The Last Journalist by A. C. Fuller

Author:A. C. Fuller [Fuller, A. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vivid Books
Published: 2018-10-30T04:30:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Suki Takasago was the third dead journalist in the last three days, and the second I knew personally.

I fell to my knees, eyes glued to the screen, as Damonza continued. "Full details are not yet being released, but according to police, her body was found at her apartment near Green Lake early this morning when a friend stopped by for their regular jog around the lake. Takasago was a thirty-year-old reporter for a variety of online publications, including the Huffington Post and Seattle Review. In print, her work appeared in the New Yorker, Vanity Fair, and elsewhere. While young, she was considered a rising star in the journalism world. Last year she received the award for public service journalism from the Asian Women in Media Conference for her work exposing men's rights activist Massimo Brock—"

I stopped listening. Oh, God. My mind raced to Greta. I ran to my office and dialed Greta's cell phone.

Like Suki Takasago, Greta had roots in Japan, and we'd attended the Asian Women in Media Conference together. We'd watched Suki give her acceptance speech. Suki was one of Greta's coaching clients and in the speech she'd thanked her for modeling the confidence to report without fear of retribution. Without fear of retribution.

I needed Greta to hear the news from me, not a news report.

"Hello?" Her tone was cheerful enough to tell me she hadn't heard the news.

"Greta, I…oh, God."

"What is it Alex?"

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to see it on the news. Suki is…she's dead. The news is saying she's gone."

"What are you talking about?"

"I saw it on the news a minute ago. They're talking about it right now."

"I texted with her last night though."

"Something happened early this morning in her apartment. The news is saying she's gone."

There was a long silence. I guessed it was because Greta was looking up the news online. It wasn't that she wouldn't believe me, but Greta was the kind of person who had to see for herself. "Oh no," she said after a minute. "I'm on Twitter and, people are saying. Oh...no, n—"

Greta's voice cracked. She broke into muffled tears.

"I'm so sorry," I said.

"They're saying her throat was cut by a razor." She began to sob, and I felt sick to my stomach.

"Where are you?" I asked.

No response.

"Greta, where are you?"

"I'm…I'm at my office. I need to call her brother. I knew her brother, too."

"Can we meet at home in an hour?"

She offered a weak, "Sure," then hung up.

I returned to the office, where Bird and most of my staff huddled around computers, trying to find more details online. Shannon paced in the employee lounge in the corner, back turned to the office, talking on her phone.

When she turned and stuffed the phone in her pocket, she gestured for me to come over.

We sat side by side on a couch and Shannon jotted a few notes in her notebook, then looked up. "Police source said the stuff on Twitter is right. Her throat was cut with a razor blade in her bathtub.

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