Every Second. Rick Mofina

      Kate’s phone rang and she answered.

      “Who told you to go to Queens?” Reeka asked.

      “This story was breaking. Didn’t Thane tell you?”

      “Thane Dolan’s not your supervisor. What you have is a local bank robbery, not a national story. I want you to do what I assigned you to do.”

      “Reeka, the elements here are significant. A bank manager has robbed his own bank and there’re indications his family was taken hostage.”

      A tense silence passed.

      “Do you have it confirmed on the record? Is this just another case of someone passing an exaggerated note at a run-of-the-mill robbery?”

      “No, I don’t have it confirmed yet, but I have a gut feeling—”

      “A gut feeling?”

      “Reeka, this one’s different. Why don’t you let me check this out? Unless you want AP or Reuters to break the story?”

      Reeka let another few seconds pass.

      “All right, you’ve got a few hours to nail this down. Otherwise you’ll be at the Hyatt covering the conference. Is that clear, Kate?”

      “Crystalline.”

      After hanging up, Kate nudged Gabe.

      A man and woman had emerged from the curved end of the street, far down where the command post had been. They looked as though they were in their late sixties or early seventies. They went to the driveway of the house directly across from the one the SWAT team had stormed.

      “Excuse me,” Kate said before anyone else saw them. “Kate Page and Gabe Atwater, we’re with Newslead.” Kate held up her press ID. “Will you talk to us a minute about what’s happened?”

      The two people exchanged looks before the woman, bothered by the faint ammonia-like traces of tear gas lingering in the air, fanned her face and said: “Yes, but let’s go in the back.”

      Their backyard had a glorious flower garden with mature oak trees that shaded the lush manicured lawn. A dog emerged to give Kate and Gabe a friendly greeting.

      “May I get your names?” Kate asked, starting her recorder and holding her pen over a clean page in her notebook.

      The man looked at the notebook and rubbed his chin, adding to the worry etched deeply in his face. Kate couldn’t tell if it was the gas, emotion or both, but the woman was fighting tears.

      “Do you really need our names?” he asked. “Things are a little unsettling.”

      “I understand, but in situations like this, people often accuse reporters of making things up. They don’t believe we actually talk to real people, like you.”

      The man looked at the woman. “I don’t suppose giving our names could be any worse than what’s going on?”

      “That’s true. I don’t care, it’s all so horrible.” The woman turned to Kate. “I’m Violet Selway and this is my husband, Ward.”

      After Kate got her to spell their names, she asked: “Do you know the people next door?”

      “Dan and Lori Fulton,” Ward said. “They have a son, Billy.”

      “Any chance you’d know their ages?”

      “Well, Billy’s nine,” Ward said.

      “Dan just turned thirty-six,” Violet said. “We went to a backyard party for him, and Lori’s thirty-four.”

      “Thanks. What do you think happened?”

      Violet shook her head.

      “Police asked us the same thing,” Ward said. “We don’t know anything. Whatever happened must’ve happened in the night. We didn’t see or hear anything. I woke up this morning, and Sam, here, Billy’s dog, was in our backyard. I thought it was strange, that he must’ve got out in the night. I took him with me and went to ring their bell this morning. No one was home. We’ll keep Sam with us until we know what’s going on.”

      “How well do you know the Fultons?”

      “They’re dear friends.” Violet’s voice quivered. “I drew the inside of their house for police.”

      “Where do the Fultons work?”

      “Dan’s the manager of the SkyNational Trust branch, and Lori’s a claims adjuster at Dixon Donlevy Mutual Life Insurance.”

      “What kind of people are they, how would you characterize them?”

      “The salt of the earth,” Ward said.

      “Dan’s a family man,” Violet said. “Lori’s a devoted mom, and young Billy’s just a joy.”

      “Any idea of trouble, stress? Or if anyone would want to harm them?”

      “Absolutely not,” Ward said.

      “What do you think happened?”

      “We wish we knew, so we could help,” Violet said. “All we know is what police told us.”

      Kate’s radar locked on that as Ward shot his wife a cautionary glance. But Kate remained casual. She was skilled at extracting information.

      “That Dan robbed his own bank this morning,” Kate said, “and that there was supposedly a hostage situation at his home,” she added, inviting the Selways to elaborate. “It’s so troubling, isn’t it?”

      “It is,” Violet said. “Especially since they all had bombs strapped to them.”

      Kate shot a look to Violet then Ward.

      “Really?”

      “According to police,” Ward said.

      “Did they give any indication of who’s behind it?”

      “No. And now they can’t find Dan, or Lori, or Billy!” Violet sobbed into her hands and Ward put his arms around her. “I pray they’re okay!”

      “I’m sorry,” Ward said. “This is too upsetting. We’ll have to end it there.”

      After thanking them, Kate and Gabe returned to the street. Kate exhaled, stopped to check her notes and her recording.

      Gabe, who’d stepped back during Kate’s interview, angled his camera to her, displaying the pictures he’d taken, favoring one of Violet Selway, anguished face buried in her hands, Ward’s arm around her, Sam at their feet looking up at them with big eyes.

      “Distraught neighbors and the Fultons’ dog,” Gabe said.

      “It’s good,” Kate said, noticing that down the block the situation had changed with the cat lady. “Let’s talk to her.”

      The woman was now out of the patrol car, leaning against it, holding her cat. The officers with her had moved off to consult other cops at a van nearby.

      Kate approached, smiling once the woman noticed her.

      “That’s a pretty cat,” she said. “What’s her name?”

      “Lacey Lou.”

      “Very cute.” Kate, bearing in mind the officers were near, kept her voice soft. “I’m Kate Page, and this is Gabe Atwater. We’re with Newslead. Some neighbors of the Fultons’ have been sharing their thoughts with us. Can we talk to you briefly?”

      The woman looked around as if seeking permission.

      “It’ll only take a second.” Kate opened her notebook and shrugged. “You could summarize what you told police, like the other neighbors did.”

      “Well, I guess it would be all right.”

      “What’s your name?”

      “Charlene