“Oh, my assignment editor, Henry Filmore, gave it to me. I hope that’s all right?” She felt dread pouring into the pit of her stomach. Maybe she shouldn’t have spoken up in the meeting after all, but the quick release of a breath on the other end of the line caught her by surprise.
“Oh, Henry… yeah. He’s solid.” Erin’s voice softened a fraction. “You said the Medford case?” She sounded distant, as if the call were on speakerphone ina loud room.
“Oh! Um… yes.” She paused, trying to sound casual. “Just wanted to confirm the presser’s still happening at HQ at ten, and that you’ll be the one handling it? I know the Medford department called you in, so I wasn’t sure who was taking point.”
“Yeah, Medford will be there. I was about to send out an email to the stations, but you should plan on being at HQ at ten this morning.”
“Oh, perfect! Thank you! Will you be avail—”
“Listen, Garrett, you said? I gotta go. Bye.” Before Jamie could even correct the other woman on her name, the line beeped. She placed the phone back on the receiver and looked over at Harper, who wore a look of pure amazement.
“Hold up,” Harper said, holding her hands up. “Are you telling me that you got more than two words out of Calhoun? Color me impressed, newbie.”
Jamie smiled and looked down at her watch. “Thanks, I think? I gotta run. I’m supposed to be interviewing the vic’s sister, you know, on the off chance this angle doesn’t pan out.”
The other woman nodded as Jamie stood. “Good luck out there.”
Jamie grabbed her bag and looked across the newsroom at the row of photographers. She made eye contact with Tilly and nodded. Tilly stood, grabbed their laptop from the desk in front of them, and shoved it in a bag they slung over their shoulder. The duo met at the thick metal door to the parking lot.
“Where to, chief?” Tilly asked, tucking their phone into their pocket.
“Cop shop for the presser, then we gotta talk with the Medford vic’s sister.” Jamie shot Tilly a look as they walked outside. “And I need you to tell me everything you know about Erin Calhoun.”
Tilly laughed bitterly as the two climbed into the station car.
Three
Erin stood at the podium, arms crossed loosely as station photographers adjusted their tripods and grumbled about lighting. Her uniform blazer pulled cleanly across her shoulders, the fabric still crisp from the iron she ran over it that morning. Her jaw set itself into the usual neutral line, the one she’d practiced in bathroom mirrors between briefings. One of them asked for a mic check, and she leaned forward with a quiet sigh.
“One, two, three. Erin Calhoun, Boston Police Department. That’s E-r-i-n, C-a-l-h-o-u-n.” Her voice carried easily, low and even, the kind of tone that clipped the edges off every syllable.
She scanned the crowd. Most of the faces were familiar. Six reporters, six photographers, all crammed into a space better suited for four. Erin tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, a nervous habit she’d never quite broken, even after years of standing at podiums like this one.If it were up to her, she would have sent a written release and a linked folder. But the department liked formality. Her supervisors called it transparency. Erin called it a waste of time.
A glance over her shoulder confirmed both chiefs were in place. The Medford and Boston department heads stood side by side behind her. She nodded once, then began.
“Good morning. Thank you for being here. Today, we’re providing an update on the ongoing homicide investigation out of Medford. I’ll review the confirmed facts, then open for questions.”
She kept her delivery clipped and professional.
The facts were grim but uncomplicated. A female victim had been founddeceased inside a private residence. A male suspect had been taken into custody at the scene. There were no signs of forced entry. A weapon had been recovered nearby. The suspect had been transferred to county holding for arraignment and was not known to the victim prior to the incident.
It was straightforward. Horrific, but straightforward.
Still, her attention wandered. Erin straightened to her full height—five-ten in flats, taller than most of the reporters in the room—and her eyes caught on a tall blonde woman standing beside the WCVB photographer. Tilly—someone Erin actually tolerated. But the blonde reporter was unfamiliar. Curious. She didn’t shift nervously or whisper to anyone nearby. She just stood quietly, watching Erin speak.
New hire, probably. Boston was always cycling through reporters who thought they could handle the hard crime coverage.
As Erin closed the briefing, she expected a hand to go up. Instead, the blonde reporter spoke directly.
“Jamie Garrison, WCVB,” she said. “You didn’t mention anything about Rodriguez’s claim that he was drugged. Has that been investigated?”
Erin paused, keeping her expression neutral. She noticed a few reporters side-eyeing Jamie for jumping ahead. Erin didn’t mind. The question was sharper than what she usually got.
“Miss Garrison, that claim was made by the defense following the arraignment. It has not been substantiated.”
Jamie nodded but followed up immediately.
“Was a toxicology screen ordered?”
