She\u2019s late.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel I sneak a look at my fingernails. Chewed. To the quick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It\u2019s a bad habit I\u2019ve tried to kick. One my male colleagues like to comment on. They enjoy critiquing my appearance. My hair \u2026 my breasts<\/em> \u2026 my clothes \u2026 my bum<\/em> \u2026. my make-up. They\u2019re not alone. The trolls on social media love to tell me how I could improve my appearance, not my work, just how I look. They have a real hatred for red heads. Or maybe it\u2019s just me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Without thinking the humming starts, and my fingers tap along to Taylor Swift\u2019s, Shake it Off<\/em>. It\u2019s my go to song to reset my mood or reduce anxiety.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Where is<\/em> she?<\/p>\n\n\n\n If she doesn\u2019t turn up, I have nothing. No story. No big breakthrough to prove I have what it takes to make it in the cut-throat and male-dominated world that is sports journalism.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wonder again if this is a set-up. If one of the Neanderthals I work with are behind it. It\u2019s absolutely something they would do. Embarrassing me has become an office game.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Like the time I found a gift-wrapped packet of condoms in my desk drawer with a typed note: To be used in the case of an emergency<\/em>. The \u2018present\u2019 appeared after I knocked back the racing editor, Johnno Thompson for a second time. Johnno keeps insisting he can do me a favour, that he needs to take the little lady<\/em> out for a drink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I jump at the soft knock on the passenger door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Geez, you scared me,\u2019 I stammer as a tall, slender woman dressed in jeans and a dark hoodie, lowers herself into the passenger seat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Sorry I\u2019m late. I had to wait until my husband was asleep,\u2019 she whispers as she glances at the side mirror. \u2018You made sure no one followed you?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Yes. Do you have the information?\u2019 My palms sweat as I wait for her reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nodding she pulls a large envelope from the inside of her jumper. Pushing a run-away strand of blonde hair from her face she passes it over with trembling hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Are you alright?\u2019 This is the first time we have met in person and even in the poor light of the nearby streetlamp I can see the strain on her face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My source, Ms X, contacted me two months ago. She phoned a day after my feature article on the mental health challenges facing young, elite athletes appeared in the paper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She initially called from a public phone and from that point we only corresponded via WhatsApp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Once I gained her trust, she shared with me the full story behind her son\u2019s death and her suspicions about the Lions rugby league club.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ms X confided that her son Josh died five years ago from a heart attack. He was seventeen. Traces of steroids were found in his system, but Josh\u2019s death was written off as a tragic and unexpected event. At the time, his club, a feeder team for the Lions, vehemently denied any knowledge and were cleared of any involvement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After the inquiry, Ms X was offered a job with the Lions \u2013 she saw it as a blatant attempt to keep her quiet. She initially declined the position but after her husband lost his job, she accepted a back-office role at Lion\u2019s headquarters. But she never stopped searching for answers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ms X confided that her son was told by his coach to \u2018bulk up,\u2019 that he was \u2018too slight\u2019 to make first grade. He\u2019d turned into a gym-junkie and had just made the Lion\u2019s reserve grade team when he lost his life. My source was convinced performance enhancing drugs were rife at the Lions and its feeder teams. That her son was pushed down the path of dangerous steroid use.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Staring at her lap, Ms X rubs her hands nervously together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Are you alright?\u2019 I ask for a second time. Ms X finally nods. \u2018Just make sure I\u2019m not implicated. That my name is not released,\u2019 she replies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Absolutely,\u2019 I confirm as I tear open the envelope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018It\u2019s all there. Personal and confidential notes from the club doctor and photos of private emails between him and the coach. But there\u2019s more.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018More?\u2019 I breathe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I wanted to get to the bottom of who is supplying this stuff, but I kept hitting brick walls. Until two days ago,\u2019 she says, running a shaky hand through her hair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I heard the coach talking to someone named Bulldog on his mobile after training. I was hiding in the treatment room, listening in. They arranged to meet that evening. After he hung up, the coach took the SIM card out of his phone, broke it in half and threw it in the bin. Then he put in a new one. I waited at the club, then followed him.\u2019 I look at her in awe. This is one brave and determined woman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018They met in the carpark of the Star Tavern. I recognised the man. He sometimes comes to the games and likes to mix with the players. He splashes cash around like its Monopoly money. I overhead one of the bar staff saying the man has connections to the Taipans bikie gang.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Bloody hell,\u2019 I mutter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I took a photo on my phone. It\u2019s dark and grainy, but you can just make out his face. I got him handing over a package to the coach. I printed the photo for you. It\u2019s all there,\u2019 she finishes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018You know they will suspect you. Because of your son and your job at the club. Maybe it would be safer for you and your husband to get out of town for a while?