On Harrow Hill

Morgan stared at him for a moment, then looked down at his watch, cleared his throat, and said, “We better get to our meeting.”

26

“With these crisis inventors, these professional liars, these cable news buffoons trying to persuade the world that life in Larchfield is some kind of horror movie . . .”

Chandler Aspern was speaking as Morgan and Gurney entered the conference room. He was sitting at one end of the rectangular table, and the six other members of the village board were seated across from each other, three on each side.

Morgan and Gurney took the two empty chairs at the end of the table opposite Aspern.

“We need to get control of the public narrative,” continued Aspern. “With the wild exaggerations and crazy theories promoted by the media, the image of Larchfield is going to hell in a handbasket.”

Nods of agreement came from Martin Carmody and Gifford Styles.

Aspern went on. “That RAM program last night was appalling. And the headlines this morning were worse. ‘The Dead Walk on Harrow Hill’—that was the top story in my news feed.”

Carmody—well-fed, pink-faced, white-haired—spoke in the rich baritone of an old-time radio announcer. “Something has to be done, and quickly.”

Styles, who might have been a geriatric aristocrat displeased with the progress of a polo match, shook his head. “This is intolerable. Tate isn’t even from Larchfield. He’s from Bastenburg. Deliberate slandering of our village. Must be stopped.”

He glared across the table at Gossett. “Do something, Harmon. You’re our bloody lawyer. Take action, man!”

Gossett said nothing. A thin man with thinning hair, he was as expressionless as a fish.

Peale spoke up, an acid edge to his patrician intonation. “The immediate priority should be to plug the leak! We’re not going to get anywhere, if things like the Tate video are handed over to the scurrilous media. The damage is incalculable—to the town, and to me personally. Whoever gave that video to RAM wanted us to look like fools.”

Although Peale was addressing Gossett, the man again remained silent and unblinking. Fallow’s discomfort was obvious in the set of his mouth, but he, too, said nothing.

Aspern looked down the table at Morgan. “Finding the leaker is a job for the police.”

“We’re looking into it.”

Gurney wondered if this was something else Morgan had failed to mention.

“Regarding the broader issue,” said Aspern, “we need calm, consistent messaging to counteract the media coverage. Perhaps Martin here, with his background, can help craft that strategy?”

Carmody cleared his throat. “Happy to do what I can. But before I design the suit, I need to know the shape of the body.”

Morgan blinked in confusion. “The shape of the body?”

“The raw facts of the case, especially the troublesome ones. Professional tailoring can smooth out a lot of imperfections, so long as we know what they are.”

“Troublesome fact number one,” snapped Peale, “is that someone who was pronounced dead is very much alive. That colossal error is the basis for these insane ‘zombie’ headlines and every other damn problem we’re facing.”

“Damned useless observation,” muttered Fallow, giving Peale a black look.

Carmody was nodding attentively, as though this were any other client briefing.

“In my experience,” he said, ignoring the obvious tension in the room, “there are three key ingredients in a crisis messaging strategy. Simplicity, the projection of competence, and the appearance of transparency. To begin with, it’s important to explain the pronouncement of death as a reasonable diagnosis, based on the available facts. The subject’s subsequent revival should be described as an uncommon but far-from-unique event. I’m sure the internet can provide examples of similar revivals. The point is to demystify it and take the air out of the supernatural speculation.”

Aspern was smiling. “Simple is good. Down-to-earth. No apologies. No need to get into anything exculpatory—like our medical examiner’s crushing workload with all the heroin ODs and autopsies on his plate, et cetera.”

“Exactly!” said Carmody. “Basic rule number one: never offer an excuse for an error when the incident can be described in a way that makes it not an error at all, but a case of sound professional judgment misled by a deceptive set of facts.”

“I like it,” said Aspern. “What do you think, Harmon, from a legal point of view?”

Gossett offered an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

Styles looked like he was developing gas pains.

“Problem, Gifford?” said Aspern.

“All well and good that Fallow is off the hook. Glad, too, that all the ‘resurrection’ balderdash will be put to rest. But what about the witchcraft angle, the ‘satanic’ malarkey? Is there a plan for making that go away?”