My call to Grossman was answered by a secretary but she told me the captain was already upstairs—meaning the sixth floor—at a press conference.

Just as I hung up, I found a short blurb on CNS announcing the eleven A.M. press conference in the sixth-floor media room at Parker Center. There was little information other than to say it was to announce the results of a major drug sweep conducted through the night in the Rodia Gardens housing complex.

Bang. Just like that, my long-term story was hooking nicely into a breaking story. The adrenaline kicked in. It often happened this way. The daily grind of the news gave you the opening to say something bigger.

I called Angela back.

“Are you on six?”

“Yeah, and they haven’t started. What’s this about? I don’t want to ask any of these TV people, because then I’ll come off as stupid.”

“Right. It’s about a drug sweep overnight in Rodia Gardens.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, but it could go big because it’s probably in response to the murder I told you about yesterday. The woman in the trunk was traced back to that place, remember?”

“Oh, right, right.”

“Angela, it connects with what I’m working on, so I want to try to sell it to Prendo. I want to write it because it will help set up my story.”

“Well, maybe we can work on it together. I’ll get as much as I can here.”

I paused but not too long. I had to be delicate but decisive.

“No, I’m going to come over for the conference. If it starts before I get there, take notes for me. And you can feed them to Prendo for the web. But I want this story, Angela, because it’s part of my larger story.”

“That’s cool, Jack,” she said without hesitation. “I’m not trying to bogart the beat. It’s still your baby and the story is yours. But if you need anything from me, just ask.”

I now thought I had overreacted and was embarrassed at having acted like a selfish prick.

“Thanks, Angela. We’ll figure it out. I’m going to give Prendo a heads-up on this for the daily budget and then I’ll be over.”

Parker Center was in its last months of life. The crumbling building had been the command center for police operations for nearly five decades and was at least one decade past obsolescence. Yet it had served the city well, seen it through two riots, countless civil protests and major crimes, and had been the location of thousands of press conferences like the one I was going to attend right now. But as a working headquarters it was long outdated. It was overcrowded. Its plumbing was shot and its heating-and-air-conditioning system almost useless. There weren’t enough parking spots, office space or jail cells. There were known areas in hallways and offices where the air was tainted and sour. There were buckles in the vinyl flooring, and the structure’s prospects of surviving a major earthquake were questionable.