Midnight Rambler: A Novel of Suspense

“Somehow she didn't know. From what I remember, Bash did something that was really clever.”

“Was this a live show?” I asked.

“Yeah, it was live,” Haber said.

I thought back to Melinda's call-in performance to Bash's show the day before. Her answers had sounded strained, and there had been pregnant pauses between them. I wondered if this played into what Haber had just described.

“Who was the reporter over at Fox?” Saunders asked.

“Kathy Fountain,” Haber said.

Saunders glanced at me. “I know Kathy. Want to take a ride over to the station and have a chat with her?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

“We need to run,” Saunders told Haber. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime,” Haber said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I followed Saunders to the Fox News station on bustling Kennedy Boulevard. The building was sleek and ultramodern, with large tinted windows that faced the street and a hundred-foot-tall white tower with the station's number, 13, printed on its side. My impression of Tampa as a sleepy burg was changing, one piece of architecture at a time.

I parked in the shaded Visitors parking area. Buster was still put out, and he refused to make eye contact with me.

Saunders and I went through a revolving door into the building's main reception area. The receptionist was a white-haired guard with an engaging smile. A small sign on his desk said Director of First Impressions. Saunders asked to see Kathy Fountain while displaying his badge and laminated ID. The guard pointed at the flat-screen TV hanging over our heads.

“She's in the studio doing her show. I'll tell her assistant you're here. Please have a seat.”

We sat on a leather couch and watched Kathy Fountain interview two guests in her studio. An attractive woman in her early forties, she was blond and fair skinned, and had the sympathetic manner of someone who'd raised kids.

At one o'clock her show ended. Sixty seconds later she was standing in front of us, out of breath.

“Hello, Scott,” Fountain said. “Is something wrong?”

“We need your help with an investigation,” Saunders said.

“Certainly,” she said.

“This is Jack Carpenter,” Saunders said. “He's working with me.”

A flicker of recognition registered in Fountain's face, and I was glad that I was with Saunders, and not by myself.

“I'd like to talk to you about Neil Bash,” I said.

Fountain rolled her eyes. “Neil was one sick, sick man.”

“So I hear.”

“Has he done something wrong? It wouldn't surprise me.”

“Yes,” I said. “Is there someplace we can talk in private?”

“My office. Follow me.”

Fountain took us to her office on the other side of the large mazelike building. The shades were drawn, and the air-conditioning was turned down low. A family photo sat on her desk, confirming my earlier suspicions. Saunders and I remained standing, as did she.

“Gary Haber at the Tampa Tribune told us you broke the story that sent Bash packing,” I said. “Can you tell me what Bash did that got him in so much trouble?”

Fountain crossed her arms in front of her chest, and her pleasant demeanor vanished. “A local high school girl had an affair with her history teacher. One day the affair became public, and the history teacher was arrested. Somehow, Bash got the girl to call his show. Although the show was broadcast live, there was a fifteen-second time delay on the broadcast, which let Bash bleep out crank calls and obscenities. Bash used that delay to manipulate the girl's answers. He asked questions like ‘You asked your history teacher to sleep with you, didn't you?’ The girl said no, and Bash said, ‘So you didn't ask him to sleep with you?’ The girl said yes, and Bash would bleep out the first answer and substitute the second. It made listeners think the girl had said yes to the first question, when she really hadn't.”

“Wouldn't the girl know she was being manipulated?” Saunders asked.

“That was the clever part,” Fountain said. “Bash made her turn off her radio to prevent feedback. She didn't hear the interview until after it was broadcast.”

“How did you figure out what Bash was doing?” I asked.

“To tell you the truth, I didn't,” Fountain said. “There's a magician in town who's been on my show a few times. He heard the interview and called me. He said Bash was using a trick invented by a mind reader named the Amazing Dunninger. Dunninger did a radio program, where he used the trick to ‘read the minds’ of listeners who called in.”

“Did you expose Bash on your show?” I asked.

“You bet I did,” Fountain said, nodding vigorously.

“What happened?”

“At first he denied it and threatened to take us to court,” she said. “Then the girl went to the newspapers and said she'd been tricked. Bash recanted and said some of her answers were edited. That's when the excrement hit the air-conditioning.”

Saunders and I both smiled.

“What happened to the history teacher?” I asked.

“There was a trial, and he was found guilty and sent to jail,” Fountain said. “If I remember correctly, Bash showed up at the courthouse to support him. Right after that, Bash's show was cancelled, and he left Tampa.”