stuffed under the back seat of his car. I mean, this dude knows he's royally screwed, right, so I give him my best Ricky Ricardo impression. I say, 'Son, you got some 'splainin' to do.'"
Jia-li and Jason laughed out loud.
"We got lucky on that one," Steiger added. "It happens sometimes, dunkers we call them. And speaking of luck, you two must have a touch of the Irish in ya, too. While you were getting checked out, I spoke with the chief petty officer, the guy who piloted the chopper. Good man, I've worked with him before. He told me he played a wild hunch, decided to search the waters around Lopez Island first. Sure enough, there you were."
"What's the saying?" Jia-li interjected. "Sometimes it's better to be lucky than good? In this case I'm sure it was a little of both. I can't say enough about him and those other guys, a solid bunch of pros. We owe them our lives. You too, detective. I don't see any way we could've made it through the night, not the way the temperatures were dropping."
"That's why they pay me the big bucks," Steiger said with a straight face.
Moments later,he pulled in front of a brick fortress on Dexter Avenue, home to King 5 TV. The windowless building was massive and occupied an entire city block. He inched up over the curb, parking the Chevy where he always parked in traffic-challenged Seattle—on the sidewalk.
The news director met them at the front door, vibrating like a tuning fork. Steiger could hear the feverish thrill in his voice, practically read his mind. This was what guys like Ned Calkins lived for, to blow the lid off the ratings pressure cooker, to break the really big one. He had probably created space already for all the Emmys and other prestigious awards his team would surely rack up.
But nothing was going to happen until Steiger had taken statements from his witnesses. He would then decide what facts, if any, should be held back from the public to protect the integrity of the case. A case that now allegedly included robbery, assault, attempted murder, four dead thugs, and a ravenous pack of sea monsters.
Jesus, he thought, the only thing missing is the marching band and pom-pom girls.
They walked through a cavernous lobby hung with images of the interconnected history between the station and its city, scaled a long flight of stairs, and entered a glass-encased conference room. It looked out on the bullpen, a large warren crowded with reporters' desks, most piled high with files and reports. Beyond that was the control room, the station's nerve center. At this hour, there were only a few people milling about.
Calkins made small talk, thanked the detective for rescuing his superstar anchor, and exited the room. When the door closed, Steiger gathered Jia-li and Jason around one end of the oval conference table. He then pulled a microcassette recorder from his coat pocket and set it in front of him. There were much fancier recording devices on the market—like smartphones—but he preferred his trusty Sony. He nodded toward the young couple and pushed the "record" button.
Following an awkward silence, Jia-li took a deep breath and began to speak. Her voice trailed off from time to time, and she choked up at certain points, but her account of their harrowing, eighteen-hour ordeal was remarkably lucid and undeniably riveting.
Steiger listened intently as she described in intimate detail the pirates' cold-blooded attack, the violent storm, and the colossal whales that saved the day, as surely as the cavalry did in the movies. He carefully observed her body language, too. Facts and evidence were crucial in any investigation, but it was often instinct that cracked a case. Forget polygraph machines or truth serum, too. He had his own BS meter and it didn't take much to set it off—a nervous twitch, subtle eye movement, or, his favorite, unconscious rubbing of the nose. If the lovely reporter even thought about stonewalling him, he would know.
As the incredible tale unfolded,
Jia-li and Jason laughed out loud.
"We got lucky on that one," Steiger added. "It happens sometimes, dunkers we call them. And speaking of luck, you two must have a touch of the Irish in ya, too. While you were getting checked out, I spoke with the chief petty officer, the guy who piloted the chopper. Good man, I've worked with him before. He told me he played a wild hunch, decided to search the waters around Lopez Island first. Sure enough, there you were."
"What's the saying?" Jia-li interjected. "Sometimes it's better to be lucky than good? In this case I'm sure it was a little of both. I can't say enough about him and those other guys, a solid bunch of pros. We owe them our lives. You too, detective. I don't see any way we could've made it through the night, not the way the temperatures were dropping."
"That's why they pay me the big bucks," Steiger said with a straight face.
Moments later,he pulled in front of a brick fortress on Dexter Avenue, home to King 5 TV. The windowless building was massive and occupied an entire city block. He inched up over the curb, parking the Chevy where he always parked in traffic-challenged Seattle—on the sidewalk.
The news director met them at the front door, vibrating like a tuning fork. Steiger could hear the feverish thrill in his voice, practically read his mind. This was what guys like Ned Calkins lived for, to blow the lid off the ratings pressure cooker, to break the really big one. He had probably created space already for all the Emmys and other prestigious awards his team would surely rack up.
But nothing was going to happen until Steiger had taken statements from his witnesses. He would then decide what facts, if any, should be held back from the public to protect the integrity of the case. A case that now allegedly included robbery, assault, attempted murder, four dead thugs, and a ravenous pack of sea monsters.
Jesus, he thought, the only thing missing is the marching band and pom-pom girls.
They walked through a cavernous lobby hung with images of the interconnected history between the station and its city, scaled a long flight of stairs, and entered a glass-encased conference room. It looked out on the bullpen, a large warren crowded with reporters' desks, most piled high with files and reports. Beyond that was the control room, the station's nerve center. At this hour, there were only a few people milling about.
Calkins made small talk, thanked the detective for rescuing his superstar anchor, and exited the room. When the door closed, Steiger gathered Jia-li and Jason around one end of the oval conference table. He then pulled a microcassette recorder from his coat pocket and set it in front of him. There were much fancier recording devices on the market—like smartphones—but he preferred his trusty Sony. He nodded toward the young couple and pushed the "record" button.
Following an awkward silence, Jia-li took a deep breath and began to speak. Her voice trailed off from time to time, and she choked up at certain points, but her account of their harrowing, eighteen-hour ordeal was remarkably lucid and undeniably riveting.
Steiger listened intently as she described in intimate detail the pirates' cold-blooded attack, the violent storm, and the colossal whales that saved the day, as surely as the cavalry did in the movies. He carefully observed her body language, too. Facts and evidence were crucial in any investigation, but it was often instinct that cracked a case. Forget polygraph machines or truth serum, too. He had his own BS meter and it didn't take much to set it off—a nervous twitch, subtle eye movement, or, his favorite, unconscious rubbing of the nose. If the lovely reporter even thought about stonewalling him, he would know.
As the incredible tale unfolded,
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