Tin Man’s eyes narrowed. “Bring it on.”
Frankie took another step forward, then turned abruptly and rushed toward the door, jostling people as he squeezed his way through the crowded room. Mugging for the unseen cameras, Tin Man took his seat. The only thing missing was the beating on the chest.
“Settle down everyone.” Celia talked louder to regain control of the situation. Rick knew how important it was for Celia to be the top dog. “Let’s not turn on each other. We’re all trying to do the best we can. Do what’s best for the station.”
Rick heard some grumbling, but he also saw a lot of heads bobbing up and down. A multitude of sayings ran through his mind. “The group is bigger than the individual.” “Safety in numbers.” “All for one and one for all.” Whatever. Rick knew people felt a hell of a lot more secure when others were in the same boat, however leaky.
Celia went on. “I know you’re scared. Hell, I’m scared too. So we’ve decided to beef up security. In addition to the guard posted in the lobby, we’re going to have one in the studio. Actually, he’ll be in master control. We don’t want the sound of his gun clinking to go out on the air.” She mustered a smile to indicate she was joking. Nobody laughed.
“What about when we’re not here? At home or shopping? Are we each going to get our very own guard to take home with us?” Lassita asked. “How about some reassurance? And stop shoveling the manure, if you please.”
Rick felt Winn’s elbow in his ribs. They’d both heard tales of Lassita’s sassiness, although they’d rarely seen it demonstrated. Rick was sure if one of her sales staff spoke to her that way, he’d be out on the pavement, massaging his ass. WTLK was a collection of fiefdoms, all right, each with its own customs and conventions.
Celia’s smile faltered. “In each unfortunate case, it looks like the killing happened at night while the victim was alone. So use common sense. Don’t go out by yourself—use the buddy system. Ask the security guard to walk you to the car in the parking lot, if it’s dark. Don’t wander the streets at night.”
Damon interjected. “Yeah, but Garth was in his condo. He wasn’t out prowling.”
“According to the police, he opened the door and let First Time in.” She glanced around. “Don’t open your doors to strangers.”
One of the sales reps, taking a page from Lassita’s playbook, spoke up. “Maybe we should all quit. I’m sure we could get jobs at some of the other stations in town.”
Celia held her hand up. “I don’t think that’ll help. Remember, Danzler wasn’t working here when he was killed, and Ashlee Wicker never worked here. Like it or not, I think it’s too late to try to distance yourself from WTLK.”
The crowd buzzed, and Rick detected indecision in Celia’s movements. Then, as if a switch was thrown on her circuit breaker panel, she appeared taller, confident. “I’ve got some good news.” She held up one hand and waited patiently for everyone to stop talking and pay attention. “I’ve been authorized to give everyone—everyone who reports to work as scheduled—an extra bonus. Call it hazard pay, if you like.”
This time, more people applauded. Celia was finding her stride. “The
Circus
is going back on the air. But Brewster and I agree it doesn’t stop there. We need to be proactive. We need to focus all of our resources on catching this guy. Do whatever we can. Think about it. If we help catch this monster, not only will we get this guy off the streets, but we’ll have earned tremendous respect in the community, in the radio world, and—most importantly—in the minds of our listeners. After all, that’s why we do this, all of this. For our listeners. Hell, if we catch this guy, we’ll be hailed as heroes.”
Rick didn’t know whether to laugh or vomit. He knew what Celia got off on. Power and money. The listening audience was just an annoyance she had to put up with to reach her goals.
He checked out the crowd. Celia’s message had played pretty well. He detected a fair number of smiles, and the overall mood of the room seemed a little brighter.
Winn’s baritone voice cut through the babble. “Celia? How
exactly
do you plan on helping to catch First Time?”
For an instant, Celia looked panicked, but she recovered quickly. “I’m glad you asked.” A slight glaze clouded Celia’s eyes. “We’ve got a chance to do something very important here. We’ve got a chance to
catch
this guy. And to do that, we’re going to exploit the special relationship we seem to have developed with this monster. We’ve got to use it to lure him in.” She straightened and stared at Rick, eyes suddenly clear and sharp. “And it’s up to you, Rick. You’re his favorite talk show host. You’re the one who’s going to trap him.”
