have said this from the start-I don’t want you putting our names in any news stories. We’ve got nothing to do with this mess, and I don’t want anyone thinking otherwise.”

“But I identified myself as a reporter at the start of this call.”

“Well, we were just talking!” Wanda said. “You never mentioned anything about a formal interview or anything. You don’t have permission to use our names.”

“Okay, how about this? If you can help me get in touch with some of Jerricko Blaine’s other relatives, I won’t use your name. I’ll just identify you as a relative.” Wanda took a moment, covering her phone for muffled discussion before returning to the call.

“My uncle wants to know how much you pay for the contact info we’d give you?”

“We don’t pay for that kind of thing, sorry. The best I can do is offer to keep your name out of my story.”

Wanda covered the phone again to deliberate.

“All right,” she confirmed when she was back on the line. “I’ll help you if you guarantee to keep our names out.”

“Absolutely. I will.”

“All right, why don’t you give me your number? I’ll call some relatives and tell them to give you a call.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. There’s a few people I can think of, cousins around the country, especially one in New York you should talk to. He knows way more about the boys than me. I’ll make some calls and tell people to talk to you.”

Kate thanked the woman and then spent the rest of the drive waiting.

But no calls came.

Block after block rolled by as Strobic drove through Manhattan’s West Side and Kate was filled with the sick feeling that something critical had slipped through her fingers. In an act of desperation, she called Wanda Blaine back, but no one answered.

I had her on the line, and she was talkative. I should’ve pressed her harder.

But exhaustion had clouded Kate’s thinking, and now it was too late.

Images of the day replayed in Kate’s mind when she was alone in the elevator on the way up to pick up Grace. As it rose, the hum lulled her. She leaned against the wall and almost drifted off.

Nancy greeted Kate with a warm smile, letting her in to wake Grace from a dead sleep on the sofa.

“Thanks a million, Nancy.”

“No thanks needed.”

Kate then brought her groggy daughter to their floor, into their apartment, into her nightshirt and into bed. After kissing Grace good-night, Kate saw that Vanessa was in her room asleep. Knowing she’d have just finished a night class, and that she’d be up early for a morning shift at the diner, Kate was careful not to disturb her as she moved down the hall toward the bathroom.

Kate climbed into the shower, the needles of hot water soothing her. As she let the pressure of the water slowly relax the tense muscles in her neck, she contemplated her next steps.

She needed to dig up more about Jerricko. Now that the link between him and Lori was clear, she needed to find out whether this whole thing was cold-blooded revenge or something more. Why rob the bank and take the family hostage? Why hadn’t he just gone straight after Lori? And the big question: Who was helping him?

She still had a lot of work to do. But she’d just landed a big exclusive, which should make Reeka happy. Kate would start writing her story in the morning, and she’d press Agent Varner with this new information to try to leverage anything more. And, keeping her promise, she’d also share her information with Ben Keller in LA about thirty minutes before Newslead released her story.

After showering, she brushed her teeth, dried her hair, pulled on her robe, then slipped into Grace’s room to check on her. Kneeling at her bedside, Kate adjusted her blanket, tenderly pushing aside strands of Grace’s hair and looking at her.

“I’m sorry I’ve been working so much, sweetie,” Kate whispered, grateful to have Grace safely by her side. Her heart ached for Lori, Dan and Billy Fulton. “I love you so much.”

Kate kissed Grace’s cheek and left the room.

Since the door to Vanessa’s room was opened a crack, Kate tiptoed in and knelt at her sister’s bedside.

Sometimes I still don’t believe that you’re here with me.

Kate marveled at Vanessa, a beautiful young woman who’d triumphed by crawling victoriously out of the hell she’d been cast into. She was working so hard at reclaiming the life that had been stolen from her.

You’re my hero, kiddo.

Kate then climbed into her own bed. Sleep came quickly and soon her mind was filled with stressful dreams of making calls, the sound of her phone ringing, then vibrating, so loud…

Kate woke, head spinning as she grabbed her phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi… Is this the reporter who was asking about Nazihah Samadyh’s sons?”

“Yes, who’s calling?”

“Bert.”

He had a heavy accent-maybe Middle Eastern, Kate thought.

“Bert who?”

“Only my first name, okay? My cousin in California told me about you. I’ll talk, but not now. It has to be early tomorrow.”

“Can’t we talk on the phone, Bert?”

“No, it has to be in person.”

“Why not now?”

“Because I’m going to the FBI tomorrow.”

Kate sat up and grabbed a pen.

“All right, where do you want to meet?”

“At Grand Central Terminal, by the Grabbin Run Deli. You know it?”

“Yes.”

“Meet me at seven-thirty. I’ll tell you everything before I tell the FBI, because you should know the truth. You’re my safety net for the truth.”

The call ended with Kate staring at her phone.

How about that? Wanda Blaine came through, Kate thought as she absorbed the information.

“You should know the truth.”

Her head was swimming.

She settled back into bed, though it took several long moments for her pulse rate to slow down. Waiting for sleep, she looked through her window and up at the crescent moon. Staring into the night, she thought of Dan, Lori and Billy Fulton and wondered if they could see the same moon from where they were.

Are they even alive to see it?