Dead Air
April 20, 2025
It was just after 2 a.m. when the final song played on WZED 104.9 FM.
The station’s overnight DJ, Jackie V, always signed off with a sultry, whispered “Sleep tight, night owls,” and a slow jazz track fading into static.
Except tonight, she didn’t say a word.
Just silence.
Then—dead air.
Detective Leo Banner hated early calls, especially from precincts that still smelled like old coffee and older ambition. But WZED wasn’t far from his apartment, and the dispatcher had said three words that got his attention:
“Something feels wrong.”
The building was unlocked. Lights off. A strange chill in the air. Leo followed the soft hum of equipment to the booth.
Jackie V’s headphones were still on the mic stand.
Her chair was empty.
No signs of struggle. No blood. But on the monitor was a waveform—a voice recording left queued to play.
Leo hit the space bar.
It was Jackie’s voice, calm and clear.
“If you’re hearing this, I’ve already gone. Not far—just out of reach. There are things they didn’t want me to say on air. Things they did. But tonight, I’m saying them anyway.”
She paused. You could hear her take a breath.
“Start with the tapes in the supply closet. Everything else will make sense after that.”
The tapes were unmarked, old-school reels from the late ‘90s. Leo borrowed a deck from evidence and started listening at his desk.
The voices were shaky, some afraid, some angry—confessions. Interviews.
One stood out.
“We buried him behind the tower. Nobody came lookin’. Not even his sister. You think a guy like that gets missed?”
Leo froze.
Buried who?
The voice continued: a guy named Lou McKinnon. A former station manager. Fired, then vanished in 2002. Never found. No charges filed. Rumors, but nothing stuck.
The voice on the tape chuckled.
“We said he moved to Cleveland. People believed it. Even Jackie.”
Leo checked the dates.
She would’ve been sixteen.
He returned to WZED the next day. The tower out back hadn’t been maintained in years. Leo called a crew. They dug.
And found bones.
Wrapped in a station banner. Buried shallow.
Dental confirmed: Lou McKinnon.
The case was reopened. Press went wild. WZED shut down indefinitely.
Still, no sign of Jackie V.
Until five days later, Leo got a package.
No return address.
Inside: a cassette.
Labelled in black marker: “Last Broadcast.”
Leo played it in his car, parked in front of the empty station.
Jackie’s voice filled the silence.
“He wasn’t my boss. He was my father.”
“They said he ran. But I knew. I just didn’t have proof.”
“Until I started listening. Really listening. Late nights, when the static whispered secrets. When the tapes started showing up.”
A pause.
“I’m not coming back, Detective. I did what I had to. Let them dig. Let them talk. Let the station rot.”
“But now, someone else has to keep the story alive.”
“You like radio, Leo?”
The tape clicked off.
Leo looked at the empty booth across the parking lot.
Then at the keys that had mysteriously shown up in his mail earlier that morning.
He slid the cassette into his coat pocket.
And walked inside.