The Broadcast Read online

  Chapter 6

  The Broadcast

  Illinois Police Officer Reginald Tucker of the Springfield Police Department knew the Pedro Gonzales case very well. He had been just a student at the police academy during the investigation and the trial, but he had diligently followed the development of the affair, and was mesmerized by the turns of events.

  When he sat in front of the TV and watched TXB’s special broadcast, he had no doubt in his mind, despite the mediocre quality of the video clip, that the film was authentic and not some fake.

  About fifteen years after that so-called ‘Trial from the Movies,’ Tucker had conducted a police investigation in a complicated case that had never been solved. In that incident, the body of Scott Jenkins, a wealthy manufacturer and businessman, had been found in his car in a desolate parking lot, and on him there had been a suicide letter. Police experts determined that the letter was forged, but even with considerable effort, the police hadn’t succeeded in bringing anyone to trial.

  Tucker questioned everyone who had a conflict with the man or could have benefited from his death. He interrogated the beautiful, young wife who had inherited most of the fortune, her lover, his son, daughter, and ex-wife, his business partners and competitors. He tried to find the motive for the murder among the victim’s known business dealings and his illegal transactions, about which Tucker had obtained reliable information.

  But everyone who was close to the murdered man had vehemently denied any involvement in the killing, and all the suspects had solid alibis, so the case remained unsolved.

  It occurred to the experienced police officer that the technology used in the sensational broadcast about the Gonzales incident might also yield results in his unsolved case. He called the TXB network center, introduced himself, and asked to speak to the producer of that broadcast.

  The secretary who answered the call took his personal details, including his position on the police force, and politely told him that they’d get back to him at the earliest possible time.

  And indeed, the following morning, Tucker received a call at his branch of the police department from a man who identified himself as Walter Lindsey, producer of the much talked about televised event. Lindsey asked, in a businesslike yet friendly manner, what the policeman wanted. The decorated officer briefly talked about the circumstances of his past investigation and wondered whether there was a chance that, in the same way that TXB had attained a film that documented the Gonzales case, they could get footage that recorded the Jenkins occurrence. Tucker didn’t hold too many expectations in his unusual plea, but he thought that if it didn’t help, at least he wouldn’t be worse off.

  Walter Lindsey sounded interested and asked a few questions about the different aspects of the investigation and the suspects. He wanted accurate information about the time and place of the murder and lingered a bit, as if taking the time to write down the details.

  “I’ll check and see whether we can help the police,” Lindsey said. “At this stage, I do not promise anything, and I must be clear that if we do attain the requested documentation, the film will be presented to the public in a televised program.”

  “A televised program?” The police officer was alarmed.

  “Our condition,” Lindsey calmly explained, “is that we’ll hold a studio interview with you, in which you’ll present the story and tell our viewers how our contribution helped solve the investigation.”

  Reginald Tucker was not a public figure and didn’t strive to be one, but this time he saw no better alternative.

  “All right, I agree,” he conceded, knowing that this was the best, and possibly the only option he had, if he wished to break the stuck investigation. He detested the idea that the guarded case was going to transform into a media circus, but he was also excited by the chance of seeing with his own eyes the chain of events of the affair, after dedicating so many hours in his attempt to solve the puzzle. He was motivated by the promise of having access to such a technologically advanced tool.

  A week later, in an early morning hour, Tucker sat in his home in Springfield, drinking coffee and going over the morning newspaper.

  The phone rang, and when he looked at the screen, he was surprised to see the name Walter Lindsey.

  Tucker assumed the reason for the early hour call was the time difference between the Eastern Time Zone and the Central Time Zone.

  “I’ve got good news for you,” Lindsey said in a practical manner. “I’m in possession of a short film that shows the incident that you investigated.”

  Tucker was a seasoned investigator who knew how to keep his equanimity, but this time he needed a considerable effort in order to hide his excitement. “When will I be able to see the film?” he asked.

  “You’ll have to come to New York,” Lindsey answered. “According to our agreement, we’ll meet in the network’s studio, watch the clip together, and film you while you watch the clip for the first time.”

  The police officer moaned but remembered, of course, that these were the conditions to which he had agreed. Still, he tried his luck. “I’m in Springfield,” he said. “Could you send me the film for a preview?”

  “I’m sorry.” Walter Lindsey sounded unwavering. “If you want to see the documentation, you’ll have to come to us.”

  Tucker knew he had no choice; he would have to go through the annoying saga if he wanted to achieve his goal. On the same day he booked a flight to New York, after he had cleared his schedule and entrusted assignments to his deputy and other investigators.

  ***

  Reginald Tucker arrived in New York in the evening and checked in to a simple three-star hotel, which he knew from his last visit to the city when he’d attended a police conference. He had his dinner at a simple working-class restaurant. He didn’t like wasting money; not with his own money, and especially not with taxpayers’ money. Before he went to sleep he called his wife, updated her on his schedule, and asked her to kiss their three kids for him.

