On Deadline & Under Fire Page 3

  “After that, the building owners had to decide what they wanted,” Gina explained. “So, for, like, ten years after the population shifted it served as a senior living facility. It had nurses on staff and stuff. It was meant to be a place for seniors who didn’t need constant supervision.”

  “Right.”

  “They couldn’t keep the apartments full because of the neighborhood, though,” Gina said. “The neighborhood kept getting rougher and rougher, so the township leaders decided to clean up the area. The first thing they did was go after that guy who owns the hotel across the way.” She waved vaguely at Twenty-Three Mile Road, causing me to stare in the direction she indicated.

  The Garden Gate Hotel rated zero stars and was known to be a place where rooms could be rented by the hour and no one cared if you didn’t have any luggage … or if your luggage consisted of huge bags of cocaine and marijuana.

  “I know about the hotel,” I said after a beat, racking my memory. “We’ve done quite a few articles on it. The owner refuses to sell even though he’s received numerous offers from various businesses.”

  “It’s a prime piece of real estate,” Gina said knowingly. “It’s right in front of a shopping center, and I hear they want to open an Olive Garden there. I’m active with the township’s business group, so I hear all the gossip.”

  “Yum.”

  “I know. I love Olive Garden.”

  Sadly, I was a huge Olive Garden fan, too. I couldn’t even internally make fun of her for wanting an Olive Garden across the road. That would be really convenient.

  “My understanding is that the township voted to condemn the hotel and shut it down,” I said, returning to the topic at hand. “I didn’t think anyone was staying there.”

  “He’s appealing, so he can stay open until the judge rules on the appeal.”

  “Right.” I rolled my neck. “I don’t understand what that hotel has to do with this apartment complex.” I turned my attention back to the burning building. At least seven fire trucks had arrived and were already pumping water in an effort to douse the flames.

  “Well, technically they don’t have anything to do with each other,” Gina replied. “It’s just … the township has been making an effort to improve this area because they think it will draw people here rather than scare them away.”

  “Basically the township wants to make this entire intersection a shopping and eating destination,” I mused. “That makes sense. How does the apartment complex play into that?”

  “After they won in court against the hotel, my understanding is that they decided to go after the apartment complex,” Gina said. “They thought if they could force out the owners here, they could tear down this building and put up something new that people actually want to look at.”

  “Like what?”

  “Personally, I’m hoping for a Red Lobster.”

  “Good plan.” I focused on the blaze. “What about the people who live here? If what you say about the building is true, it probably won’t be easy for them to find another place to live nearby … especially one they can afford.”

  “No offense, but I don’t really care about that,” Gina said. “It’s sad for them and all, but I want to be able to unload my townhouse and make money on the sale one of these days. I bought it as an investment, but it’s become an anchor around my neck. As of right now, no one wants to live here.”

  “And you blame that on the apartment complex?”

  “I blame that on the hotel and the apartment complex,” she clarified. “They’re both magnets for the wrong sort of people.”

  “And who are the wrong sort of people?”

  “The type who like prostitutes and pot.”

  “Ah, well, you can’t have that.” I managed to keep a smile on my face, but just barely. “Still, this building is clearly home to a lot of people.” I counted the windows on each floor and did the math. “There have to be at least twenty units on each floor if you count front and back; you have twenty floors.” I didn’t want to pull out my phone to figure out the answer in front of someone I found annoying, so I forced myself to keep on task. “That’s at least four-hundred units, right?”

  Gina merely stood and blinked.

  “That’s right, isn’t it?”

  “I guess.” Gina made a face. “I’ve never really thought about it. That place is always advertising. It’s never completely full.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” I tilted my head and stepped to the left as two firefighters raced by. I was about to press Gina further, but their conversation was much more interesting and I couldn’t stop myself from snapping my head in that direction.

  “The woman says she lost track of her daughter in the fire,” one of the men said. “She had hold of her hand and let her go for just a second because she heard a noise. When she turned back, the kid was gone.”

  Hmm. That was definitely a better story than Gina and her crusade to get the pimps and pot out of her neighborhood. “I have to check that out,” I said, casting a glance over my shoulder and snagging Gina’s gaze. “If there’s a kid missing, that could be a big deal.”

  “That lady is probably lying. Maybe she purposely left her kid up there so she wouldn’t have to take care of it. That would be an easy way to ensure she had one less mouth to feed.”

  I bit back a hot retort. “Yes, well, I have to check it out all the same. Thanks for the information.”

  I was glad to move away from Gina and her judgmental attitude, even though it meant moving closer to the fire and the firefighters’ watery efforts to contain it. I recognized the fire chief, Lou Crenshaw, right away and moseyed in his direction, making sure to position myself behind him and another firefighter so I could hear the good stuff before they became aware of my presence.

  “What about the upper three floors?” Crenshaw asked.

  “I don’t know, sir. It’s hard to ascertain who escaped and who is still up there. The floor on sixteen is already boggy. I’m not sure we can risk climbing to seventeen.”

