Final Warning

“I’d think someone in your position would have done lots of interviews.”

He shook his head. “All my radio campaign ads were recorded in the studio so they could be edited.” He pulled his chair a little closer to hers. “This is the first time I’ve agreed to do a live interview. I’m glad it’s with such a good-looking reporter. Maybe you can hold my hand through the whole thing.”

“Just relax, Mr. Lawrence, and you’ll be fine.” She pointed to the next room where Harley and Gwen were lining up the calls. “Harley and Gwen will be screening. I’ll find out what the question is before I ask you to address it.”

He smiled and leaned closer, his hand grazing her knee. “Thanks. What say we grab a bite of dinner after this show’s over? I know a quiet little restaurant that serves a great steak.”

She stiffened. “I know you’re married.”

He laughed. “What difference does that make?”

She bit her tongue in disgust at the arrogant man sitting next to her. What a jerk. He didn’t even realize how ridiculous he sounded. What his poor wife must have to endure.

She pulled the microphone forward and adjusted her headphones. “We’re getting ready to go on the air.”

Caleb, seemingly oblivious to her cool tone, removed some papers from a notebook and laid them on the console in front of him.

In the next room Harley counted down. He pointed to her, and she pulled the microphone closer. “And so I’m back and happy to welcome City Councilman Caleb Lawrence to C.J.’s Journal for the next hour. Thanks for dropping by to chat with me, Councilman Lawrence.”

Caleb leaned forward. “Thanks for having me, C.J.” His cocky, flirtatious tone of a few minutes before was gone, replaced by a businesslike demeanor.

C.J. breathed an inward sigh of relief. The way Caleb had come on to her she thought the broadcast was going to be a disaster, but maybe she was wrong. “I understand you’re about to complete your second term in office.”

“That’s correct.”

“And you’re getting ready to campaign for a third term?”

Caleb nodded to her. “Yes, I am. I’ve enjoyed representing the citizens of Oxford, and I look forward to continuing my service.”

“Well, I’m sure our listeners have lots of questions to ask you. Let’s get right to it and take your first call. Hello, caller. Welcome. What’s on your mind tonight?”

“My name is Donna, and I’m the wife of a policeman,” the woman said. “My husband puts his life on the line every day on the streets of this city. But our officers can’t keep up with the increased drug traffic and the rising crime rate. They need more manpower. When is the city going to address this problem and hire some new officers?”

“Good question, Donna.” She glanced at Caleb. “How do you respond to her?”

Caleb loosened his tie and smiled. “We have one of the best-trained police forces in the state. Our officers have gained recognition for their heroism and devotion to duty. The citizens of Oxford don’t have to worry. Our police have the crime situation under control.”

C.J. remembered conversations she’d heard Mitch have with fellow officers, as well as the city’s firefighters, about their concern over budget cuts and lack of equipment. Their frustration with the freeze on hiring had caused many shifts in both departments to work shorthanded.

No wonder crime was rising in the city. The police force was stretched to the limit, and Caleb Lawrence, chairman of the Public Safety Commission, was to blame for a lot of their problems. His refusal to adequately fund the city police and fire departments had placed citizens in danger many times.

She crossed her arms on top of the console and leaned closer to the mic. “Councilman Lawrence is right in his praise of our police department. We should be very proud of every man and woman on the force. They work hard in a dangerous job and often make tremendous sacrifices in their personal lives.”

Caleb nodded. “That’s right.”

She smiled as she glanced at him. “But I think our caller has a concern that needs to be addressed. During the time you’ve been on the council you’ve become chairman of the Public Safety Commission. Could you tell our listeners what responsibilities this group has?”

Caleb cleared his throat and took a look at the papers in front of him. “Well, we have several. We appoint the police and fire chiefs, recommend appropriations for the departments to the full council and approve promotions. I suppose you could say we oversee the management and supervision of both departments.”

C.J. nodded. “I see. And in the past four years, how many new police officers and firemen would you say have been added to the force?”

Caleb’s face flushed. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. He shuffled through the papers in front of him. “I don’t think I have the numbers on that.”

C.J. had never thought of herself as a hard-core news reporter like those she saw on television, but suddenly she wanted the citizens of her town to know how this man had sabotaged their safety.

“Well, let’s just take the population increase,” she said. “Two years ago the council annexed all the property up to the Cumberland River Bridge. That added about three thousand households to the city. How many police officers and firefighters were hired after that?”

His hands shook, rattling the papers he held. “I’m not sure, but we’re always on the lookout for new recruits. I believe Oxford deserves the very best, and I won’t hire someone just for the sake of numbers. I want our fine officers to have people they can trust at their sides, those who will strive to give the best protection possible to the citizens of our city.”

The man was pathetic. His reply sounded like something a publicist would have written. How had the citizens of Oxford ever elected him? Then she remembered how he’d tried to charm her before the program and how he said he never did live interviews, only recorded ones that could be edited.

C.J. leaned back in her chair. “Thank you, Mr. Lawrence. Let’s take another caller.”

For the next forty-five minutes, callers attacked Caleb over issues from dissatisfaction with the winner in the Miss Oxford beauty pageant to the price of gasoline. Perspiration poured from his body with each new caller.

C.J. almost felt sorry for him. He’d discarded his crumpled tie and loosened the top buttons on his shirt. His face was bright red. There was no denying it. Caleb Lawrence looked as if he’d been tied up, strapped to a spit and grilled until well-done.

Caleb finished his remarks to a caller, and she noted that the hour was almost up. Time for one more call. She leaned forward. “Hello, caller. Do you have a question for Councilman Lawrence?”

A soft chuckle sounded on the line. “For both of you, C.J.”

Her eyes widened. Fala. She should have checked the screen before she answered. Too late she saw the private number displayed. She glanced into the next room where Harley stood alone, grinning at her. He’d pushed his glasses up on his head and stood with his hands on his hips, his sagging pants held up by the belt underneath his potbelly.

She swallowed. “What’s your question?”

“I was just thinking about poor Mary Warren and wondered if the councilman knows whether the police have any leads in her murder yet.”

Caleb pulled the microphone toward him. “Not yet, but we expect to apprehend this lunatic soon.”

C.J. shook her head and grabbed for the mic, but he pushed her hand away.