  The following morning, precisely at 9:00 a.m., he entered through the glass door of the TXB network central building. Ready for the meeting, he approached the reception desk, stated the purpose of his visit and within a few minutes, Walter Lindsey walked toward him, smiling, and shook his hand.

  “In the first session, you’ll watch the clip, and you’ll be filmed while watching it.” The producer started to instruct Tucker, as they were making their way through the corridors and elevators. “We will also interview you, but at this stage, none of the materials will be aired, so as to not impair the investigation, which is likely to be renewed following the findings that you will encounter.”

  “I’m eager to see what you have prepared for me,” the police officer acknowledged.

  “Once the investigation ends, we’ll want to conduct another televised meeting with you in the studio, in which you will tell our viewers how our documentation helped you,” added the producer.

  Tucker nodded, signaling that he understood, and he thought that if the information he’d be exposed to would indeed help him reach the solution that had eluded him all this time, then it would justify another trip to New York, despite the trouble involved and his detest of the mass media.

  Lindsey took his guest to a small, round studio, where the famous host, Susan Riley, was sitting. She got up from her chair, kindly smiled, and shook the police officer’s hand. Tucker sat on the couch she pointed at. Between them was a small glass table that held a jug of water and glasses.

  The host asked Tucker to tell viewers at home about the case that he had dealt with: the Jenkins case.

  Reginald Tucker didn’t feel comfortable exposing the details of his unsolved investigation, but he reminded himself that he had agreed to the terms set by the TV people. He understood that only in this way might he gain the breakthrough he wished for and finally solve the case that had disturbed him for more than a decade.

  The host treated Tucker with her familiar cordiality and asked him several questions i
n her warm, empathic voice. The police officer thought to himself that she must be a professional because he couldn’t tell whether her intimate friendliness was authentic or faked.

  Then the showing of the film started, and Reginald Tucker noticed two cameras following him while he watched the big screen in front of him.

  At first sight, the footage looked similar in quality, style, and angle of filming to the film that Tucker had already seen, which documented the murder of Melisa Robinson Gonzales. The film was in black-and-white, without sound, of mediocre quality, and the picture was slightly grainy. But despite the far-from-perfect quality and the unusual angle, straight from above, it was possible to perceive even minute details with certainty.

  A car was seen, driving down a straight, two-lane highway, where traffic seemed sparse. Tucker identified the vehicle; it was the luxury Mercedes of the murdered man. The car turned onto a side road, and after a short while, it stopped at a small parking lot that Tucker knew very well. This was the place where the dead body had been discovered. In the parking lot, there was just one other car. It looked like an SUV, and Tucker didn’t recognize it. The door of the Mercedes opened on the passenger’s side, and after a few minutes, a woman got out. Tucker identified her as the manufacturer’s young wife. An unidentified man stepped out of the SUV, politely shook her hand, and seemed to be exchanging some words with her. The unidentified man then approached the window of the driver’s side of the Mercedes, bent over, and appeared to be talking with the driver, who continued to sit in his car. After a few minutes, he suddenly pulled out a gun and quickly shot the man in the Mercedes at point-blank range.

  The woman then ran toward the gunman, waving her hands, obviously shocked and hysterical. She raised her fists against the shooter’s chest. He looked like he was trying to calm her down. After a few more minutes, she seemed to have quieted down, and the two stood hugging each other for some time.

  Then they separated, opened the doors of the Mercedes, and got busy, probably toiling at making the murder look like a suicide. At one point, the gunman entered his victim’s car and the woman remained outside. Upon exiting the vehicle, the murderer looked upward for a split-second.

  “Stop!” the police officer called out loud, and the film was immediately paused. “Rewind please,” Tucker said impatiently. “I want to look at this guy’s face.”

  His request was obeyed, and the picture froze on the face of the man. Even with the mediocre quality of the footage, the police officer knew that he could identify the murderer with certainty. He was the senior partner in the company of the late manufacturer, whom Tucker had questioned intensively for many hours, but he had a solid alibi, since his wife swore that they were together in their house at the time of the murder. When the film continued, the man and the woman entered the SUV and went on their way out of the picture’s frame. The film ended, and the lights were turned on in the small studio.

  While he was still trying to digest the disturbing images, Tucker was instructed by the producer, that at this stage they would conduct an interview in the studio. Tucker nodded, signaling that he understood.

  “Well,” Susan Riley turned to the police officer. “Does the film help in your investigation?” The tone of her voice was friendly and caring.

  “Yes,” Tucker confirmed with a somber facial expression. “Actually, the film reveals the main missing details that I needed to solve the case.”

  “Do you know the individuals who were shown in the film?” the host asked.

