Nancy Grace: Death on the D-List

“I’ll lose my job over this. I know I will. I work like a dog, literally night and day. This job is all I have, Hailey. My parents live in another state, I never see them. I’m not married, I don’t even have a girlfriend. Running The Harry Todd Show takes every spare minute I’ve got. It’s all I have. And now, Sookie will fire me. I let the ‘big get’ get away. I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

Standing at his feet, Hailey looked down at his head and for the first time noticed hair plugs and some sort of surgical scar that looked vaguely like the Atlanta Braves’ Hatchet. After years of prosecuting and making her living as a professional “observer,” she couldn’t help but make a note of the plugs in three neat rows converging in a loose V shape, to resemble a widow’s peak. As he was a few inches taller than she, she’d never had this particular bird’s-eye view.

“You’ll seriously lose your job if I cancel? I’m just one guest.”

“But you’re the guest for today. Harry was interviewing you alone, on the set. One-on-one. That’s a big deal… and they’ve already promo’ed you ‘Hailey Dean… for the hour.’ It’s run for days on the network and the Web site. The whole world has seen it. I lose you… I’m screwed.”

“You really think you’d lose your job? Over one guest ?”

He did look pitiful sitting there on the cement step like a lump, a cigarette butt stuck to the side of his pants.

“Okay. I’ll do it. But one condition. Not a word about Will. Don’t have Todd bring him up, don’t mention him, don’t anything. Understood?”

“Yes! Yes! Anything! Oh, Hailey, thank you so much. I’m sorry I offended you, I’m so stupid. Thank you, thank you, thank you! And I promise, not a word about Will. It’s totally on the up-and-up, nothing but integrity, all about justice, you’ll see. I promise. I give you my word as a producer.”

Hailey paused to take that one in.

“And by the way, I couldn’t help but notice you don’t wear jewelry… would you be opposed to slipping on a gold lamé blouse? I keep one in my office. You know… a little bling? It’ll look great on camera… The viewers will love it!”

He didn’t wait for a response. “And on second thought… I’d better personally escort you to hair and makeup… a little eye shadow wouldn’t hurt a thing…”

Hailey shook her head, walking up the stairs ahead of him. She didn’t bother shooting a withering glare at him. It would just roll down the side of his shiny little head, wasted.

But Hailey had her own plans. Ever since she left the courtroom, her life’s mission, since Will’s murder anyway, felt unfinished. Fighting back against what had happened to Will, to her, was all she really knew to do. Everything else was just filling time.

Now she had an opportunity to attack the violence, the hurt, and the anger in a new and unexpected way… on the airwaves. If someone had told her way back, say in law school, when Will’s murder was still a raw, open wound, that she’d end up on television as an anti-crime crusader, she’d never have believed it.

Violent crime nearly destroyed her. Even now, not a day went by she didn’t feel the acute pain of Will’s murder. She’d already tried the courtroom route. It had worked, one case at a time. She even killed a killer with her own hands, something she tried very hard not to think about.

Could TV, specifically The Harry Todd Show, be any worse?

The Bayou, Louisiana

WHO IN THE HELL WAS AT THE FRONT DOOR?

The doorbell hadn’t worked in years, and he couldn’t even remember the last time somebody actually knocked on his door. The rapping was firm and insistent. A-holes!

When he first papered the windows, he didn’t realize how thin the New York Times really was. Poor quality paper. The Post was so much thicker. Bottom line, nobody could see in. He’d punched dozens of tiny holes in the paper with straight pins, then twisted the pin round and round to make perfectly rounded, miniscule peepholes, strategically placed so he could peer out when necessary, but so small they were useless to anyone who wanted to look in. Plus, he planted prickly holly in front of every window, which had grown tall and thick. Let the mothers wade through that if they wanted to find out if somebody was home.

He actually thought of taking out one of his guns and shooting straight through the front door. Just blow ’em to hell and back. He could always argue self-defense. He was in his own house, and an intruder was antagonizing him on his own front porch. If he hadn’t duct-taped over the front door peephole, he could get a better look at whoever was standing there, but after reading about reverse peepholes used as spy techniques by the U.S. government, specifically the IRS and the CIA, he beat the Feds at their own game and duct-taped his peephole.

Tiptoeing across the den floor, he avoided every spot he knew made a creaking sound.

Ha! He made it to the front window without a noise. He picked his favorite pinhole, in an article about cancerous food additives in fast-food french fries. The Times was always exposing something. They should expose themselves. What a crock of simmering liberal holier-than-thou twits.

Staring hard, he spotted a goldish-brown sedan parked in his front drive.

Cocking his head and looking as far left as he could without shifting locations, he could make out the very bottom of a white short-sleeved shirt. Was it the Amway people?

He took another look, with only one eye at the pinhole, twisting his neck at such an angle it was unnatural. He didn’t want to actually touch the newspaper, so as not to tear it. He could feel his breath hot against the yellowed article on french fries.

Holy crap. It was them again.

The Jehovah’s Witnesses.

Either them or the fricking Amway people. He didn’t want any of their stupid detergent. Plus, last time he’d waved his shotgun at the Amways, so he doubted they’d be back any time soon. More likely the Jehovahs. They didn’t scare easy.

The Jehovah’s Witnesses were a different animal altogether… God only knows what it would take to make them go away. He’d either have to sandblast them off the front porch or else answer the door and accept their pamphlets.

Several months ago, two of them caught him coming in with both arms full of groceries and trapped him on the front porch. They kept inching toward the front door, but he held his back to it. They actually made themselves at home on his porch furniture and started pushing their Awake! magazine on him.

The very first thing they told him was Michael Jackson had been a member of their congregation. Well, that didn’t go far at all with Francis. True, Jackson was one of the greatest music icons that ever lived, but wasn’t he a junkie? That’s not a very good advertisement for the Jehovahs, but apparently they didn’t agree.

Aside from their refusing to acknowledge birthdays, July Fourth, Christmas, Halloween and Thanksgiving, the only thing he knew about them was they were against blood transfusions, vaccinations, and all festivities in general.

And of course there was the mandatory door-to-door proselytizing. A mandate of which he was now a victim. How many others had suffered like himself?

Oh yeah, and they were run by an outfit in Brooklyn, New York. That didn’t set well down here on the Bayou. Anything run out of Brooklyn, New York, could kiss his butt.

That very night he’d removed all the patio furniture off the front porch. It was 2 a.m. when he did it, pulling out the hardware where he’d bolted the wicker chairs to the porch’s wooden floor. Without porch furniture to plop down on, the Jehovah’s Witnesses would never get another piece of him.