“G
OOD AFTERNOON
. T
HIS
is Rick Jennings on the
Afternoon Circus
. Today we have a very special guest, Detective Tarver Adams from the Fairfax Police Department. He’s the lead investigative officer on the First Time Killer case. Welcome, Detective.” Celia’s brainstorm had been to invite Adams on-air, ostensibly to take calls from listeners. Her real hope was that First Time would call in, anxious to spar on-air with the detective investigating him.
Adams nodded to Rick. Like most of Rick’s guests, it took a few minutes for them to remember no one in the listening audience could see what was going on in the studio. Rick pointed to Adams’s mic. Adams got the message and leaned forward. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly. “Thank you, Rick. It’s good to be here.”
“We thought you might welcome the chance to speak with anyone who might have information about the case. Sometimes people don’t want to call or come in to talk with the police. Shy or scared, maybe. Anyway, this forum provides them with an opportunity to talk with you in a very informal way,” Rick said into the mic, fighting a slight tickle. “Dial those phones now, the lines are open.” When Celia had outlined her plan, Rick had laughed aloud, told her she watched too many crazy movies. When Celia told him Adams had agreed, Rick stopped laughing.
Before the show, the three of them went over a few scenarios. If First Time called in, Adams would attempt to trace the call. The trace could take anywhere from a few seconds to ten minutes or more, depending on a variety of factors Rick didn’t completely understand. And if they were successful tracing him, Adams wanted him to keep First Time on the line until his squad cars arrived. A tall order.
The phone lines lit up, and Rick scanned the log lines. In master control, Celia and J.T. observed, like they did during every other show. Why was Rick’s heart beating so fast and why was his mouth dry? Was it because he’d never had a detective on his show before, or was it because he was afraid Celia’s plan might work?
J.T. sent a message.
Hottie on line 4
. Rick glanced at J.T. through the glass, saw a thumbs-up. He hit line four. “You are live! Speak to me, Diana.”
“Hi Rick. Hi Detective.” Low and throaty, a sultry whisper. Rick could see why J.T. called her hot. For all they knew, though, she could be as ugly as a troll. Radio was a funny medium sometimes.
“Go ahead, Diana. You have a question for Detective Adams?”
“Yes, I do. Why haven’t you caught this guy yet? How many more people will he kill before you get him?”
Rick nodded at Adams.
All yours
.
“Well, Diana, we’re working our hardest and we’ve come up with some good leads. A lot of very capable people are working long hours on this case. I can assure you, we’ll get him.”
“Thank you, Diana.” Rick cut her off, anxious to keep the show moving. All it took was a single bad call to dampen the momentum. “Detective, can you give us some more specific information about the case? Maybe describe a lead you have?”
Adams’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, Rick. But this is an on-going investigation. I’m sure you understand.”
A message popped up on Rick’s screen, from Celia.
Keep trying. Don’t let him off easy
. Rick shook his head and avoided looking up at her. He’d run his show how he pleased, thank you. “Okay, Detective. But if you change your mind…”
Line 2, Dimitri
. Rick opened the line. “You are live, Dimitri. Speak to me.”
“Hello my friend Rick. Trust you are well.”
“Doing fine. What’s on your mind today?”
“What’s on my mind today is what’s been on my mind for weeks. First Time, baby. First Time. And you know, it’s not just me. It’s everyone. The chat room is blistering with talk of First Time.”
Rick interrupted. “Dimitri here maintains an
Afternoon Circus
website—unauthorized, I might add. He’s referring to the chat room he hosts.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with it,” Adams said. “We’ve been monitoring it.”
Of course. Adams didn’t miss much.
“As I was saying, lots of opinions. Lots of anger and frustration,” Dimitri said.
Rick didn’t really understand how listeners—scores of them, in fact—could spend hours upon hours in a chat room discussing his show. In his mind, it just wasn’t that compelling. Lots of lonely people out there. Rick hadn’t been back to Dimitri’s website since the night he chatted with Dimitri and PRETTYGRL. Didn’t want to be polluted. “So, Dimitri, stop beating around the bush. What
are
the people saying?
Dimitri said, “The people, the people. Your devoted listeners. You should treat them with more respect, my friend. They keep you in imported caviar and your wife in furs.”
