Hard News

a drag. And she isn’t really into being sloppy tonight—I told her to behave. For lunch the other day, okay? We’re eating bananas and hamburger, all kind of mixed together and—”
    Sutton’s hand rose again. “Enough.”
    Two waiters brought the main courses. Rune blinked. Oh, God. Little birds.
    Sutton saw her face and said, “Don’t worry. They’re not your kind of pigeons.”
    My
kind?
    “They’re more like quail.”
    No, what they were like was little hostages with their hands tied behind their backs.
    Courtney squealed happily. “Birdies, birdies!” A half-dozen diners turned.
    Rune picked up a fork and the least-offensive knife and started in.
    They ate in silence for a few moments. The birdies weren’t too bad actually. The problem was that they still had the bones in them and using a knife as big as a sword meant there was a lot of meat you couldn’t get to. Rune surveyed the room but didn’t see a single person sucking on a drumstick.
    There was a pause. Sutton looked at her and said, “Where are you with the story?”
    Rune had figured this was on the agenda and she’d already planned what she was going to say. The words didn’t come out quite as organized as she’d hoped but she kept the “likes” and the “sort-ofs” to a minimum. She told Sutton about the interviews with Megler and with Boggs and with the friends and family members and told her about getting all the background footage. “And,” she said, “I’ve sort of put in a request to get the police file on the case.”
    Sutton laughed. “You’ll never get a police file. No journalist can get a police file.”
    “It’s like a special request.”
    But Sutton just shook her head. “Won’t happen.” Then she asked, “Have you found anything that proves he’s innocent?”
    “Not like real evidence but—”
    “Have you or haven’t you?”
    “No.”
    “All right.” Sutton sat back. Half her food was uneaten but when the busboy appeared she gave him a subtle nod of the head and the plate vanished. “Let me tell you why I asked you here. I need some help.”
    “From me?”
    “Look.” Sutton was frowning. “I’ll be frank. You’re not my first choice. But there just isn’t anybody else.”
    “Like, what are you talking about?”
    “I want to offer you a promotion.”
    Rune poked at a white square of vegetable—some kind she’d never run into before.
    Sutton gazed off across the restaurant as she mused, “Sometimes we have to do things for the good of the news. We have to put our own interests aside. When I started out I was a crime reporter. They didn’t want women in the newsroom. Food reporting, society, the arts—those were fine but hard news? Nope. Forget it. So the chief gave me the shit jobs.” Sutton glanced at Courtney but the girl didn’t notice the lapse into adult vocabulary. The anchorwoman continued, “I covered autopsies, I chased ambulances, I did arraignments, I walked through pools of blood at a mass shooting to get pictures when the photographer was kneeling behind the press car puking. I did all of that crap and it worked out for me. But at the time it was a sacrifice.”
    Something in the matter-of-fact tone of Sutton’s voice was thrilling to Rune. This is just what she’d sound like when talking to another executive at the Network, an equal. Sutton and Dan Semple or Lee Maisel would talk this way—in low voices, surrounded by people wearing huge geometric shapes of jewelry, sitting over the tiny bones of hostage birds and drinking eighty-dollar-a-bottle wine.
    “Like, you want me to be a crime reporter? I don’t—”
    Sutton said, “Let me finish.”
    Rune sat back. Her plate was cleared away, and a young man in a white jacket cleaned the crumbs off the table with a little thing that looked like a miniature carpet sweeper. Most of the mess was on Rune’s side.
    “I like you, Rune. You’ve got street smarts and you’re tough. That’s something I don’t see enough of in reporters nowadays. It’s one or the other and usually more ego than either of them. Here’s my problem: We’ve just lost the associate producer of the London bureau—he quit to work for Reuters—and they were in the midst of production on three programs. I need someone over there now.”
    Rune’s skin bristled. As if a wave of painless flame had passed over her. “Associate producer?”
    “No, you’d be an assistant, not associate. At first at least. The bureaus in London, Paris, Rome,