Bad Break: A Novel

Chapter Fifty-Five

Calvin Ward was a strong believer in the philosophy of once a journalist, always a journalist.

Marines say it, former cops say it. Journalists believe it too. It had been years since he transitioned to fashion and then the adult entertainment sector, but the fact that he had so many questions about the types of men, and the actual clients, that frequented the North Pole told him the curiosity had never left his system.

It was with this in mind that Ward donned an outfit more befitting a cat burglar than a reporter on the prowl, pocketing a penknife and set of tweezers and the Taser he kept behind the host's podium at the entrance to the North Pole, before hopping into his car and tailing Daniel Pogano.

He didn't know what he expected to find but was convinced that the professor had more knowledge about Tonya Stone's death than he'd admitted. There was something about the way he hesitated before every word uttered about Tonya – Every. Single. Word. There's concern and there's worry. He seems worried. But why would he be?

Could it be that he'd partaken in that age-old stereotype of teacher and student dalliances? Or perhaps it was something worse – not a May-December romance, but rather inappropriate bullying and intimidation of her, using his position to compel her to submit to sex. Why had Pogano reacted so to news of Tasha's disappearance? Could he be a sexual assailant? No, the thought seems ludicrous. He doesn't look the part. But what does a predator look like these days?

Ward shook his head as if to clear it. He knew that such questions could lead down a bottomless rabbit hole, sort of like that children's song about frogs sitting on bumps on logs at the bottom of the sea. And he needed this hole to lead to Tasha Stone's discovery and testimony, if needed, to end the killing.

He refocused his attention on Pogano's new era Volkswagen Beetle as it slowed to a stop at an intersection with a blinking red light.

The former reporter hung back a block, as he no longer had the cover of other vehicles between him and Pogano.

The pair had made their way to a mostly industrial area with a few residences scattered among the warehouses and loading docks. Late as it was this night, the silhouettes of semi-tractor trailers and shipping containers could be made out on the moonlight horizon.

After sitting at the light for thirty seconds or so, Pogano abruptly turned right, away from the industrial parks and onto a ramp to a freeway bypass that carried him to the westernmost border of the city in less than 20 minutes. He exited the expressway into a residential neighborhood of loft apartments and new, intentionally rustic-looking condos that had sprouted among the remaining industrial buildings. He drove for three blocks and then turned into a parking lot adjacent to a dimly lit warehouse.

As the professor clambered out of his car and shuffled awkwardly toward the building, Ward killed his lights and muttered thanks to the ether that his little coup was the electric model and cruised in absolute silence.

Ward, parked, grabbed his Taser, and tip-toed toward the now imposing building, hoping he was right about the door he thought Pogano had slipped through.

"Here goes nothing," he said, wishing, this time, that someone had been there to hear it.