The Informant by James Grippando Read Free Book Online Page A

be. Or he could be working in tandem with the killer. Or maybe he really is simply the evil—maybe even clairvoyant—genius he claims to be. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure which of those would be worse. All I know right now is that he wants his money, and if he doesn’t get it, I’m sure I’m going to get another call about another dead body.”
    Fields ran a hand through his hair, troubled. “You don’t really believe that paying him is going to stop a murder, do you? Either way—whether he’s the killer or just an informant—his financial incentive is to keep these serial murders running longer than A Chorus Line . And let’s face it: The only way he can validate his predictions is to let the murders happen. We may be the first to get the scoop after victim number seven goes down, but I don’t think we’re ever going to get these predictions , as he calls them, in time to stop number seven, number eight or number twenty-nine.”
    “You may be right,” said Mike. “But I’ve been following this story from the beginning, and my law enforcement sources tell me they’re not even close to naming a suspect.
    Creating a dialogue with this guy could be the only way to yield a clue that might finally stop the killing. It’s like when the Times and Post published the Unabomber’s manifesto to help stop the bombings. It worked in that case. There’s no guarantee
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    that we’ll save lives, but we have a responsibility to try, at least. We can’t just throw up our hands and say we don’t pay informants, then pretend like nobody ever called me.”
    “Fine.” Gelber was up and pacing on a Persian rug, waving his arm with emotion. “Let’s say we do pay him.
    What if it turns out he really is the killer? How do you think our readers will react when they find out we’ve been giving a serial killer a financial incentive to keep on killing?”
    “I thought of that. And that’s why we shouldn’t go out on this limb alone. I think we should work with the FBI on this.”
    Gelber stopped short. “ What? We’re independent journalists, not assistant deputies for federal agents. Are you nuts ?”
    “That’s enough, Charlie,” said Fields. His eyes narrowed and he spoke in a calm, even voice. “Mike, are you nuts?”
    “I know there’s an ethical dilemma here, and maybe Charlie has a point. Maybe a journalist should never tell the FBI about an informant—even one who might help solve serial killings, or who might himself be the serial killer. But this particular informant isn’t just offering information about crimes that someone else has already committed. He’s demanding money for his predictions about future victims—and he may very well be the killer.
    That’s almost extortion. It’s a unique situation where there simply aren’t any rules.”
    “There’s one hard-and-fast rule,” said Gelber. “Journalists are independent.”
    “Look,” said Mike, “all the sanctimonious bullshit 49
    THE INFORMANT
    in the world doesn’t mean we never cooperate with law enforcement. Remember back in July ’83? I was just two months on the job when terrorists kidnapped the wife of that former Salvadoran ambassador here in Miami. I uncovered it right after it happened, but the FBI asked us—asked you , Aaron—to keep the story from the public because the kidnappers threatened to kill the ambassador’s wife if he called in the cops. So we didn’t run the story, and neither did anyone else in the Miami media. When they caught the guys a week later the FBI even issued a public statement crediting the Miami media for our cooperation.”
    “What’s your point?” snapped Gelber.
    “Simple. Sometimes public safety has to take precedence over journalistic independence and the public’s right to know.”
    “So what are you proposing in this case?” asked Fields.
    “I want specifics.”
    “A compromise—one that lets us retain a level of independence and that still gives the police