  “But people might be trapped,” Crenshaw persisted.

  “They might be,” the firefighter agreed. “We’re not going to do them any good if the floor gives way. We need to put out the fire and test the floors before we go on any rescue runs.”

  “Good grief.” Crenshaw pulled off his helmet and mopped his brow. “I hope those folks realized what was going on and managed to escape.”

  “They could be watching the show right now,” the other man said, pointing. “There are a lot of building residents over there. Plus, it’s a work day. I’m sure a lot of the folks who live here are working.”

  “This won’t be a very good thing to come home to.”

  “Definitely not,” the firefighter agreed. “As for the mother who claims she lost her daughter, we’re on the lookout for the child. They were on the seventeenth floor and we have a crew looking for the kid in the stairwells beneath in case she got turned around and headed back to her apartment. So far we’ve come up empty.”

  Crenshaw grimaced. “That’s not what I want to hear. In fact … .” He broke off, as if sensing my presence, and slowly turned to face me. His scowl only deepened when he recognized who he was dealing with. “Ms. Shaw.”

  “Hello, Chief Crenshaw.” I forced myself to sound chipper. “Splendid day for a fire, huh?”

  “Yes, I particularly love it when hundreds of people become homeless,” he sneered. “It makes me feel all warm and toasty inside.”

  I ignored the sarcasm. My reputation stretched far and wide across Macomb County. Only a handful of people were ever happy to see me, and Eliot was the only one I could ascribe that emotion to on a regular basis. “Yes, well, it’s a total bummer.” I stepped closer, refusing to back down. “What can you tell me?”

  “The building is on fire.”

  “Do you know how it started?”

  Crenshaw shot me an incredulous look. “Are you kidding? All we know is that we got a call about a fire so we came here to
put it out. We can’t even start investigating until the fire is out and the building has been deemed safe for our forensic team.”

  “Fair enough.” I wasn’t in the mood to push him to the point he’d explode. I’d save that particular trick for later if it became necessary. “What about the people inside the building?”

  “What about them?”

  “Are they all safe?”

  Crenshaw’s glare was pronounced. “I’m sure you already know that we can’t account for everybody because you were listening to the conversation. If you print anything that was said in the newspaper, by the way, I’ll sue you. That very obviously wasn’t on the record.”

  “I’m not interested in printing your private conversation.” That was mostly true. “I’m asking about a missing little girl.”

  Crenshaw’s expression softened, though not by much. “We don’t know. We’re looking.”

  I merely nodded in understanding. They would do what they could for the child. That didn’t mean they could save her. Heck, for all they knew, the kid wandered out a different door. She might not be in danger … other than of the human variety until she was reunited with her mother.

  “Well, if you hear something … .” I trailed off as a hint of movement caught my attention in the main doorway. A bulky man, one who had to be at least six-foot-four and who could double as a professional wrestler, pushed his way through the glass double doors. He held a small child in his arms, a tiny redhead screaming at the top of her lungs, and he was covered in soot.

  “Serafina!” A woman to my left screamed as she raced forward to claim the girl, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Serafina!”

  I shot a questioning look to Crenshaw. “The missing girl?”

  He shrugged, seemingly as confused as I felt. “I guess.”

  “Well, that’s something good, huh?”

  Crenshaw nodded as he stroked his chin. Once he remembered who he was talking to, the scowl returned. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do. I’ll issue a news release later.”

  “And I will be waiting with bells on for it.”

  Crenshaw made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “I’ve never understood that saying.”

  “Me either.”

  “You’re very annoying.”

  “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

  “I doubt I’ll be the last.”

  “On that we can agree.”

  3 Three

  I moved closer to the woman, who was so busy crying and carrying on she didn’t bother to look at anyone but the child she held in her arms. While I waited for her to pull herself together, I spared a glance for Gina and found her rolling her eyes at the scene.

  Ah, well. I often thought it was impossible to find someone as snarky as myself. Every so often I was surprised, though. It seemed Gina Dobbins was even nastier than me. I waited a full three minutes, until the sobs subsided, and then pasted a bright smile on my face as I approached. I introduced myself, explained I was with The Monitor, and then asked for a brief interview. The woman looked taken aback by the request.

  “Why would you want to interview me?”

  “Because you have a happy story to tell,” I replied without hesitation. “Our readers like happy stories.”

  That wasn’t remotely true. People always complain about newspapers only covering negative stories, but in truth that’s all they want to read. They’re not interested in flowers and candy. They want the gritty details of a tragedy so they can remind themselves how lucky they are that others suffer while they go on with their normal days. Still, a child being rescued from a smoky building and being reunited with her mother was something that everyone could applaud.

  “I won’t take up too much of your time,” I prodded. “It’s just … a heartwarming story.”

  “Yeah, it’s a heartwarming story about us losing our home.” The woman turned grim as she frowned. “Still, I guess I could answer a few questions.”

  “You definitely should,” I agreed. “People will be so touched by the story they’ll want to donate and make sure you find a new place as soon as possible.”

