Free Every Fear by Rick Mofina Page A

For you people going live, that’s nineteen minutes from now. Let’s go.”
    Some sixty news types jostled to claim a piece of the Colsons’ pavement. Metal clanked as TV crews erected tripods and called for cables, switches, and batteries to be ferried from satellite trucks. Harried cell phone calls were made to editors, patched through to booths and networks. Data about birds, dishes, coordinates, feeds, airtime, and sound tests were exchanged. Overgroomed TV reporters checked their hair, teeth, earpieces, and mikes and helped with white balances by holding notebooks before cameras.
    “We’re going live through New York!” a red-haired TV reporter, hand cupped to one ear, repeated into her camera.
    A mountain of portable recorders and microphones with station flags rose at the center of the table as reporters settled into spots while taking calls from their desks.
    Jason nodded to Nate Hodge to check out the agent testing the video monitor. The agent was cueing up a tape that appeared to be footage from a surveillance camera. Hodge raised his Nikon, squinted through the viewfinder to line up a shot.
    Another agent began distributing sheets of paper. Jason studied it. A summary of facts and descriptions. Nothing he didn’t already know. A spread of color photos. One of Maria Colson. One of Dylan. One of a red Chrysler minivan over a note that read, “Seeking information related to a vehicle similar to this model.” And what’s this one? It looked like a frame taken from a security tape. His phone rang.
    “It’s Spangler, are you at the news conference?”
    “Yes, with Hodge.”
    “Update me.”
    He looked around, then dropped his voice to guard his information. “Got a fairly good inside account of what happened. I talked to the corner store clerk who was there and supposedly watching over the baby.”
    “Fine, they got a suspect yet?”
    “No one so far. At least no one they’re talking about. But the way they’re setting up for us here, looks like they may have caught something on a security camera.”
    “What do you know about the Colsons? Sinners, saints, what kind of people are they?”
    “Blue-collar high-school sweethearts. Maria’s a supermarket cashier on maternity leave. Lee’s a tow truck driver.”
    “Sounds like a Springsteen song. Anything else? Police getting any solid leads or tips from the alert? What’re they saying?”
    “Nothing yet.”
    “That’s it? Come on, Wade. We need to break news on this story.”
    “I’m doing the best I can. We were first to report the abduction, got it up on our site, and scooped everybody. The FOX affiliate and the Associated Press credited us, and that went national.”
    “It’s history now, Wade. Metro Pulse News is reporting that Maria Colson is in a coma, brain-dead.”
    “I haven’t heard anything like that.” Jason’s attention went to the suits emerging from the house. FBI agents, Seattle police detectives, including Grace Garner. They formed a protective ring around a distressed man wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. That had to be Lee Colson. “Looks like it’s going to start.”
    Colson took the center chair before the microphones. To his left he was flanked by Special Agent Kirk Dupree; to his right, another agent. Grace drifted off to the side as TV lights and strobe flashes showered the people at the table. After making introductions Dupree read a brief summary of the case verbatim from the handout.
    “Now,” he said after he’d finished, “I’d also like toclear up some erroneous reporting regarding Maria Colson’s condition. She is not brain-dead and on life support, as some outlets have suggested. The FBI confirms that Maria Colson is alive, in critical condition; and we are not prepared to elaborate. At this time, Mr. Colson will make a statement.”
    Cameras tightened on him and the anguish carved into his haggard face. He looked toward the group, or through it, as if he were gazing at a distant dreadful land.
    “I