Inside, he went to the woman at reception, whod replaced the one hed encountered earlier.
Im here for the news conference.
Just sign in and go that way, she said.
Nearly two dozen news types were stuffed into a small meeting room. A forest of TV cameras on tripods lined the back. Operators made final adjustments as reporters in folding chairs gossiped, gabbed on cell phones, checked Berrys or made notes.
At the head of the room, three men and one woman, each stern-faced, sat behind a table heaped with microphones and recorders.
Bernice Hogan looked upon the gathering from her Buffalo State ID photo, which had been enlarged and posted on the big tan tackboard behind the officers.
A few hundred yards from the room where Gannon stood was a church and the upscale neighborhood of Serenity Bay, with its custom-built homes, clubhouse, tennis courts, beaches and residents who had little interest in the regions latest murder.
While a few miles west, hidden in the woods near Ellicott Creek, was the shallow grave where Bernice was found.
A sad juxtaposition, Gannon thought, looking from the picture and opening his notebook.
Lets get started, the white-haired man at the table said. For those who dont know me, Im John Parson, captain in command of Troop A, Zone 2. To my left is Lieutenant David Hennesy. To my right, from our Bureau of Criminal Investigation, Investigators Michael Brent and Roxanne Esko, who are heading the investigation into the homicide of Bernice Hogan.
Lieutenant Hennesy will give you a status update, then well take a few questions.
Hennesy summarized the case.
To date weve received twenty-seven tips and are following all leads. Of importance are reports of a blue truck, a big-rig tractor without a trailer, possibly with unique markings on the drivers door. It was seen several times in the Niagara-Lafayette area of Buffalo, prior to Bernice Hogans disappearance on the tenth of this month. If anyone has information on a vehicle fitting this description, were asking them to call us.
Murmurs rippled across the room and pages were flipped.
A blue rig. This was new.
Thank you, Dave, Parson said. Well take a few questions now. Yes, Cathy from the Observer.
Do you have more details on the blue truck?
The driver is believed to have had conversations with Bernice Hogan before her disappearance. However, we have no description on the driver, or the year and model of the truck. So were appealing to the public.
Hold on a second, Gary Golden, a TV reporter, held up a copy of the Buffalo Sentinel. With all due respect, seems were avoiding the elephant in the room. Is Detective Karl Styebeck of the Ascension Park Police Department your prime suspect? Yes or no?
After a chorus of throat clearing and an exchange of glances among the four police officials, Michael Brent leaned into the microphones.
Detective Styebeck is not the focus of this investigation.
Is he now, or has he at any time, been a suspect? Gannon said from the back.
Heads turned to Gannon.
He is not the focus of this investigation, Brent said.
Thats not a denial, Kip Ramon, from the Buffalo News, said.
Reports suggesting Karl Styebeck is the key suspect and focus of this investigation are wrong, Parson said.
Do you have other suspects? This mysterious blue truck, for instance? That question came from Pete Martinez from the Sentinel.
As Dave said, were following nearly thirty tips and we have some promising leads.
Has Karl Styebeck been ruled out? Gannon asked.
Weve answered that, Parson said.
Sir, Gannon pressed, you have not answered that question.
Has Karl Styebeck been questioned? Golden asked.
Were not going to publicly discuss all details of this case.
So you have questioned him? Golden said.
Next question, Parson said, pointing to a reporter from one of the Niagara Falls news stations. Go ahead, Loretta.
Did you find any DNA, fingerprints or usable trace evidence?
Were not going to go into that here, Parson said. I think well conclude this for now. Well keep you apprised of any developments.
Several reporters tried to get in last questions. The investigators waved them off as they gathered file folders and left the room. As the conference broke up, Martinez called to Gannon, pointing outside to talk privately.
Martinez was a seasoned general-assignment reporter who could cover anything, a good-natured guy who got along with everyone, including Gannon. They walked alongside the building, to the rear, where they could be alone.
Youre playing with fire being here, being suspended and all, Jack.