\u2019 I suggest, watching for her reaction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018The truth needs to come out. For Josh,\u2019 she says, tears sliding down her cheeks as she steals another glance at the side mirror. \u2018I hope you bring them all down.\u2019 Before I can respond she exits the car and melds into the darkness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wait until I get home to go through the package. What I have is pure dynamite. It could be the biggest story of the year.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next morning, I wait until my boss, the Sports Editor, Dave Rogers, is onto his third cup of coffee before tapping on his office door. Everyone knows it\u2019s not safe to speak to him until he is well-caffeinated. He looks up and motions me inside. \u2018What\u2019s up, Sarah?\u2019 Dave grunts, as I close the door behind me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I have a story, boss. A big one,\u2019 I start.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018A big story hey. Well, let\u2019s hear it,\u2019 he smiles in an amused way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Five years ago, a young, up-and-coming rugby league player died. Heart attack. He was only seventeen. They found steroids in his system and there were rumours his club, the Bay Bulls who are affiliated with the Lions, were involved,\u2019 I pause for a moment before ploughing on. \u2018The official inquiry cleared his club and the Lions of any involvement, but I have information proving the Lions are not only aware of the use of performance enhancing drugs in their players but are actively encouraging, supplying, monitoring and covering up their use.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n I survey my boss, a paunchy, middle-aged man whose every second word is an expletive, as he pops a strip of Nicorette gum in his mouth. Whenever he\u2019s agitated, he reaches for the gum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018That\u2019s a serious accusation. Who\u2019s your source? Are they reliable?\u2019 Dave growls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018My source is rock solid, but I can\u2019t tell you who they are.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dave rolls his eyes. \u2018The Lions, and the league, are a big supporter of the paper you know. This \u2018rock solid\u2019 source better be right, or everyone\u2019s arse is on the line.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018It gets worse,\u2019 I say, hesitating.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Out with it,\u2019 Dave snaps. I now have his full attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018The information I have connects the Lions, or at least the coach, to the Taipans outlaw motorcycle gang. From what I was told, and the information I have, the Taipans are the suppliers.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dave swears as he rips open a second piece of gum. \u2018I need to see this information before I make a call,\u2019 he says, shoving the second piece into his mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hand over a memory stick. I spent last night scanning and saving copies of the documents from Ms X. The originals are in a locked cabinet at my apartment. \u2018It\u2019s all on there.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Sit,\u2019 Dave orders. He pops the stick into the side of his laptop and starts scanning the files.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I perch on the edge of the chair where so many hopeful journalists have sat, pushing for their story to get a run. Dave stares intently at the large monitor on his desk, opening file after file. After ten minutes he looks up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Well, you\u2019re right, this is big. Who else knows about it?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Just you and me,\u2019 I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dave stares at me, his eyes cold and calculating, like he is debating whether to place a big bet on the hundred to one shot in the final race at Randwick. Everyone knows Dave likes a punt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018This is too big for you to manage,\u2019 he says, and I jump to my feet, accidentally knocking his coffee over in my haste. Leaning across the desk, my face is just centimetres from his. \u2018No way,\u2019 I protest. \u2018This is my<\/em> story. I don\u2019t need my hand held. I can do this, on my own.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018You\u2019re a junior reporter Sarah, you\u2019ve never pulled something like this off before,\u2019 Dave says staying remarkably calm as I get more outraged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His measured response has the desired effect, and my anger deflates as I slump back in my chair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Please boss. Give me a chance. The source came to me. They want me to run this, they don\u2019t trust anyone else,\u2019 I plead and hate myself for sounding so whiny.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I want copy by Thursday night. Then I need to run it past the legal team and inform the company. But Sarah, the cops will be all over this. Not just the lawyers. Are you prepared to protect your source? At all costs?\u2019 Dave is deadly serious as he says this, and I understand fully what he means.<\/p>\n\n\n\n If there\u2019s a criminal investigation, I could go to gaol for not disclosing a source. I take a deep breath before answering. \u2018Yes,\u2019 is all I say as I stand and reach for the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dave nods, gesturing me out of the room. \u2018Get on with it. I want an update tonight on how it\u2019s going. Don\u2019t tell anyone what you\u2019re working on. If you\u2019re asked, just say it\u2019s a special feature for the weekend. I don\u2019t want wind of this getting out to our competitors. And Sarah,\u2019 I pause turning to face him again. \u2018Good work.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n I cannot help but smile. Not once in the last five years has my boss ever complimented me on my work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I walk to my desk already punching out the opening line and first paragraph in my head. I am so lost in my own thoughts that at first, I don\u2019t notice the pink post-it note dangling from the edge of my workstation. Scrawled in cramped, untidy handwriting is the message:<\/p>\n\n\n\n You\u2019re being watched.