Free The Survivors Club by Lisa Gardner

grunted. He didn’t like to rush to conclusions when working a case. He flipped through his spiral notebook. “Hey, Mike, what happened to NBC?”
    “I don’t know.
Seinfeld
ended,
ER
lost Clooney?”
    “No, no, I mean, we haven’t interviewed anyone from WJAR. You really believe Channel Ten didn’t send a news team?”
    Waters frowned. He looked around the memorial park. And then his eyes widened. “There, at the end of the block. Doesn’t that white van say News Team Ten?”
    “Well, what do you know. Two reporters have actually left the herd and are holed up on their own. Now, why would two reporters run away from the pack?”
    “They have something.”
    “No, no, Mike,
we
have something. Let’s get ’em.”
    Sixty seconds later, Griffin rapped on the van’s sliding metal door. It didn’t magically open. He knocked louder. Immediately, the voices inside shut up.
    “Come on, guys,” he called out. “This is Sergeant Griffin of the state police. Now open up, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your van down.”
    Another long pause. Finally, a click, then the door slid meekly back. Perched inside, Maureen Haverill gave both detectives her best reporter’s smile.
    “Griffin!” she said warmly. “I heard you were returning to the fold.”
    Maureen Haverill had been working at the local NBC affiliate for five years. A petite blonde, she was perky enough for one of those national morning news shows and probably figured it was only a matter of time. At the moment, her blue eyes were particularly bright. She looked like an addict who’d just gotten a fix. Or a reporter who’d just landed a scoop. Her cameraman was out of sight. Probably frantically dubbing the tape. Damn.
    “Both of you, out, now.” Griffin’s voice was harsh.
    “Griffin—”
    “Out!”
    Maureen scowled. She made a big show of carefully maneuvering out of the van, the helpless blonde in a too-short, too-tight pale green skirt. She probably bought her cameraman another thirty seconds.
    “So help me God, Maureen,” Griffin informed her, “you dub that tape and I will nail you for tampering with evidence.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Jimmy,” he called out. “You, too.
Now.
”
    A big head of rumpled red hair reluctantly appeared. “We were just making some notes,” Jimmy said sulkily. “Can’t two reporters get a little work done?” The hulking redhead climbed out onto the sidewalk. He kept his eyes carefully averted. There was a fresh sheen of sweat glistening across his forehead.
    “I want the tape,” Griffin said.
    “What tape?” Maureen tried again.
    “The tape you’re frantically copying for your lead story, which will probably be airing at any moment. It would be a shame, Maureen, if some junior reporter had to provide the vocals for the piece because you were detained behind bars.”
    “You can’t arrest me! On what grounds?”
    “Obstruction of justice.”
    “Oh please. That’s horseshit and you know it.”
    “It’s been eighteen months. My grasp of the law is a little rusty. I’ll arrest you first, then let the courts sort it out.”
    Maureen started to look pissed. “Dammit, I have Fourth Amendment protection against illegal search and seizure!”
    “Then it’s a good thing we’re standing next to a courthouse. I’ll stay with you. Detective Waters can run across the street and get a subpoena. Thirty minutes later not only will we still seize the tape, but I promise you that when we’re done, we’ll provide copies of the visual to every single news organization in this state. You understand? Every single one.”
    “No way. That’s my scoop!”
    “Yes way. That’s our evidence and once we seize it, we can do whatever we see fit.”
    “Goddammit, Griffin! I liked you so much better before—” Maureen’s protest ended abruptly. She seemed to realize what she was about to say, then even she had the good grace to blush.
    Griffin said nothing. He just