CHAPTER 54
“I hear you’re causing quite a fuss for the brass around this place,” Luke said.
Sidney grabbed the thumb drive that contained her edits from the past two hours and dropped it in her purse, which she hung over her shoulder.
“I was just leaving, Luke. Do you need anything, or are you just here to give me grief?”
“I’m here to tell you I’m proud of you.”
She was collecting the pages from Julian Crist’s file and preparing to walk past him without offering eye contact, but his sentence stopped her. She stood upright behind her desk and stared at him.
“I’m not much for humility,” Luke said, “so take this for what it’s worth. You’ve got them running scared, I hope you know that.”
“Who?”
“The suits. They consider you a loose cannon, but they also know you’re a talented producer.
They hate you for not conforming to their way of doing things, but they love you for creating a show that twenty-plus million people are watching each week, and on which advertisers are fighting for space.
For executives at a major network, you scare the hell out of them.
You make them money, but you’re unpredictable. ”
“And what? They sent you to rein me in?”
“Yes. They talked with me about it. I told them I’d talk with you.”
“Luke, I missed a deadline. It’s not the end of the world, and in the grand scheme—”
“Don’t do it their way,” Luke said, cutting her off.
“What?”
“Do it your way. Shit, Sidney, if I could start my career over and take a path that more closely represented my interests, I’d do it in a second.
Instead, here I sit. I’m a ratings whore.
I live by my ratings, and eventually I’ll die by them.
I’ve painted myself into such a tight corner that I don’t even get to choose my stories anymore.
I have to stick with the masses. They tell me what to feature, and I do it.
If I run something that’s not a ratings giant, I’m a failure.
Don’t set your career on the same course. ”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I know what you’re after. And I compare it to what I chased my entire career.
I was after fame and fortune. You’re after the truth.
What I could never figure out until watching you over the last few months is that you don’t have to chase one or the other.
But you’ve got to start off looking for the truth, not the other way around. ”
A slight smile came to Sidney’s face. “I’m not sure Ray Sandberg would appreciate the advice you’re giving me.”
Luke smiled also. “Fuck ’em.” He turned to leave. “Can’t wait to see the final episodes. But do them your way.”
For the first time since knowing him, when Luke Barrington left her, there was no cavernous ringing in her ears.
* * *
Although it was a dump of an episode, created because new findings had caused her to question how she wanted to proceed with the documentary, Sidney refused to produce substandard work.
She and Leslie made sure the episode was a well-constructed and entertaining retelling of the previous seven installments that summarized the details of Julian Crist’s death and Grace Sebold’s incarceration, the holes that existed in her conviction, the mistakes in judgment and procedure made by the St. Lucian Police Force, and an explanation for the evidence against Grace Sebold.
Anyone interested in jumping into the documentary now had an opportunity to get caught up in sixty minutes.
Her problem was where she went from here.
She knew, in light of recent developments, that Graham’s outline for the final three episodes was garbage.
The way the executives wanted the documentary to end— nice and neat, with a big red bow tied to Grace Sebold’s exoneration—was not going to happen.
Once Henry Anderson’s death was revealed, all hell would break loose.
And if she moved forward with her theory about the love lock and who had swung it, there was no chance of wrapping things up in three weeks.
She hailed a cab and paid the fare twenty minutes later when the driver pulled to the front of the Alcove Manor.
She checked in at the front desk, stuck her name tag onto her blouse, and rode the elevator.
She found Gus Morelli sitting in his bedside chair watching the recap episode.
He pulled his gaze from the television when she walked in, then pointed to the screen.
“What the hell is this?”
“A summary episode.”
“I just cringe watched the whole season, I don’t need a recap.”
“Binge watched. And I missed a deadline, thanks to your letter. This is what you get.”
Gus muted the television. “What did you find?”
“The skull fractures are the same,” Sidney said.
He narrowed his eyes. “How do you know for sure?”
“The M.E. compared Henry’s skull fractures from autopsy to Julian Crist’s. They’re nearly identical.”
“Son of a bitch,” Gus said.
“And,” Sidney said, “I think I found the murder weapon.”
Gus shook his head like it was too much, then waved his hand. “Help me up. I’ve gotta walk while you tell me this story.”