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Scrunching the note in my hand I glance at my colleagues in the newsroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Everyone is busy, heads down, tapping away at keyboards or taking phone calls. No one is interested in me, no one looks my way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My heart races. Does someone know about my meeting with Ms X? Do they know what I know? I stare around the room once more. Johnno, the racing editor, looks up and blows me a kiss. Situation normal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I almost fall off my seat at the soft voice close to my ear. \u2018Hi Sarah, what were you and the boss talking about for so long?\u2019 whispers Brendan, a young cadet I have taken under my wing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018You frightened me,\u2019 I say, my voice higher than normal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Sorry, didn\u2019t mean to make you jump. Umm \u2026 are you okay?\u2019 Brendan asks watching the redness recede from my cheeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wave my empty mug in the air, \u2018Yeah fine, too much coffee, that\u2019s all.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Maybe make the next one a decaf?\u2019 Brendan laughs. \u2018Are we on for lunch later? The pub on the corner has a great Tuesday Parmigiana and Pint deal for only ten bucks,\u2019 he looks at me all hopeful and excited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Not today,\u2019 I say turning back to my laptop. I hear Brendan grunt before returning to his desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Everyone in the newsroom is connected to an instant messaging app that the blokes use to share lewd jokes and Dave uses to keep us on deadline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As my computer whirs into action, I see a new message from Dave. I click it open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sarah, what did Brendan want? You don\u2019t have time for idle chit chat. You have a BIG story to write, remember?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Typical Dave. Rolling my eyes, I tap out a quick reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I know. I\u2019m on it. Brendan wanted to know what we were talking about. I didn\u2019t tell him anything. Boss, someone left a note on my desk. It said I\u2019m being watched. It\u2019s making me nervous. Can I take the laptop and work from home?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Three dots appear. Dave\u2019s writing back. I watch and wait \u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alright take the laptop but keep your head down. If someone knows what you\u2019ve been doing, who your source is or what you know, things could get ugly. Message me as soon as you get home. Do you have a flatmate or anyone that can stay with you?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Dave is an old-school journo who is as tough as they come. He doesn\u2019t frighten easily. My anxiety rises and the humming starts again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n No, just my cat. I\u2019ll be fine boss. I\u2019ll lock the door and message you as soon as I get home.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I cram my computer, charger and notepad into my laptop bag and hoist my handbag onto my shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I look across to Brendan who mouths silently, \u2018Where are you going?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n I nod to the exit, and he follows me to the lift. As soon as the doors close, he turns to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Sarah, what\u2019s going on? You just got to work and now you\u2019re leaving?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brendan\u2019s blue eyes lock on mine. He\u2019s genuinely concerned. But I need to keep this to Dave and myself for now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I\u2019m working on a special feature. It\u2019s a long and complicated piece, and Dave has only given me a couple of days to finish it. I\u2019m going to work on it at home, so I\u2019m not disturbed,\u2019 I reply as we step out of the lift and stride to my car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018A special feature? What on?\u2019 Brendan asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018It\u2019s a surprise,\u2019 I say smiling at him. Throwing my gear in the backseat I quickly slide into my ten-year-old Renault.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brendan has not moved. He just keeps looking at me like he knows I am keeping something from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I have to go. Deadline, you know,\u2019 I joke, and he finally moves away from the car. I wave out the window as I head for home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Johnno has a poster at his desk that says:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Write Drunk. Edit Sober<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I think about that as I grab a beer from the fridge and crack it open. I can hear my mother tsking. \u2018Daytime drinking Sarah, really!\u2019 but I push the internal criticism aside. I need a drink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n All the way home I couldn\u2019t help peering in the rear vision mirror. At one point I was sure I was being followed, then told myself I was overreacting. The note on my desk and Dave\u2019s concern is making me edgy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A mass of black fur jumps onto the dining table, trying to distract me from my work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Sebastian, get down. Naughty boy,\u2019 I say pulling him from the table and giving him a quick cuddle before depositing him on the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sebastian rubs against my legs before taking up his favourite position on top of the couch next to the window.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I look at what I have written. Not a bad start.<\/p>\n\n\n\n While the Lions illegal steroid use and bikie links is the lead, the story is peppered with facts about the illegal use and market for anabolic steroids and performance enhancing drugs in Australia. I have been researching the topic since my first conversation with Ms X.