  The woman’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Really?”

  “Really,” I confirmed. “It happens all the time.”

  “Okay, well, what do you want to know?”

  Her name was Kendra Walsh. Her daughter, Serafina, was six. The story was pretty much what I expected. The electricity was out in the building, only emergency lights showing the way. The elevators weren’t working, which meant they had to climb down seventeen flights of stairs. Kendra lost sight of her daughter at the stairwell and couldn’t be certain which direction she ran.

  “That sounds terrifying,” I noted, gesturing when I caught sight of Jared Jackson, one of The Monitor’s photographers, so he’d head in our direction. “You must be so thankful to your neighbor for finding her.”

  “I’m definitely thankful,” Kendra agreed. “But … .” She broke off and chewed her lip.

  “But what?”

  “I’ve never seen that guy before,” Kendra replied after a beat. “I don’t know that he was a neighbor.”

  “Well, he must have lived in the building.” It was the only thing that made sense. “Maybe he was from one of the upper floors.”

  “I guess.” Kendra didn’t look convinced. “Did you see where he went? I’d like to thank him.”

  “No, but I’d like to track him down, too.” I shifted my gaze to the parking lot, taking a long moment to scan it before frowning. “Do you see him?”

  “No. I think he disappeared.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder why. “Well, I’ll see if I can track him down. I’ll tell you if I find him.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  I moved away from the woman and her daughter. The child seemed fine after her ordeal, asking for food and water, but otherwise remaining silent as she watched the firefighters work. She appeared mesmerized.

  I stopped next to Jared and gestured toward Kendra. “Get a photo of her and the little girl. The kid was saved by a kind neighbor and it’s going to be part of the story.”

  Jared nodded. “Okay. But what are you doing here? I thought you were off.”

  “I am. I was shopping in the area.”

  “You really need to learn how to take a vacation,” Jared noted. “Most people would’ve simply called in the fire to the office and gone on their merry way.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Jared was basically an amiable guy. Sure, he made gratuitous statements about the female form, but he often did it while checking out men in the general vicinity. I had yet to figure out how he thought that would work when it was time to settle down, but it was really none of my business.

  “I’m going to see if I can find the hero. I’ll text you if I do. Otherwise, I’m going to bug the crap out of the chief and then get out of here. I’ll file the initial story and leave it for someone else to follow up on, but then I need to head home. I really do have a lot to do.”

  “You should hand over your notes to someone else and not work at all.”

  “Yeah, that sounds just like me,” I said dryly. “It won’t take me long to throw together a story. I already know how it’s going to go.”

  “Well … good luck.”

  “I don’t need luck. I have skill.”

  “And an ego that’s so big I’m surprised you don’t float away.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  I left Jared to take photos and charm Kendra into posing for something that I knew would look phenomenal on the front page. Even though he was a bit of a pain, Jared was a master at finding the perfect image for every story.

  I found Chief Crenshaw behind one of the trucks in the side lot and didn’t bother faking a smile for his benefit. “Did you see where the hero went?”

  “Who?” Crenshaw wrinkled his forehead. “Are you talking to me?”

  �
��Who are you, Robert DeNiro? Of course, I’m talking to you.”

  “Perhaps next time you should refer to me by name and show some respect before demanding answers. Just a suggestion.”

  “I’ll consider it.” I waited for more, but Crenshaw didn’t speak, so I pushed him a second time. “The hero. The one who carried that little girl out. Did you see where he went?”

  “No, but I didn’t realize it was my turn to watch him,” Crenshaw answered, sarcasm on full display. “Why didn’t someone inform me that was added to my regular duties? I just don’t understand how I managed to forget that.”

  “Whatever.” I wasn’t in the mood to play games with the local fire chief. I could very rarely say that, but I had other things to worry about … like Eliot’s mother. “I wanted to interview him. He’s a hero and deserves the accolades.”

  “That’s true.” Crenshaw turned thoughtful as he scanned the faces watching the building. “You know, I didn’t see him leave, but I certainly don’t see him hanging around now.”

  “Me either. Maybe he went to one of the businesses across the way to call someone.”

  “Or maybe someone picked him up,” Crenshaw suggested. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “I just need a statement about the fire.” I switched tactics quickly. I didn’t have time to waste on a hero who clearly didn’t understand how to play the self-promotion game.

  “Fire is bad.”

  “Oh, you’re so witty.” I made an exaggerated face that no one’s mother could love, especially mine. “I’m not even supposed to be working today. I want to get to the office, file this story and then get out of here. Don’t make things difficult.”

  “Why would I want to help you?”

  Oh, he wanted to play it that way, did he? “I don’t know.” I adopted a breezy tone. “I thought you might want to help your hardworking local media representative. If you don’t, I can’t help that. What I can do is request every financial statement from your department from the past five years thanks to the Freedom of Information Act and have an accountant look them over.”

  Crenshaw narrowed his eyes. “Why would you possibly do that? Are you insinuating I’m taking from the department?”