In this segment, Investigative reporter, Doreen Houser, relates to her boss, Metro Editor, Lou how the night before, unseen, she had discovered the identity of the woman who sent the anonymous fax to the Chronicle revealing that members of the City council had taken huge bribes to approve the purchase of property for the new Houston Convention Center. A second fax arrives, alleging that the Mayor had accepted an even larger bribe. Nancy Herrick, a young, recent widow, had discovered documents jammed in the shredder that itemized the transactions in the handwriting of her employer, Randle Ted Gangley, the owner of the $217 million dollar property. In a twist of fate, her admiration for her employer of 11 years is turned to horror and hatred, not by the shredder discovery, but by something else far more personal to her. ..
Without stopping by her office first, Doreen walked straight to Lou’s, holding her breath in anticipation. She was certain Lou would be sitting there with a second fax. Her heart throbbed to know what it contained. She wasn’t disappointed.
“Good morning! You got my message, I see,” Lou said.
“Actually, I haven’t been to my office yet. I knew there would be another fax; that’s why I’m an hour early. I didn’t think you’d be in yet.”
“You’d have to get up very early to arrive before me; I’m up with the roosters! How did you know there would be another fax, Woman’s intuition?”
“No, I saw her sending it!”
“You what . . . her . . . what are you telling me. Do you also know what’s in it?”
“No, but I can’t wait to see.”
“Well, go ahead and read it; then I want the long version.”
“She grabbed it anxiously, and read:
You didn’t put it in the paper. This is bigger than you think, and it’s true. Here’s more: The mayor was paid half a million in cash by Gangley. Now will you do a story? Where’s your public conscience?
Looking up, she realized she and Lou were staring at each other in disbelief.
“You believe this lady?” Doreen asked. “She obviously knows nothing about how the newspaper business functions and even less about Investigative reporting.”
“Right now, I’m more interested in knowing how you know it is a lady.”
“An unbelievable run of luck, Lou. Last night after dinner, I left Mark and Tim at home to run over to the Mail Boxes, Inc. place we traced from the number on the first fax. It’s less than half an hour from Woods. I wanted to talk to the evening shift fellow, John Quince. When I arrived, he remembered the last person there night before last because he had locked the front door a few minutes early, thinking no one else would be coming. She stood outside banging, pointing to her watch, so he had to unlock the door again to let her in. You wouldn’t forget someone you met under those circumstances. It turns out, she’s a thirty-five to forty-year-old; a redhead who doesn’t know the first thing about dressing even though she drives a nice Cadillac.”
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