Guess you heard what happened?
There are no secrets in a newsroom.
Well, my storys not wrong, Pete.
Im not going to judge you, buddy, Martinez said. Before you got here, I was talking with Golden and Ramon from the News. Seems nobody can find Styebeck. Any chance you could share any other contact data, Jack?
I dont have anything, sorry. Im here as a freelancer.
Really, for who?
I dont know yet.
Watch yourself. Youre persona non grata. Martinez looked around, then stepped closer and dropped his voice. Nate fully intends to run a retraction if you dont give up your source. Thats what Im hearing.
I cant do that, Pete.
Martinezs cell phone rang. I dont care what you do. Im just keeping you posted. Martinez shook Gannons hand, answered his call as he headed for his car.
Gannon reviewed his notes, considering the new lead on the blue truck as the sunlight dimmed.
Well, look who we have here. Mr. Jack Gannon, the legend who almost won a Pulitzer. At last we meet, in the flesh.
Michael Brent and Roxanne Esko were now standing next to him. He glanced around. No one else was in sight. Esko had car keys and a file folder in her hand.
Quite an interesting story in your paper today, Brent said. Unnamed sources say the darnedest things. Well, we heard something, too.
Gannon let Brent fill the silence.
We heard you got fired or something for writing fiction. Care to comment?
I stand by my story. I trust my source. Its that simple.
No, its not, Brent said. Because you and your source, whoever they are, dont have a clue about whats going on. You dont know jack shit, Jack.
Gannon flipped to a clear page, poised his pen.
Why dont you enlighten me, Investigator.
Brent stared at Gannons notebook, then at Gannon.
Enlighten you? I think you have a hearing problem. Seems when you called me, I told you to hold off with your little tale there, said youd save yourself a lot of grief.
Gannon shrugged.
So, hows that grief working out for you today, Slick?
Gannon didnt answer.
Brents jawline tensed, then relaxed as he stepped into Gannons personal space.
Youd better get ready for more grief, Brent said, because Im going to find out who your source is, and when I do, Im going to make sure they face the consequences of obstructing our investigation.
Youd better get ready for more grief, Brent said, because Im going to find out who your source is, and when I do, Im going to make sure they face the consequences of obstructing our investigation.
13
Gannon left that mess with the state police behind him in Clarence and drove to the Great Lakes Truck Palace at Interstate 90 and Union Road.
He needed to check out the revelation on the mystery rig.
After navigating his small car through a realm of eighteen-wheelers, with their hissing brakes and diesels spewing black smoke, he parked at the office of general manager Rob Hatcher.
Ill help you if I can. A crying shame about that girl, Hatcher had said on the phone.
Gannon knew him from earlier stories hed written on a couple of bad wrecks and had called him after the news conference.
Now, with Gannon watching him, Hatcher clicked his pen repeatedly as he gazed upon Bernice Hogans picture in the Sentinel, which was spread across his service counter.
So, you really think a cop did it?
Hes a suspect.
Well, two state police investigators came in three days ago, maybe four. They asked us to help them locate a blue truck.
Did they say why?
Naw, they didnt provide much information.
Did they ask you anything about this guy? Gannon tapped the paper on Karl Styebecks face.
Nope.
What did they say about the blue rig?
All they said was that the truck had unique writing and art on the doors.
What kind? Did they give you any more details, like a plate?
Hatcher shrugged.
They didnt specify. They asked us to alert them if we saw a rig fitting that description.
Thats a pretty general description.
I know.
Hatcher chuckled and nodded to the lot.
Weve got forty acres out there, partner. We run one of the largest operations in western New York. Seven or eight hundred trucks pass through here every twenty-four hours. Finding that rig is like finding a needle in a haystack. But the words gone out.
Will you call me if something breaks on this?
I can do that.
Gannon left the Truck Palace and spent the rest of the day working the street for data. He went to downtown coffee shops, hotel lobbies and taxi stands and talked to waitresses, doormen and cabdrivers for anything new on Bernice Hogans murder.
