The Means by Douglas Brunt Page B

need the money.”
    â€œExactly. We’re giving it to you. Just you and a single cameraman. Four p.m. today, pretape. Undisclosed location, nearby and I’ll call you at three p.m. with the address. You should be sitting in your car at three p.m. when I call. I’ll see you in person by three thirty and we’ll review a few ground rules.”
    â€œI’ll be ready.”
    â€œSamantha.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou ain’t never had a friend like me,” he says in a Robin Williams voice.
    â€œIt feels like a first.”
    â€œSee you this afternoon, Sam.”
    Samantha hangs up and for a moment questions why this gift has come to her but she’s a child star and beautiful and smart and she’s used to success both earned and unearned. She doesn’t question the gift again and she puts a call in to David Mueller to give him the update and make sure she has the resources she needs. The tape will go right to Mueller and be ready for prime time that night. Samantha is already booked on the network morning show, then has a hit at the top of every hour throughout the day on the cable channel. Everyone wants to hear her set the scene, describe the hotel and the change in atmosphere now that it’s known to be a murder.
    She’s the best-informed reporter anywhere on this story and that comes through in her energy and confidence during her broadcast. Every other reporter on the scene projects a silent admission that they’re late to the story and merely rebroadcasting another’s work.
    Samantha finishes her last hit outside the Delano at 2:10 p.m. then takes a short taxi ride back to her hotel to prepare for Connor Marks and Meadow Jones.
    Charlie Keating is waiting for her in the lobby, sitting on a green felt couch that has the kind of acceptable mildew smell that comes from twenty years of sea air in a budget hotel lobby. He has two black canvas bags full of camera and lighting equipment. They’ve never met but he recognizes Samantha and stands to greet her.
    â€œSamantha, I’m Charlie.” Charlie’s about sixty and has been either deep-sea fishing or working a camera in the Miami bureau for thirty years. His hair is blond and gray and his face is wrinkled and tanned except where his sunglasses usually are. The skin of his body is tan and loose over sinewy muscles.
    â€œThanks for meeting me, Charlie.”
    â€œMy pleasure.”
    â€œYou know the area well?”
    â€œVery. Been here since before Space Shuttle Challenger. ”
    When the hell was that? Vague childhood memories. “Okay, good. I’m not sure where we’re going yet but it should be less than thirty minutes’ drive. Let’s get loaded up in the car and ready to go.”
    They get settled in the PT Cruiser with Charlie behind the wheel and at 2:59 p.m. Samantha’s phone rings.
    Connor gives an address on Fisher Island. Then he says, “And Samantha, just you and the cameraman and you keep a low profile. Pull your baseball caps down to your eyebrows. You’re coming to the house of a friend of mine. There’s a garage and the garage door will be open. Don’t get out of the car until you’re in the garage and we close the door behind you.”
    â€œGot it.”
    â€œSamantha, you better haul ass. You need to catch a ferry to get here.”
    â€œOn my way. Bye.” She hangs up.
    Samantha repeats the address for Charlie. “Fisher Island? Very posh.”
    â€œYeah? Never been.”
    â€œOprah Winfrey has a house there. Julia Roberts too. It’s that kind of place and only about two hundred homes. Private.”
    â€œI guess it’s a good place for Meadow Jones to hide out. Connor Marks is a full-service consultant.”
    Charlie pulls the PT Cruiser onto Fifth Street. He wants to impress Samantha with manly driving but when he pins the gas pedal the engine pops to a high-pitched whir that feels unconnected to the