I pulled out my cell. It only took a few moments to find WXTN’s phone number online. I tapped it in as I entered headquarters.
Security was tight, but I knew one of the agents working the metal detector, and when I held up my creds and flipped up my jacket to show him my weapon, he waved me through.
The command post was on the third floor.
A WXTN secretary put me on hold, and by the time I was finally transferred to the station’s president, I’d made it up the three flights of stairs. “This is Bryan Tait,” he said. “I understand you’re with the FBI?”
I opted to stay in the privacy of the stairwell for our conversation. “Just doing a little fact checking. You have a cameraman working for you with the first name of Nick; can you confirm his last name for me?” I made up a name. “Is it Verhooven?”
“We have a large staff. I’m not familiar with all of our employees. Just a moment.” A pause as he looked up the name. “Trichek.”
“Can you spell that for me?”
“T-r-i-c-h-e-k.”
“I need you to send me a copy of his work schedule for this last week.” I figured I could pull up his address and phone number myself.
A pause. “Has he done something illegal?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Another pause. “I’m afraid that’s privileged information. I’d need to speak with legal affairs about this.”
“Sounds good. And while you’re on the phone with them, I’ll just call in for a warrant, save us both some time.” A small bluff. “We can chat again in fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, I hope word doesn’t Steven James leak out that WXTN was hesitant to cooperate with the authorities. You know how these things can get around-”
A brief silence. “I suppose Mr. Trichek’s work schedule is nothing extraordinarily confidential.”
Didn’t think so.
“Good.” I gave him an email address to one of the Bureau’s secure online drop boxes, then said, “And also Chelsea Traye’s records. I’d like hers as well.”
A final stretch of hesitation. “Of course.”
I thanked him, ended the call, and headed down the hallway to the command post, trying not to assume anything.
And failing.