At one point, Adell Clark sent him a text message.
FYI: Crime scene should be released by tonight.
Could be something for later, he thought as he entered Kupinskis Diner. Stan Kupinski, a former navy cook, ran a twenty-four-hour greasy spoon off Niagara that was a favorite of blue-collar workers and street types.
The smells of frying bacon and coffee greeted Gannon as he slid into a vinyl booth. He took stock of the checkered floor, the chrome stools at the worn counter with take-out containers towering to the ceiling.
He ordered a club sandwich and in no time at all Kupinski tapped a bell with his spatula, then left a heaping plate of food at the pick-up window. Lotta, the ample waitressregulars called her Whole Lottaset Gannons food before him. He invited her to sit at his booth and talk about the murder. Since she needed to take a load off, she agreed.
As a matter of fact, darlin', I did hear things about that little girl, Bernice, Lotta said. I heard she and some other girl got into a little spat the last night anyone saw her.
Gannons eyebrows climbed and he got out his notebook.
Any idea what they fought about?
Maybe leaving, or something, Lotta said then stole a fry.
Did you tell the police?
Police didnt come in here asking, like you.
You know who the other girl is?
Lottas earrings swung when she shook her head.
I can ask around, she said.
Thanks Gannon put a five-dollar tip in Lottas hand because Id like to find her.
It was getting late but Gannon would try one more thing.
Experience from working on investigative stories had taught him that you should always keep tabs on your subject. It could yield a break, he thought as he headed to Ascension Park and Karl Styebecks street.
Styebecks house was a well-kept colonial with a two-car garage. It sat far back from the street, deep into the lot as if isolated within the neighborhood.
Gannon parked several doors away and watched it from his rearview mirror as he considered the story.
Why did the police consider Styebeck a suspect behind closed doors while not confirming it publicly? Where was the pressure to discredit his story coming from?
Was this the home of a monster?
Hold on.
The garage door was lifting as Karl Styebeck got into one of the two cars a dark sedan alone, then drove out.
Gannon started his Vibes engine and followed him from a distance.
14
After leaving his house, Karl Styebeck waited at a traffic light, determined to fight his way out of this crisis.
Everything was on the line.
Jack Gannons story in that mornings Sentinel had exploded in his home, claiming his wife and son as collateral damage.
Alice had buried her face in her hands
Oh my God, Karl! This cant be happening!
Taylor, his twelve-year-old son, was scared. Why is Mom crying, Dad?
Styebeck struggled to explain the story.
Its wrong, hed told them. This guy, Gannon, screwed up. Im helping with the investigation. His information is dead wrong. Im going to straighten this out, okay?
That seemed good enough for Taylor, who worshipped his dad. Still, Alice kept him home from school, and later she pulled Styebeck aside.
Is this story true? She glared at him. Weve had strange phone calls the last few weeks. Youve been on edge and moody lately, tossing in your sleep. You tell me right now if you had anything to do with this girls murder! You tell me, Karl!
What could he say?
He stood before his wife, trying not to remember what he was and what he had come from.
I swear to you, I did not kill that woman.
Alices eyes searched his for a trace of deception until she was satisfied there was none.
As the hours passed, her fears were somewhat mitigated by the steady flow of friends calling and e-mailing their support, especially the volunteers with Styebecks charity and outreach groups.
And the fact that the state police challenged the accuracy of Gannons story at a news conference that morning had helped. Styebecks lieutenant got behind him after calling to say, Somebody got their wires crossed. Hang in there, Karl.
The police union offered legal help, which he declined. It wasnt needed. Hed booked off several days of saved vacation.
Hed take care of this himself. His way.
Night had fallen now as he cut across the city to his destination in the Delaware district. It was one of Buffalos most prestigious communities, an area of mansions built in the late 1800s and early 1900s.
He went to the side door of a grand Victorian home and rang the bell. The door was opened by Nate Fowler.