41.
 Jack was hoping to have lunch with colleagues at a Chinese restaurant in Mission Valley, but a story intervened. By the time he wrapped it up, it was two in the afternoon. Jovia came and brought him a half a sandwich and a cold perspiring can of cola, for which he profusely thanked her. She said: "That Chinese food was great. Have you ever eaten there?"
He said absently "Long ago" while unwrapping the plastic wrap to discover a tuna salad on rye with pickle and pepper. "Oh God, this looks good."
Jovia hovered in the doorway. "Did you ever get hold of Maggie Matthews?"
"Oh yeah. Dylan's still hitting the sauce. She sounds sad."
"That is really sad. What about that other guy?"
"Oh, what's his name." Mouth full, Jack dug around among the papers on his desk until he found her tattered note from days ago. "Oh yes, Robertson. Here it is."
Jovia said something pleasant and wandered away, while Jack devoured his sandwich and dialed the phone number. A man answered. "Yes?"
"Mr. Robertson?"
"Yes."
"This is Jack Simon at the San Diego Times. You called here a few days ago about those planes spraying Mission Valley."
"Oh yes. I have some information that may help."
"Are you involved in the spraying, Mr. Robertson?"
"No."
"I'm a newspaper reporter. Why me? Why not the police?"
"Because there are broader issues involved and I don't want to end up in extremely bad shape."
"What do you mean?"
"Dead."
"Oh come on." Jack nearly hung up.
"Please, Mr. Simon. You are an investigative reporter. You are well known in the region and quite famous for your exposés."
"I'll give you thirty seconds."
"Does the name Collwood mean anything to you?"
"Collwood, Collwood." Jack tapped his foot impatiently. Then he stopped. "You mean the guy who owns Anaconda."
"That's him. My father and I met him a few years ago. My father has passed away since, but Mr. Collwood has some information about Peruvian fungi that we both felt was going to the wrong hands. My father was desperate and had to trust him."
"Are you bullshitting me, Mr. Robertson?"
"What could I possibly gain if this weren't true?'
"Okay, you have my interest. Can we meet?"
"Yes. Want me to come to your office?"
They made a date, for tomorrow afternoon, to have James Robertson Jr. drive from the East County into the City of San Diego and meet Jack at the newspaper's Mission Valley offices. Jack was reluctant about it, because he'd had such meetings that usually fizzled when it turned out he was dealing with some opportunist wanting to capitalize on an ongoing disaster of some kind. Nevertheless, it paid to leave no stone unturned, particularly when the guy was willing to come to him.
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Copyright © 2014 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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