  “Yes,” he replied, and he thought to himself that for the TV people this was just another movie, entertainment for the masses, not significantly different from the other police-type TV series they broadcast every day. But for him it was not just another movie—a man lost his life, apparently because of greed. Tucker was engulfed by mixed emotions. On the one hand, he was grateful to the TV people, for giving him access to incredible technology and helping him find the missing pieces of the puzzle that had evaded him during years of futile investigation. On the other hand, they were keeping him here with pointless questions while he had work to do. He must go and act on what he just saw, and arrest the two villains: the despicable murderer and his accomplice.

  Chapter 7

  Michael

  Ever since his early childhood, Michael had wondered whether he was a normal child. He hadn’t been different than the other children; he had liked the same computer games and TV shows as his friends of the same age. However, deep inside, he felt as if he was a little foreign—an outsider. And he wondered if other kids also had these odd feelings.

  He was smart and perceptive; serious, diligent, and disciplined most of the time, but every now and then he had outbursts of anger that bordered on a loss of control. He didn’t know where it came from, but it was surely not from his restrained parents. After these eruptions he always felt sorry, regretful and ashamed of the way he had behaved, insulting people and saying things he didn’t mean to say.

  His parents loved and accepted him unconditionally, and he loved them with all his heart. But occasionally, a deep-seated worry crept into his mind, a concern of an unknown origin, and as hard as he had tried, he couldn’t ignore or suppress the bubbling suspicion that he had another family.

  He had even felt that way before he noticed the difference in appearance between himself and his parents; when he had perceived, much to his dismay, that his father and mother had light skin, while the color of his skin was somewhat darker. He had also noticed that his hair was black and wavy, whereas theirs was blond and straight.

  He used to stand in front of the mirror, examining his image, looking at his blue eyes, and wondering where he came from.

  When he was six years old, they had told him. Michael would never forget the day when his parents sat with him in the living room for that conversation, and he, who had always loved to get their entire attention, had felt uncomfortable. Something had been wrong on that day, which came after the happy day when they had bought him his first bicycle, the colorful one he had wanted so much.

  “We love you, Michael, very, very, very much,” his mother had started, and the foreboding feeling inside of him grew.

  His father nodded, as if agreeing with her words, and smiled at him affectionately. “We have to tell you the truth because it is important that you know,” his father said solemnly.

  Michael had seen that, like him, his parents also found themselves in a constrained situation, having a hard time dealing with the task at hand.

  “When you came into the world,” his mom said, and stopped. She fondly stroked his head and continued, “You came to the world in the belly of another woman… Tears were in her eyes when she took a deep breath and continued. “That woman loved you very much, but she couldn’t take care of you. And we love you without limits. We want to give you everything we can, and the fact that you are adopted doesn’t lessen our love at all.” His parents tenderly hugged him and looked lovingly in his eyes.

  He understood. He tried to accept the news with bravery but had a hard time preventing the tears from shedding down his cheeks. He hadn’t been completely surprised, but he’d felt a profound sadness because he had wanted, hoped, and yearned to be an unseparated part of them. And now, even with their explicit and clear promises, worry and apprehension crept into his young mind—that for some unknown reason, events over which he had no control might separate his parents from him.

  One of his friends at school, who was also an adopted child, had once asked him if he had a need to meet his real mother. Michel replied with confidence that he met her every day, and she, along with his dad, were the ones who loved him and took care of all his needs. But deep inside, He knew that the need was there and would never go away.

  In his mind, there was a faint memory from his early life. Actually, he wasn’t sure whether it was a real memory or a primordial dream. In his vision, he saw himself at his mother’s bosom a short time after birth, cuddled and embraced by her soft, warm body, fee
ling strings of endless love connecting them in a firm grip while they were both engulfed together into a deep and intimate sleep.

  He was suddenly awoken, alone. Around him, there were strangers, strong, blinding lights, and scary noises. He cried, yelled, screamed, and called for his mother, desperately longing to return to the warm and loving place from where he was brutally pulled. Michael remembered the sensation he had at the end of his vision—the certain, decisive, primitive, ancient resolution: to always search for her, and strive to return to her.

  When he was three years old, his mother had become pregnant for the first time in her life, and subsequently, she gave birth to a baby girl. Little Michael had been very apprehensive about the change in the family’s composition and had expressed his worries to his parents.

  “So are you going to love me as before?” he had asked.

  His parents had done their best to assure him that their love for him wouldn’t be affected. “Our hearts are big enough to love both of our children,” his mother promised, and his father nodded.

  It wasn’t long before Michael got attached to his little sister and felt deep love toward her. Even when he would become envious of her when he recognized that, unlike him, she had their parents look, and even when he would become uneasy about her apparent ability to bring more joy and light to his father and mother, his affection toward her remained unharmed. He loved being with her and playing together. He thought it was his duty to protect his little sister and found himself concerned over her well-being.