7. Nat

"Thanks," I say to the barista as she passes me my double espresso latte with a shot of vanilla. Our office has a coffee machine in the break room but I needed some fresh air and some time away from my computer. Nothing I've written this morning makes any sense.

Most likely because I barely got any sleep last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured a faceless man lurking in the shadows. Even knowing my apartment was triple-locked didn't help.

In the end, I shoved a chair under my bedroom door handle and stuck a knife under my pillow. I figured if anyone was going to break in, I'd hear them, which would allow me to stab them to death.

Not the world's best plan, but it was good enough to let me get some sleep.

All of three hours.

And now I'm feeling it.

Double espresso notwithstanding.

I take my coffee and chocolate brownie - because sugar and caffeine are the only way I can cope today - and grab a seat in the corner.

The cafe is busy, buzzing with freelancers taking advantage of the good coffee and free power outlets. I sometimes bring my laptop in here when I want a change of scenery. Not today though. Today, I have my paper notebook, where I scribble ideas and thoughts.

Most other journalists I know use the Notes app on their phones. I get why they do, but I like making notes the old-school way. There's something satisfying about putting pen to paper.

I scribble some notes as I sip my coffee, little reminders of people I want to talk to, leads to pursue, and angles worth exploring. While the story on the mayor is my main focus right now, I have other stories I'm working on. My editor expects us all to produce a steady stream of content for the paper's digital platform, and I'm no exception.

Just as I swallow the last bite of my chocolate brownie, my phone pings with a message alert.

Unknown: 6 PM City Park. Bandstand - Margana.

My pulse picks up and I quickly tap out a reply.

Me: I'll be there.

Every trace of tiredness in my bones evaporates. This could be my big break in the story. If Margana - and I doubt that's their real name - has some information that I can use, I might finally be able to wrap up the story in a big red bow and pass it over to the paper's legal department for the obligatory checks before we publish.

I have a few hours to kill before the meeting, so I quickly finish my coffee and scurry back to the office to make some bullet points of things to ask.

It's a lovely evening and the park is busy. Parents stroll while small children burn off excess energy. Teenagers congregate on benches, chatting and making social media content. Joggers sweat and office workers pass through on their way home.

I'm early for the meeting. The messages could be a hoax and this Margana, whoever they are, might not show. It wouldn't be the first time I've been messed around.

The sun flickers through the trees as I walk briskly toward the bandstand. A dog gallops past, chasing a ball and barking joyfully. I scan every face I see, trying to discern whether it's the person I'm meeting. I have no clue if they're male or female. How old they are. Anything.

The bandstand comes into view. This is where open-air concerts take place in the summer. It's a large wrought iron structure, with concrete benches positioned at intervals around the perimeter. Later in the evening, it's a magnet for teenagers, who use it as a meeting point and make-out spot.

Right now, there aren't many other people nearby.

I look around, wondering if my contact is here.

A tall guy sits messing with a phone, there's a woman with a baby in a stroller, and on the far side, two kids kick a football around. My informant could be the guy, but he looks a bit too relaxed. I doubt it's the woman with a baby, either, so I pick a bench and sit down.

Twenty minutes pass. Is this a massive waste of my time? It's ten minutes past the time we agreed to meet. I'll wait until 7 PM, just in case.

I make notes while I wait, occasionally looking up when people approach. Just as I'm about to call it a day, an older woman walks toward me. She's fairly nondescript-looking. Mid-40s at a guess, with graying hair partially covered in a weird headscarf. A thicker coat than the warm weather warrants.

My gaze flicks over her, moves on, and then returns.

There's something about the way her eyes keep darting around, checking the immediate area. I focus on her as she gets closer, taking in the way she grips her bag as if she's afraid it'll be ripped from her hands.

She drops down on the bench beside me, close but not touching, looking into the distance like she's merely passing time and we're just strangers sharing a bench in a park.

Before I can say a word, she reaches into her huge scuffed leather bag and retrieves a small USB drive.

"I copied as much as I could," she tells me in a low voice, pressing it into my hand. "Emails."

"What do they show?" For all I know, she's handing me a bunch of useless invoices detailing how many cartons of milk the mayor signs off on for the staff room.

"Emails between him and his associates where he discusses acquisitions. He does most of it over the phone but sometimes he writes things down in emails. The man's arrogant. He thinks because I'm an older woman, I'm stupid." Her lip curls up with disgust. "I've been loyal to him for years. Helped his career. Took care of his office. And for what?"

I'm starting to see it now. This woman is - or rather was - in love with the mayor. I'm guessing he treats her like shit and she's finally had enough.

"I looked the other way when I found out about his…younger women. But when I heard him talk about… I couldn't do it anymore."

"What is he doing?"

"He's…" She pauses and stares across the park intently. I follow her gaze but I can't see much other than a guy in a suit having a phone conversation. "I have to go, sorry."

I reach out and grab her coat sleeve. "Wait!"

"If I can, I'll be in touch," she whispers, then she yanks her arm away and hurries down the path toward the main entrance.

I'm still not sure what spooked her. The suit guy is still on his phone and the mom and baby are cooing at each other. A few hundred feet away, an older man ambles along with his dog.

With a sigh, I shove the USB drive into my pocket and head back to the office.