Rick couldn’t stomach fish eggs, and Barb would rather jog naked in Alaska than wear a real fur from one of God’s creatures. “I respect everyone, Dimitri. So what do they say?”
“Some can’t believe what you’re doing. They think you’re egging him on. Getting him so angry that he must kill someone.” Dimitri chuckled. “I’ve got to say, though, most of the ill-will is directed at that bozo Tin Man and his partner.”
From past discussions with Dimitri, Rick knew most of the fans adored him, but were somewhat less enamored with the shock jocks. “Never mind the show. What do the listeners think of First Time?”
“They’re scared. And really PO’ed. Some of ’em are talking about forming a vigilante squad and doing a little hunting.”
At the mention of vigilantes, Rick saw Adams stiffen. Then the detective quickly leaned forward. “That’s exactly what we don’t need. More angry, violent people. Let me and my department handle this. It’s our job. It’s what we do,” Adams said, lips grazing the windscreen.
“You’re doing a crappy job, Detective,” Dimitri said, words dripping with condescension. “There’s a guy killing people and you’re yakking on the radio. Way to go.” Dimitri hung up.
An awkward silence filled the studio. Then Rick spoke up. “Detective, you’ll have to excuse some of our listeners. In the great big public forum that is radio, there are plenty of rude, uncaring people. Let’s take the next caller, shall we?” Rick made a mental note to tell J.T. to punish Dimitri. No on-air phone calls for a month, at least.
Rick moved on. “Speak to me. You are live!” A low droning noise filled the air. “Hello? Speak to me. You are on the air.”
“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t hear you clearly.”
To Rick, the voice sounded distant, metallic. “Go ahead.” He read the name from the monitor. “Go ahead, Aki.”
“Aki isn’t my real name,” the caller said. “But I think you know that. Don’t you Rick? You know who I really am.”
Adams jumped up; his chair tipped over backward. Rick saw him point at the police tech in master control, then whip out his cell phone. Rick tried to remain calm, remembering his assignment. “No, I don’t know who you are. Why don’t you tell me?” Behind the glass partition, both J.T. and Celia were on their feet, pointing and gesturing.
“I’m the man of the hour. The celebrity du…Hey, how do you say month in French? Forget Stern,
I
am the King of All Media.” A strangled laugh.
“How do I know it’s you? You could be just another crackpot calling in, jerking our chain,” Rick said. Next to him, Adams made a stretching motion with his hands. He flexed his jaw, sending the muscles in his cheeks rippling.
“It’s me. Shall I describe how I sawed off that dude’s arm? Or your buddy’s ear? How about that little chickadee’s flaying? I could tell you all about that, if you wanted.”
“Spare me the details. Where are you calling from?” Rick licked his lips, looked around. Everyone’s eyes were on him. What did they want him to do, reach through the telephone lines and grab First Time’s throat?
“You’d like me to tell you that, wouldn’t you? What do you think, I’m stupid?”
“No, not stupid.” Rick closed his eyes. Tried to remember what he could from his Psych 100 class. Thought back to Dr. Caldwell’s pronouncements. “I think you’re frustrated. Angry. I think you’re looking for someone to talk to. Someone who will really listen. I think you’ve got something really important to say, and I’d like to hear it.”
Just you and me, buddy
,
having a cold one
.
“You’re already listening. You and your listeners. How many have you got these days? Two million? Three? Right now, three million people are listening to you kiss my ass. What do you think of that?”
Adams nodded at Rick, phone still at his ear. Then he broke into a wide grin. Gave Rick the thumbs up. They must have traced the call. Rick exhaled, but tensed up again as Adams mouthed something to him.
Keep going.
Had something gone wrong, or did Adams want to make sure First Time was still at the same location when his men arrived? Rick tried to shut out the bustle in the studio and the control room. He needed to focus. Concentrate. If he could keep First Time going, maybe this nightmare would end. “Um, listen. First Time. Don’t you have something you’d like to say? Tell people why you’re doing what you’re doing?”
“I’m getting bored, Rick. I think it’s time for me to go.” He laughed, a harsh grating sound.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Rick saw Adams waving frantically. Rick turned away. “Hold on. Hold on. I think you’re a coward.” Rick swallowed, hoping his ploy wouldn’t result in disaster.