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Sure, my boss expected me to get the scoop on the murder, but any information I managed to finagle out of him would be suspect, wouldn’t it? After all, he was a person of interest. What made Angela think that just because I asked, Blake would be honest and truthful in his response?
    Even if I did, would I be able to print that information? I could end up being subpoenaed if evidence or a confession came to light. Not to mention the questions by police, attorneys, depositions… ugh. What a mess.
    When it came right down to it though, I had a feeling I wouldn’t get any answers out of Blake when it came to his past. Why should I? What made me any more capable of digging up the truth than any number of curious journalists before me? I’d tried to find video, even short clips, of interviews that had been done with him, and to my surprise, found none.
    “Do you know I can’t find one video clip of Blake Masters anywhere?” I complained to Melanie just before quitting time yesterday evening. “Not even on YouTube.”
    “And you’re surprised?”
    “Frankly, yes,” I replied. “He’s rich and he’s the owner and figurehead of a popular and growing company. You’d think he would accept an interview with someone.”
    “I did hear a rumor that he’d been asked to go on Larry King Live,” Melanie said.
    “And he turned it down?” I couldn’t understand it. How could he grow his company without actively marketing it? Sure, he probably had an entire staff of people to do that for him, but as the owner, he was the face of the company.
    “Wouldn’t you?”
    “Wouldn’t I what?” I asked.
    “Wouldn’t you turn down an interview if you knew it would all boil down to what happened in your past?”
    I thought about that and then shook my head. “You know, if I was under suspicion for having committed a murder and I had a chance to shout my innocence from the highest pole, I think I would. Wouldn’t you?”
    “Probably.” Melanie shrugged. “But I think, as you’ve probably learned through a rather fruitless afternoon, that Blake Masters is a very private man. He doesn’t pander and he really couldn’t care less about public opinion, especially in regards to his past.”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “You would think that people investing in his company would. You would think he cared about that, don’t you?”
    Melanie rolled her eyes. “He’s filthy rich, Misty. He may not need sponsors or investors. But even if he did, I have a feeling that they would have to play by his rules and not the other way around.”
    And so the day ended. I had gone home to my quiet, simply furnished apartment. I was troubled and frustrated, not only by my inability to learn more about Blake but the entire assignment. I was beginning to have second thoughts. While it was an excellent opportunity to show Angela what I could do, I couldn’t help but feel that I was being set up for failure.
    Now, as I sat in a cab watching the buildings pass by, saw the myriad of pedestrians, tourists, and local hawkers shouting out their souvenirs and Alcatraz maps, and heard the clang of bells from the cable cars, I was lost in thought. I’d never heard back from the sheriff or police department in Topeka. Maybe today.
    I couldn’t help but believe that maybe Blake Masters did have something to do with his father’s death. Otherwise, he’d surely be proclaiming his innocence. Motive? Maybe he had been in a hurry to inherit the millions of dollars that his family had amassed over the years. He had no siblings, no surviving cousins, nieces, or nephews. He’d never been officially charged due to lack of evidence, but then why the persisting rumors? Over ten years of them.
    I knew that people often came to their own conclusions despite a preponderance or lack of proof, and I certainly didn’t want to be one of them, but I was definitely suspicious that I’d found so little public information regarding the crime. I’d found nothing