Matters of Doubt by Warren C Easley Read Free Book Online

same person—someone called, mysteriously enough, X-Man. Each meeting was at 8:00 p.m., and the last was just a week before she disappeared. I jotted the name down followed by a question mark. On three separate dates, one in April and two in May, she had written down phone numbers with no references to names or places, and on May 13 she had entered an address—5318 SW Macadam, along with the initials LV—in the 2:00 o’clock time slot. I would follow up on these, as well.
    The three emails I printed out were all sent to Hank McCauley from Nicole Baxter, with no one copied. Judging from the context, McCauley must have been Baxter’s boss at The Oregonian .
    March 24, 2005
    Hank,
    I’ve got a potentially big story that’s going to take a lot of time and energy to complete. I can’t discuss any details now, and this email must be just between you and me. I have only talked to my source by phone and he has not revealed his name to me yet. I need you to cut me some slack on the Columbia dredging story. I think I’m the only reporter looking at it, so a little slippage won’t hurt. What say?
    Nicky
    April 15, 2005
    Hank,
    My source is still talking but is nervous as a cat. He went to the police first, but apparently nothing came of it. He wants to remain anonymous and I’m still working to gain trust. I’m forbidden to discuss any of this with anyone (including you) until I’m given the “complete picture.” I’ll fill you in when the time is right. This story is a beaut. You’re gonna love it.
    Thanks for easing up my workload! You won’t regret it.
    Nicky
    May 12, 2005
    Hank,
    Blockbuster alert! This story is huge. My source is flowing like a river now. I’ve got to check several things out, and then I’ll be ready to sit down with you. Thanks for the patience. You’re a saint!
    Nicky
    It wasn’t until I’d read the emails through again that I noticed something else. The date of each one was the day after Baxter had met with X-Man. The meetings were in the late evening, so it would follow that Baxter would brief her boss the next day. “Of course, X-Man must be Baxter’s source!” I called to Archie, who stood up and wagged his tail in apparent agreement. I turned this over in my mind, wondering if Baxter or the source had selected the name. I also wondered if the Portland police had made the same connection. If they had, then they’d have focused a lot of attention on identifying X-Man. Had they succeeded?
    Then there was the question of the nature of the “blockbuster” story Baxter was working on. What was it? And what had happened to her notes?
    It was 1:20 a.m., and I was high on adrenaline and caffeine. I pulled up a reverse phone directory on the net and tapped in the first of the three phone numbers I’d copied from her appointment book. It belonged to a psychologist in Lake Oswego specializing in adolescent therapy. Thinking of the rings, snakes, and tattoos now decorating Picasso’s body, I had to chuckle. He’d been a handful at twelve, I guessed. The second number was for an auto repair shop specializing in Volvos, the make of car Baxter owned. The third was for a bed and breakfast in Carlton, a small town surrounded by vineyards that lay out my way, on the north side of the Dundee Hills. I jotted down the date and the name of the B&B.
    I tapped the address on Macadam into a reverse address website next. It came up as the KPOC radio station, a Portland based AM station. I logged onto their website and scanned it for some hint of who the initials LV might stand for. There it was—their headliner was a man named Larry Vincent, who hosted a daily talk show called Vincent’s View . Of course, I said to myself, I’ve heard of this guy. He’s Portland’s right-wing shock jock. But was he working there eight years ago? It only took a few more clicks on Google to verify that, in