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Over the last six weeks I have cultivated a contact in the Drugs and Firearms Squad in the New South Wales Police Force. The facts I included are from public sources, but my contact has given me an insight into the uphill battle the police face in curbing the lucrative illegal drug trade in Australia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I pull out my phone and call him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He answers after two rings. \u2018Constable Tony Matthews.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Hey Tony, it\u2019s Sarah Jones, from The Advocate<\/em>. Do you have a moment? I have a couple of questions that I thought you could help with.\u2019 No response. \u2018It\u2019s part of my research.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Is this off the record?\u2019 Tony asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Yes,\u2019 I reply and wait.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Ask away. I\u2019ll let you know if I can help or not,\u2019 Tony replies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Thanks. So, in the last two years, official records indicate the number of seizures of steroids has decreased slightly but the weight of seizures has increased. There has also been an increase in arrests of members of organised crime groups for trafficking illegal steroids.\u2019 I pause for a moment before continuing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I hear the Taipans outlaw motorcycle gang is heavily involved in the distribution of steroids and performance enhancing drugs, but I haven\u2019t found any evidence of their members being arrested for this. Are you able to confirm if they are involved in the steroid black market?\u2019 I pause, waiting for his response.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018That\u2019s not research Sarah. You\u2019re asking about operational matters and I\u2019m not able to comment, either on or off the record. However, if I were<\/em> able tell you anything I would suggest you visit the Star Tavern.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018The Star Tavern,\u2019 I repeat, \u2018right. Thanks Tony. One more question. Have you heard of a guy called Bulldog? Is he associated with the Taipans?\u2019 I hold my breath, waiting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018That\u2019s two questions. Again, that\u2019s operational, and I couldn\u2019t tell you anything except<\/em> he likes to hang out at the Star,\u2019 he finishes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Thanks Tony.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Take care Sarah,\u2019 he says before hanging up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I now have another link between Bulldog, the Taipans, and the Star Tavern.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I want to talk to Dave. Tell him what I have so far and ask him if I should contact the Lions, seek an official comment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n If I confront them, the Lions could threaten legal action which may delay or kill the story. More importantly, I may burn Ms X or put myself and the paper at risk. But it goes against my ethics as a journalist not to give them a chance to comment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I take a long swig of beer and message Dave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Story coming along but I don\u2019t have a response from the club.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n If I call them, they will know I\u2019m onto something.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I could expose my source, or they could kill the story. If I don\u2019t, I am not giving them right of reply. Advice?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n One minute. Five minutes. Ten minutes. No reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Very unlike Dave. I start humming again, Shake it off, Shake it off<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After twenty minutes I call Dave\u2019s number at work. His assistant answers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Hi Jen, it\u2019s Sarah, is Dave around? I need to talk to him.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Hi Sarah. No, he\u2019s not. He left over an hour ago. Didn\u2019t say where he was going or when he would be back, but he can\u2019t be far away. He has an editorial meeting in half an hour. Why don\u2019t you try his mobile?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Right. Thanks Jen,\u2019 I hang up and call Dave\u2019s mobile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It rings and rings and rings, finally going through to his message bank.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I ask Dave to call me as soon as possible, hang up and finish off the beer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Around 3pm Brendan messages me. The Editor-In-Chief Jack Williams is on the rampage. Dave missed an editorial meeting and Jack\u2019s assistant is searching for him. No one knows where Dave is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My anxiety levels are so high not even Taylor Swift can allay them. I debate calling the big boss but hesitate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What if Dave has gone offline to do his own investigation, to confirm what I told him? He may not have informed the Editor-in-Chief yet. If I tell the big boss what I am working on before Dave speaks to him, he will rip out my innards.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At 6pm I take a break, order pizza and feed Sebastian. I am onto my third beer. Still no word from Dave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The doorbell rings and I call out, \u2018Thank you, just leave it at the door.\u2019 I hear footsteps fading away and unlock the door, my tummy rumbling. The pizza smells delicious but as I pick it up there is an envelope underneath. I take the box and envelope inside and lock the door behind me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the envelope is a photo of me opening my apartment door. I am in the clothes I wore to work. The picture was taken when I returned home this morning. I turn it over and there is a warning, in the same handwriting as the note this morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Remember. You\u2019re being watched.