A few minutes later, Sidney walked next to Gus as he shuffled down the hallway, his walker sliding over the linoleum as he limped on his prosthesis.
She told the story of the last twenty-four hours, her aborted attempt to confront Grace Sebold, her cryptic chess match with Marshall, the love lock, and her visit to Dr. Cutty’s morgue this morning.
“That’s a helluva find,” Gus said.
“Now the question is, what do I do with it? I’ve got to talk to Mrs. Anderson again to let her know what we found and to see what she wants to do about it. Then I’ve got to talk to the police.”
Gus shook his head. “Reopening a twenty-year-old case is never tops on their list. They weren’t keen on it when I tried after eight years. But with enough evidence and pressure, like you might be able to bring, they won’t be able to ignore it. The other issue is that she just got out of jail.”
“Grace?”
“Yes. She was exonerated by a foreign government, and I’d have to check the books to make sure, but I don’t think St. Lucia has a law against double jeopardy. So it’s possible that she could be retried for the same crime down there. Plus a new trial for Henry Anderson here in the U.S.”
“Unless it wasn’t her,” Sidney said.
Gus stopped shuffling and looked at her.
Sidney shook her head. “You talked about instinct before. That you sometimes relied on it when you were working. Well, my instincts are telling me that it wasn’t Grace.”
“Then who was it?”
“I don’t know. One of her friends. Ellie Reiser.”
“Where does this theory come from?”
“Something Marshall Sebold told me. I get this feeling he knows more than anyone has given him credit for. I also get the feeling that whole group from Sugar Beach has secrets. That they’re covering for each other.
The same group that was in Sugar Beach was also at Whiteface Mountain when Henry Anderson died. ”
“Wild theories might make great television,” Gus said. “But police hate them.”
“What if we had more than a theory?” Sidney asked as they rounded the corner and continued along the hallway back toward Gus’s room.
“Such as?”
“Have you made any progress on the shoeprint you found on Julian’s shirt?”
Gus shook his head. “I made some calls today. I’ve got an old friend looking into it for me. Probably hear back in a day or two.”
“If you dig into Julian’s file, which I did for most of the afternoon today, you’ll see that the St. Lucian Police Force took samples of all the shoeprints they found on the bluff.
They also confiscated many shoes from the guests at Sugar Beach, including everyone in the wedding party, to see if they matched.
When they found a hit on Grace’s shoe, they stopped there.
But that document was still in the file.
It contained a list of everyone’s shoes.
Type of tread, size, and the corresponding make and manufacturer.
A detective friend of mine helped me out with one of the early episodes.
He brought this document to my attention.
What I need to do is get an ID on the type of shoe that caused the print you found on Julian’s shirt and shorts, and then cross-reference it to see if it matches any of the prints logged by the St. Lucian Police Force. If we get a match . . .”
“Then you’ve got some proof and not just a theory. What if it comes back as the Sebold girl’s shoe?”
“Then I owe you that shot of Johnnie Walker. But I’m worried that we’re going to find it belongs to someone else.”
“And if it does match her friend?” Gus asked.
“Then we go to the police. At that point, this thing will have gotten bigger than the biggest documentary in television history.”
They made it back to Gus’s room. He took a few steps without the aid of the walker and sat on the edge of the bed.
“In case I can somehow salvage this thing,” Sidney said. “Are you interested in appearing in my documentary? I’d love to show my audience the letter you sent that started me along this road, and introduce them to the man who for twenty years never let the memory of Henry Anderson fade.”
Gus looked at the television. Dr. Cutty was staring into the camera, as if speaking directly to him, explaining her findings from when she had conducted her experiment weeks before on the cadavers. Slowly Gus nodded.
“I think I’d be okay with that.”
“Excellent. I’ll be in touch. I’ll bring my crew for the interview. When your guy gets back to you about the print, let me know.”
“Thanks,” Gus said. The edges of his lips turned up slightly.
Sidney noticed and lifted her chin. She had never seen the man smile during the hours she had spent with him. “Excited about your television debut?”
“No,” Gus said. “I don’t give a crap about being on television. But it feels good to feel like a cop again.”