Nancy Grace - Death on the D-List

They both clicked off without the unneeded pleasantries of formal goodbyes. Hailey felt a sense of urgency as she grabbed her coat out of the closet situated in the foyer of her little office suite. She locked the door behind her and, holding her hat and scarf in her hand, took off down the stairs, not even pausing to wrap the scarf around her neck against the wind.

ACTUALLY, NO, YOU DON’T HAVE TO BEG.” HAILEY’S CELL PHONE WAS perched on top of a stack of homicide investigative reports and set on speaker mode. Hailey kept reading files but talked in the cell phone’s general direction.

“What? I can’t hear you.” Tony Russo practically yelled it into the phone. It was a good thing Hailey had her cell on speaker and, consequently, it was several inches away from her head… and eardrums.

“I must have the worst reception in the world. You know you’d think cell phones would give you great reception in Manhattan. I mean, it is the capital of the world, right? But no, instead of being the best… It’s absolutely the worst.”

Hailey didn’t have the energy to commiserate on the tragedy of bad cell reception. Years of dead bodies, crime scenes, and victims’ families had taught her plenty of lessons about what things were worth complaining about, and in her mind, bad cell reception wasn’t one of them.

“And this is exactly why Sookie should have thrown so much money at you that you’d have no choice but to go on the show’s payroll. That way, I wouldn’t have to beg you every time there’s a crime and justice story and we’d have you locked in. It would be your job , you’d have to come in. Then I wouldn’t be on this horrible cell phone with its horrible reception.”

Tony had talked himself in a circle and lost his train of thought. “What was I saying, anyway?”

“I don’t know.” Hailey turned a page and looked at the LA Medical examiner’s detailed drawing of the Cassie Lake murder scene.

The ME investigators typically did a diagram complete with measurements down to the foot and inch… the length and width of the alley, how far the car was parked from the wall, how far it was from the nearest light, details that could become important at trial.

It seemed the car could have easily been parked much farther down the alleyway so as not to have been detected so soon. The body’s evidence suggested Cassie had only been dead a few hours.

Had the killer wanted her body to be found when it was, at San Pietro’s closing time? Eleven p.m. on the West Coast? But this time, he got sloppy; he was possibly spotted, at least from behind. The best evidence would be tracking down the passenger, believed to be a white male with dark hair, five feet ten to six feet tall, based on where his head was positioned in the passenger’s seat. That was, of course, according to the busboy.

Tony piped in. “Oh, yeah. I remember. I was saying I could have sworn I heard you say I didn’t have to beg you onto the show this time.”

“Your phone is fine and so is the reception. You don’t have to beg. I am just sick about Cassie Lake. I want to address the killer directly and Harry Todd’s show, as ridiculous as I think he is, will actually give me that opportunity. I’ve got a very strong feeling the killer’s soaking in every single detail about him that hits the airwaves.”

“You’re going to send a message? To the killer? On The Harry Todd Show ?” Tony was thrilled, of course. His mind was racing… what was the best headline for the lower third of the screen to maximize its sensational appeal? Of course… Message to Killer! Short, sweet, and scary! He loved it!

“Yes. I am. That he will be caught and when he is, he will be looking at the California death penalty. He could get by with time behind bars as long as he stalks and murders defenseless women in New York, but California’s a whole different story. California’s not afraid to give the death penalty; it ranks right up there with Texas and Florida. So he’s made a big, big mistake. When he sees the needle, maybe he’ll remember the faces of the women he murdered and the children he left behind without a mother.”

Tony was struck. Hailey was for real. She really meant what she said and that was rare in the TV business. Now, if he could only get her to say all that on-air.

“But Tony, it’s way past time for your taping. How will you get the Lake murder on the air?”

“We’re trying to track down Noel Fryer right now. We want to go live at eleven tonight. I’ve been trying to run him down for three hours. Anyway, I can go to his number two if I have to. Really, Sookie should be dealing with this but she pushed it off on me. Probably better that way anyway. Look, where are you? Can you come now?”

“I’m at the Midtown North; I’ll grab a cab. I want to go get some coffee first.”

“Okay. See you!” They clicked off.

Hailey unfolded her coat, hat, and bag and headed toward the precinct’s old elevator. Waiting for its doors to open up and take her down to ground level, Hailey looked down at the old, tile floor. It was worn and yellowed. Oh, the stories it could tell if only it could speak… all the killers, thugs, and thieves this hall had seen, along with crime fighters dating back decades.

Out of the elevator, across the precinct lobby, and onto the street outside, the cold, fresh air was bracing, but it felt good after poring through the Cassie Lake case file. Hailey wanted to go for a run out in the cold night air right then and there, but she’d agreed to head across town to GNE for the late-night live shoot.

Traffic was light in the city for a change, and with the cab driver darting this way and that between cars, they pulled up at GNE headquarters in minutes. She paid the cabbie and turned toward the glass front.

There in the lobby, standing in front of the long security desk, was Tony Russo, hunched over his BlackBerry. A closer look revealed he had one BlackBerry wedged between the top of his left shoulder and his ear, his neck crooked downward to keep it in place. In both hands, he was feverishly working another one, thumbing messages with all the speed the two short inner digits could muster.

Even though he’d come down to secure her onto the set ASAP, he didn’t notice when Hailey walked in, and looked up only when Hailey touched him on the shoulder.

“Holding up okay?” She knew he’d been working nonstop putting together the Cassie live show that night. Due to the angle of his neck, Tony gave an abbreviated nod of “yes,” but didn’t stop talking into his shoulder where the BlackBerry was pinned in place. He did, however, pause to hand Hailey a two-page synopsis of the night’s show he’d left sitting beside him on top of the security desk. Hailey looked down at that night’s show guests.

Russo had managed to cobble together quite a cast of characters for the show: Cassie’s family priest; her aunt; reporters out in LA, no doubt standing by at the alleyway where she’d been murdered; Hailey to explain the investigation and criminal law; Derek Jacobs to repeatedly admonish everyone that the killer was presumed innocent; and, believe it or not, Billy Ryan, the busboy who found Cassie’s dead body.

Hailey was surprised the state’s eyewitness was telling his story before the trial, but there was no legal way to stop him. His appearance on The Harry Todd Show would definitely be fodder for cross-examination at trial, much less if he sold his story to the tabloids. The tabs had been the ruin of many a Hollywood witness after they’d sold their stories or photos, having made money off a crime. Juries don’t like someone making money off murder.