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n My hands start trembling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Someone is watching me at work \u2026 and at home!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I try calling Dave again. No luck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I decide to call the big boss, but I don\u2019t have his number in my phone. As I search through my notebook my phone rings. It\u2019s a private number. I hesitate, then press the green answer button.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Hello, this is Sarah Jones,\u2019 I try to sound calm and professional.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Dave? Is that you? Are you OK?\u2019 I ramble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018This isn\u2019t Dave,\u2019 a man\u2019s voice, low and threatening responds, and my heart starts thumping.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Who is this?\u2019 I ask, my voice going up an octave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Don\u2019t publish the story, don\u2019t discuss it with anyone. If you do, you\u2019ll regret it.\u2019 Click.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I drop the phone in my lap. I am really shaking now, not Shaking it off<\/em>, just shaking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I consider calling Constable Matthews. Confessing to him what I know about the Lions club and the threatening notes and phone call.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My laptop pings. An incoming message.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I rush to the dining table. It\u2019s from Dave. Thank God.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sarah, how\u2019s the story going? Can you come to the office tonight at 11pm? We need to talk without others around.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I read and re-read the message.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There is no explanation for where he has been. No answer to my questions. I take a deep breath before replying, trying to calm my fractured nerves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Can we talk now? Weird stuff has been happening and I just had a threatening call.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I wait \u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n No. We need to talk tonight in person, in private. Do not approach the club, not yet. You can tell me about the call tonight.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Seriously? That\u2019s his advice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I plonk myself on the couch. Without thinking I shove a slice of pepperoni pizza into my mouth, chewing and thinking about my next move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Finally, I return to the dining table and keep working on the story, trying to push the notes and phone call from my mind. More than once, I pull out my phone, my fingers ready to dial Jack Williams or Constable Matthews. Each time I hesitate. I\u2019m worried, but I also don\u2019t want to jeopardise my chance of a front-page scoop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At 10.30pm I climb into my car and head back to the office, my laptop stowed in the front seat beside me. Traffic is quiet and it only takes 20 minutes to get to the office. When I pull into my space the car park is almost empty. I swipe my afterhours pass and take the lift to the newsroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There should be no one left in the newsroom. The printing staff are working the presses, but they operate from another part of the building. As I step out of the lift the overhead fluorescents flicker on, and the light is still on in Dave\u2019s office. Through the frosted glass walls, I can see the outline of a person crouched over the desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I knock on the door and hear a muffled, \u2018Come in.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n As I open the door several things happen at once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n First, my laptop\u2019s wrenched from my hands. Second, I\u2019m forced into the chair opposite the desk. Third, it\u2019s not Dave facing me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Good evening, Ms Jones. I wish I could say it\u2019s a pleasure to meet you,\u2019 I recognise the voice from the call earlier and his face from Ms X\u2019s photo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Bulldog, isn\u2019t it?\u2019 I ask, as my hands are yanked behind the chair and tied together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Bulldog grins, white teeth gleaming. \u2018Ah, you know who I am. How unfortunate,\u2019 the smile never reaching his eyes. \u2018You\u2019ve been busy Ms Jones. Let\u2019s get to the point. What do you know and who have you told?\u2019 he asks leaning back in Dave\u2019s chair and placing his large feet on the desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Go to hell,\u2019 I say, trying hard to maintain the bravado I don\u2019t feel. \u2018Tell me where Dave is.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018He\u2019s safe, for now. Tell me what you know,\u2019 Bulldog replies as he picks up an old-fashioned fountain pen from Dave\u2019s desk, takes off the cap and starts twirling it between his fingers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My mind is whirring. There are security cameras all over the building. I pray the night guard has seen me arrive and will come to check on me soon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I know you are supplying illegal steroids to the Lions club. I know the club is privately sanctioning the use of performance enhancing drugs for its players. And I know you will go to gaol, for a long time, when this gets out,\u2019 I finish.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Ah, but Ms Jones, it won\u2019t get out,\u2019 he smirks, placing a mobile on the desk and hitting the speaker button.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Put Mr Rogers on,\u2019 he says, and I hear shuffling and grunting before Dave\u2019s voice comes across the line. \u2018Sarah, are you okay?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Dave, I\u2019m alright. Are you hurt?\u2019 I stammer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Mr Rogers is fine. For now. So, Ms Jones, I ask again, who have you talked to about this?