Nancy Grace - Death on the D-List

“Hailey, I have a master’s and a Ph.D.! I’m definitely dying alone!”

Hailey wisely left out the stats that women born in the late 1950s and still single at thirty had only a 20 percent chance of marriage, and the numbers only got worse with age.

“No! Don’t say that! Haven’t you heard of self-fulfilling prophecy?” Even though the likelihood of terrorist murder was much lower, Hailey decided that any talk of death by terrorists was not a good move at that particular moment.

“No need to make a rash decision; it’s just that Reggie has a pattern, which suggests it will happen again. Come on, men are everywhere out there, especially for someone who’s smart and beautiful… and that would be you. ”

Lori’s self-esteem had taken another beating. But for the moment, she seemed to be calming down a tiny bit. “Come into the kitchen and let’s make some coffee. You want regular or decaf?”

“Decaf. I’m too upset for caffeine.”

Hailey was busy at the coffee maker and had her back to Lori. Turning around with two cups of hot coffee, she glanced up at the tiny TV sitting centered on top of the fridge. She kept it on the news networks; right now, it was on GNE, the volume on mute.

Hailey froze. A giant red banner covered nearly the entire bottom third of the screen. America’s sweetheart, Cassie Lake, was found murdered in a North Hollywood alley behind an Italian restaurant. Gunshot wound to the head. Right now, the screen was showing close-up video of her rehearsing for one of her Vegas comeback concerts.

A chill went down Hailey’s spine. Could it be the same killer? No… no way. This guy only killed in and around Manhattan. Cassie was found dead in her car in Hollywood. But the similarities were striking. Cassie was a woman, like the other shooting victims. She was also a celebrity. She was beautiful, white, female, and as of recently, single, too. She was a D-Lister like the others, trying to make a comeback.

Lori carried her cup of coffee back into the den and set it down on a mosaic coaster on the edge of an armchair table between the sofa and Hailey’s worn, wing-backed chair, a floor lamp at its side. Lori reached over to gather her coat, hat, and scarf off the back of the sofa, where she’d laid them when she first came in.

Setting down her own mug, Hailey helped Lori with her coat and gave her a reassuring hug.

“You are going to know when the time is right to make a change in your life. You’re already thinking it over, you’ll see.” After another tight hug, Hailey closed the door gently behind Lori and heard her light steps going down the stairway.

Hailey immediately reached into the pocket of the soft, amber-colored sweater she was wearing that day to pull out her BlackBerry. She would not allow herself to even glance at it when she was with a client, and was very rarely tempted to do so. She saw its red light blinking, indicating messages or calls. One quick glance said it all… three calls from Kolker. It could only mean one thing.

The bullet matched.

Hailey instinctively went to the window and dialed Kolker’s cell, staring out at the tops of the gingko trees waving in the chilly wind there in the back courtyard.

He picked up. “Have you heard?”

“Just saw it on TV. Does the bullet match?”

“Oh, yeah. It matches. We sent shots of the markings by e-mail and they’ve already confirmed out in LA. It’s him. He followed her all the way from New York to California just to put a bullet in her head. Why didn’t he do it while she was here? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Hailey, I hardly know where to go next with this thing.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Hailey tried to sound confident.

“I’m out of time. We’ve got a monster on our hands and I’m no closer to an arrest than I was last week. Can’t find the ex-husband. Her kids are just finding out now. The grandparents are telling them. Man, I’d sure hate to be in that house right now. Can you imagine?”

Hailey didn’t bother to point out that yes, she could imagine the grief and pain and shock of losing someone you love dearly. Kolker had to feel the same way about his sister, Susannah.

“Kolker, it’s going to be awful, and it won’t end today. Those children have a lifetime of having to cope with this ahead of them. I hate it too, so much.”

“I feel sick in my gut. If I’d already cracked this thing, Cassie would be alive right now… home with her kids.” Hailey heard his voice break. “But this time, Hailey, he screwed up. He got messy. He finally got spotted. The busboy says it was a man with dark hair, and by the dimensions of the car seat, about five-ten to six feet tall.”

“Get the LA CSI stat. They’ve got to get a hair sample. It may be the only way to place the passenger, who’s likely the killer. You said she was shot from the passenger’s side, right? Not through the driver’s-side window, like Prentiss Love?”

“Right, from the passenger’s side.”

“Stippling on the skin?”

“Correct. Stippling.”

Upon firing the bullet, hot gases from exploding gunpowder, and microscopic metal fragments from the bullet and the gun barrel themselves propel out of the muzzle. In contact range wounds, hot gases and particulate matter blast into the skin along with the bullet, charring the skin and depositing along the wound track or on the skin itself, leaving a lacerated appearance.

“Well then, if there’s stippling, it had to be somebody in the car. Gunshot residue only shows up when the shooter’s less than three feet, usually, that is. And stippling says it’s a contact wound, gun to skin. But anyway, we gotta get the hair. If there’s a nucleus, a root, we can get full-on DNA. Even if there’s just a shaft, we can go for mitochondrial DNA. They have to comb that passenger side of the car.”

“I’ll put in a call when we hang up.”

“Oh, and have you thought about sending the ME out? That young guy with the long ponytail… Emory what’s-his-name? Wouldn’t hurt to have a little consistency on all of the post-mortems. He can just assist if the local LA coroner objects…”

“I thought of that. As luck would have it, he’s actually already in LA, sightseeing or something. Now there’s a coincidence.”

“That is great timing on his part. You know, Kolker, the DNA off the hair, if it’s there, could make the case. Although we’ve gotta have somebody to match it to …”

“I know, it’s a great lead, but if I could have only moved a little faster… we could’ve saved Cassie Lake… those kids of hers…”

“Kolker, stop. You can’t do this. A lot is riding on your shoulders right now. You’re not responsible for this, the killer is. Look, come get me. I’m at the office. You can get me faster in a squad car than it would take a cab to get me uptown to you. Wait, no, I’ll grab the subway. I’ll meet you at Lex and Fifty-first in twenty minutes. Okay?”

“I’m on my way, Hailey.”

“Wait! Don’t hang up… Where’s Anderson… Scott Anderson? He’s definitely got dark hair.”

“We can’t find him.” A knot formed at the pit of Hailey’s stomach.

“What about his car?” Her mind was ticking through all the possibilites.

“Still looking. Tried home, work, last known girlfriend’s place… nothing yet.”

“Have you thought of LaGuardia?”

“Patrol cars on the way right now.”

“JFK and Newark?”

“Done.” His voice was clipped.

“What about the Westchester County Airport? He lives a lot closer to that one… Right?”

“You got me. I’ll send somebody up there right now.”

“Okay. See you in twenty. Same car?”

“Right. Unmarked.”