Chapter 25

25

The moment Donovan locked eyes on me when I exited the car, he turned and began sprinting in the opposite direction. He was young, in his twenties I guessed, and he had a face that reminded me of a ferret. While scrawny, he was quick on his feet. Given the heeled shoes I'd chosen to wear that morning weren't ideal, I kicked them off and chased after him.

In my mind, I told myself I was fast enough to catch him. In reality, he was a lot nimbler than I'd expected. Running after him, barefoot, on the sidewalk, didn't feel great. My lucky break came when he glanced back just long enough to assess the distance between us. Just for long enough a time that he tripped over a child's scooter and flew over it, tumbling to the ground.

I caught up to him, waited for him to catch his breath, and then I reached down, offering him a hand.

He looked up at me, shielding his face with his hand like he feared I might strike him.

"Take my hand, Donovan," I said, "And no more running, okay?"

Donovan accepted the hand I'd offered but didn't make eye contact. When I got him back on his feet again, he bowed his head and said, "Sorry."

"If you're sorry, why did you run?"

"I was … I don't know. I saw you, and it was the first thing that came to mind."

"I just want to talk."

"I can't believe Benjamin sold me out."

"I'm not sure why you're surprised. Benjamin's a politician in every sense of the word. If you haven't learned that by now, you better."

"Guess you're right."

"You've been following me."

"No, I haven't."

I crossed my arms, gritting my teeth as I said, "You know what would be great? You being honest with me. It would make my life a whole lot easier. Then we wouldn't have to go back and forth about what's the truth and what isn't. You followed me yesterday, and we both know it."

"Okay, so … maybe I did. What are you going to do about it?"

His tone was more humble than arrogant.

"I haven't decided what to do about it yet," I said.

Donovan glanced down at his phone, which had flown out of his hand when he tripped and smashed onto the sidewalk. The glass had shattered into a million pieces. He reached down, cursing as he picked it up. He pressed a few buttons, trying to get the screen to come alive, but there was only the black screen of death.

He cursed a few more times, this time toward the sky, but even the heavens couldn't help him.

"My recordings, I can't believe they're …"

He slapped a hand against his mouth, as if realizing he'd said something he shouldn't have.

"You recorded me?" I asked.

"I never said I recorded you . They could be recordings of anything."

We were back to where we started. Donovan denying what he'd done, and me struggling to get to the truth.

"You recorded me, and if I had to guess what you recorded, it would be the conversation I had with Cordelia's neighbor, Kayla," I said.

"I … I just wanted to be sure I had my facts straight about what was going on in the investigation so far."

His hands were trembling.

"So, you've been stalking me, and?—"

"I wasn't stalking you," he said. "This may sound crazy, but I am in awe of you, the way you do things, and how you get people to tell you stuff. If anything, I want to learn from you, learn your process."

Flattery didn't faze me most of the time but the sincerity in his voice was something I couldn't ignore. Not to mention the way he kept offering me quick, fleeting glances and then looking away. He reminded me of a timid boy who'd just met his celebrity crush.

"Listen, you can't record conversations in California," I said. "You're a reporter, and you know that. It's a two-party consent state. You need my consent to record the conversation and Kayla's consent, and I'm never going to give it to you. If the recording is gone because your phone is broken, consider it a good thing."

"I wasn't going to record you, at first. I mean it."

"Then why did you?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're a fast talker? I was taking notes, and I couldn't keep up. Recording you so I could replay it later seemed like a good solution at the time."

If I was a speed talker, it was news to me.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," he said. "I never meant for any of this to happen, and I wasn't going to report on anything you said."

"If you weren't going to report it, you wouldn't have recorded me."

"When I started the recording, I had no idea what was about to be said. I thought it was just going to be a basic interview, until it wasn't. I didn't expect to hear most of what I heard."

"Who else have you spoken to about my conversation with Kayla?"

"Just Benjamin."

"I'm not sure I believe you."

"It's true. I'll do anything to make it up to you. Just tell me what you want, what I can do to make things right."

I thought about what I wanted and came up with a few things.

"The first thing you're going to do is to stop following me," I said. "I want you to keep quiet about what you know. There are to be no more conversations about this case with Benjamin, understand?"

"I do. Are you gonna … you know, turn me in for what I did?"

"After Benjamin came to my office, my first thought was to stop by the chief of police's office and tell him what Benjamin knew. Then I decided I'd come straight to your house first and hear what you had to say. There aren't always two sides to a story, but in this case, I believe there was a bit of coercion on Benjamin's part."

The longer our conversation went on, the more I found myself liking the kid. He was awkward and a little shy, and against my better judgment, I believed his apology was sincere.

We turned, heading back toward his house.

"I'll make you a deal," I said. "If you promise to honor what we discussed today, I won't say anything to anyone else about what you did. But I better not see anything in the paper or catch you following me again."

"I won't."

"Good. Don't give me a reason to change my mind."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Can I ask you a question, off the record?"

"Donovan, anything we're talking about right now is off the record."

"Of course, you're right. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing."

"All right, sorry." He shook his head. "Dang it, I did it again."

Unable to hold back, I laughed. "You seem nervous."

"I guess I am," he said. "I've been following your career, but I meant what I said … I'm not stalking you. I'm more of an admirer."

"Why?"

"I want to be like you, I guess. Lame, I know."

"It isn't."

"For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a detective. I don't think I have what it takes."

"How do you know until you try?"

"I'm no good with people, not in the way you are."

"I don't believe it," I said. "In the field you're in, you can't be a good reporter if you're not."

"I've been working on it … on my people skills."

I leaned to the side, nudging his shoulder. "You want my advice?"

"Please."

"The first thing you could do to improve your people skills is not to run when a person confronts you."

"I wouldn't have if … Okay, the reason I did is because Benjamin called me before you got here. When he told me what you said to him and how you said it, I was worried. I figured you were so mad, you might throat-punch me or something."

Giving him a nice, hard slap to the face when I caught up to him had crossed my mind. But I did my best to behave like a lady, which came with its challenges.

"I don't know what you've heard about me, but I don't go around throat-punching people." I reached my car and opened the door. "Keep at it, the journalist thing. I'm sure it will get better. And if it doesn't, you're young. You have plenty of time to change your career path."

"I'll try. Before you go, I … ahh, I was hoping to ask you a question."

"Go on."

"What do you think about, like … letting me tag along with you? I won't say a word, and I won't write anything for the paper unless you say it's okay."

Given what we'd just discussed, it was a bold question.

"I'd say you've pressed your luck enough for one day," I said. "For now, let's leave things where they are."