\u2019 Bulldog\u2019s eyes are cold and hard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I try stalling for more time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018How do I know you won\u2019t still hurt me, and Dave?\u2019 I ask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Ms Jones, please. Don\u2019t test me. If you don\u2019t tell me who knows about this, I will have to take drastic<\/em> action,\u2019 Bulldog keeps his eyes fixed on mine and I cry out as my arms are pulled down hard from behind, almost dislocating my shoulders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Sarah. It\u2019s okay. Just tell them what they need to know,\u2019 Dave says, pain evident in his voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Only Dave. Only Dave knows,\u2019 I fire the words like bullets from a gun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Don\u2019t lie to me Ms Jones. What about your friend, the love-sick cadet?\u2019 Bulldog queries, still twirling the pen in his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I didn\u2019t tell Brendan anything. He thinks I\u2019m working on a special feature, that\u2019s all,\u2019 I sob as my arms are yanked again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Bulldog jumps out of Dave\u2019s chair and kneels in front of me, caressing my knee before plunging the fountain pen deep into my leg. I scream and Bulldog presses the pen deeper. \u2018What about the cops? Have you talked to the police?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n Before I can respond the door bursts open and police in bullet proof vests storm in, taking down the man I cannot see behind me and throwing Bulldog to the ground. Sauntering in behind them, looking like the cat that ate the cream is none other than the smarmy racing editor Johnno.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Hi Princess, thought you might need some help,\u2019 he says winking at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I am so confused all I say is \u2018You. How?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n Muffled cries of \u2018police\u2019 can be heard on the phone as Johnno strides to the other side of the desk, settling himself in the chair recently occupied by Bulldog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I told you I could do you a favour, but you refused my help,\u2019 he says. \u2018Dave is broke. He owes lots of money to all sorts of not very nice people, including this mob. He\u2019s dangerous and desperate. One of my racing contacts spilt the beans on him a few weeks ago. I\u2019ve been watching him closely ever since. I never trusted that man. I followed you home the other night. I thought you might be heading to a bar where I could talk to you in private, but you ended up in a dingy back street and met with a strange woman. I thought it was some love affair until I saw you talking to Dave this morning and then hurrying home. I knew something was up, so I followed you and took a photo at your apartment,\u2019 Johnno pauses for dramatic effect before continuing. Through my confusion I can tell he is loving every moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I left you another note. I admit it was just a bit of fun until Dave failed to return to work today and couldn\u2019t be reached. My contact told me the Taipans were involved. I went back to your apartment, watched you from across the street. I saw you leave and come back here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I went the guard\u2019s station; he was out cold, and I saw you enter Dave\u2019s office on the security camera. I saw what was happening, called the police and ta da<\/em>, here we are,\u2019 Johno says, putting his hands behind his head and his feet up on the desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I am so gobsmacked I cannot speak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Now about that drink,\u2019 he says leaning towards me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" She\u2019s late. Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel I sneak a look at my fingernails. Chewed. To the quick. It\u2019s a bad habit I\u2019ve tried to kick. One my male colleagues like to comment on. They enjoy critiquing my appearance. My hair \u2026 my breasts \u2026 my clothes \u2026 my bum \u2026. my make-up. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2774,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_uag_custom_page_level_css":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"uagb_featured_image_src":{"full":["https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/female-journalist-1.webp",800,534,false],"thumbnail":["https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/female-journalist-1-150x150.webp",150,150,true],"medium":["https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/female-journalist-1-300x200.webp",300,200,true],"medium_large":["https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/female-journalist-1-768x513.webp",768,513,true],"large":["https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/female-journalist-1.webp",800,534,false],"1536x1536":["https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/female-journalist-1.webp",800,534,false],"2048x2048":["https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/female-journalist-1.webp",800,534,false]},"uagb_author_info":{"display_name":"elevattemkt","author_link":"https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/author\/elevattemkt\/"},"uagb_comment_info":0,"uagb_excerpt":"She\u2019s late. Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel I sneak a look at my fingernails. Chewed. To the quick. It\u2019s a bad habit I\u2019ve tried to kick. One my male colleagues like to comment on. They enjoy critiquing my appearance. My hair \u2026 my breasts \u2026 my clothes \u2026 my bum \u2026. my make-up.…","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2773"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2773"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2773\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3141,"href":"https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2773\/revisions\/3141"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2774"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2773"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2773"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/elevattemkt.com\/lpkimulrick\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2773"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}