Nancy Grace - Death on the D-List

“What else did she teach you?” Hailey hadn’t moved an inch. It had been a long, long day and she wasn’t looking forward to the ride home in the cold. She wanted to fall asleep right then and there.

“Oh, like I said… a lot. She also showed me how to hack into the overhead paging system. She does it from her place out in the Hamptons all the time. She can do it from her place, the hair salon, Bergdorf’s, you name it. Makes it look like she’s here all the time. You know… ‘Tony Russo, please come to Sookie Downs’s office… please come to my office…’ You know… that kind of thing. She’s always faking that she’s here at work. But they’re on to her. They know all her tricks.”

“Who’s they?”

“The executives. The suits.”

“If they know she doesn’t work on the show and she’s never around, why do they keep her?”

“The show’s number one in the daytime slot. That’s a huge, big deal. I guess they figure, whatever she’s doing, or not doing, it works.”

“They’ve got a point! She must be doing something right!” The two of them laughed. Russo’s phone rang and he picked it up. Listening briefly, he put the caller on hold and whispered to Hailey, “This will be ten minutes, it’s press about tonight’s show. I have to take it. Will you please do me a favor?”

“What?” She looked at him suspiciously, joking.

“Can you round up Sookie? Noel’s office is on thirty-one. His door’s probably open. Just keep turning left every chance you get when you get off the elevator. Here, take my swipe card. You’ll need it to get up to thirty-one and then through those big glass doors. You’ll see.”

“Sure. But only because I feel sorry for you having to have drinks with her this late at night. I don’t think she likes me after our ‘visit’ out at her place. That house is a monster!” Hailey reached across Tony’s desk and took the card.

Tony nodded, sat down, and took the call off mute. Hailey waved goodbye and headed down the hall to the elevators.

An open elevator was waiting and she stepped on in search of Sookie Downs. The elevator shot up the center of the building as its flat-screens played images of Cassie Lake and sound bites from The Harry Todd Show .

Just before the doors swooshed open… it hit.

Like a brick.

Intense Red Copper Shimmer… Dark Chocolate. Dark Chocolate… daisies… Sookie hovering in Fallon Malone’s kitchen beside the service door entrance…

“All I saw was he had black hair. I think he was white…” You don’t plant daisies in the winter. They’ll die. Dark hair dye… hair in a ponytail instead of perfectly blown out… AWOL after the taping… dark lines under her nails. At first Hailey had thought it was dirt.

Sookie must have thrown away the box on the plane and, accidentally with it, the plastic gloves to avoid the dark hair dye seeping into her skin and nails.

Hailey stepped out into the plushest offices she’d ever seen. They looked like a Hollywood movie. Thick carpet, groupings of gorgeous furniture, with artwork and mirrors on every wall, created a lavish atmosphere that reflected the network was winning the ratings war.

Without processing what she knew, Hailey started to sprint down the halls. The next left came when Hailey dead-ended into a long, shiny teak receptionist’s station sitting out in the middle of a wide expanse of thick carpet. There were no walls around the desk, its “space” only delineated by a thick Oriental rug beneath it that had to be the size of Hailey’s kitchen.

That turn sent Hailey down a wide, darkened corridor. The walls were covered with gorgeous oil paintings. She slowed slightly to veer away from one in particular. It was specially lit and was positioned in an alcove of sorts apparently built especially for it. It was pop art à la Warhol and apparently an original. And expensive.

This place was over the top. Hailey instinctively darted, afraid she’d likely set off some sort of alarm. The hall ended with yet another piece of art, this time an abstract clay sculpture that stood about five feet tall. Another inlaid spotlight shined down on it and helped light the hall as she again turned left. It was all lost on Hailey, her heart now pounding in her throat.

Looking ahead of her down the dark hallway, Hailey knew she’d found Fryer’s office. There were no other doors anywhere on the hall. His office must be massive, and if it was anything like the rest of the thirty-first floor, it would be entirely overdone… too much art mixed in theme and period, carpet too plush, heavy furniture, and an overall message of ornate opulence. Now stepping lightly, Hailey crept as quickly and quietly as she could, steadily down the hall toward the light seeping out from under Noel Fryer’s office door.

Just as she raised her hand to knock, Hailey heard a groan and then a loud thud. It sounded like a piece of furniture had toppled over inside. Listening at the door, she could hear a woman’s voice, strident, yet the words were muffled. Then another thud followed by a groan that sounded painful.

Hailey put her right ear close to the door and listened. Nothing. And then, a sort of groan. She tried the doorknob; it was locked.

Without a sound, Hailey turned and hurriedly retraced her steps down the hall’s thick carpet. Rounding the two corners back to the receptionist’s desk, she slid open the middle drawer and looked for anything that would help. Pencils, stapler, gem clips… no good.

Hailey felt it before she saw it… a grooved metal nail file. As a second thought, she lifted the receptionist’s phone, dialed 9, then Kolker’s cell. It went straight to voice mail.

“Kolker, it’s Hailey. Hurry, GNE, thirty-first floor. Repeat… Hurry.”

HAILEY TOOK THE NAIL FILE FROM THE DRAWER AND DARTED BACK DOWN the hall. The light still poured out onto the carpet from under Noel Fryer’s office door. Hailey, summoning up everything she’d ever learned from both cops and burglars, slipped the nail file between the door’s knob and frame and jiggered.

Pushing the file to the right and then back to the left, she could feel the lock’s workings against the metal. There was movement, but not enough to open the door.

A sound like drawers being opened filtered through the door, and a woman’s voice rose again. Hailey couldn’t make out the words. Then again silence.

Hailey jiggered the lock as quickly and quietly as she could, and feeling the metal grind against the lock, finally got enough traction with the file to move the catch enough to the right to gently push the door open. The office was dark except for a single reading lamp in the far corner. The room was huge and ornate, as Hailey expected it to be, the carpeted floor covered with thick rugs from all over the world, the walls boasting artwork and the shelves covered in memorabilia and framed photos of Noel Fryer with Hollywood and sports stars, politicos, and celebrities of every ilk. Hailey took it all in in an instant.

She immediately spotted the drawers of Noel’s mahogany desk gaping open. A long, matching conference table against the far window was covered in notebooks and papers in disarray, and not only were the cabinet doors to a matching credenza underneath the same window hanging wide open and askew, but the cabinets had obviously been ransacked.

On the carpet in front of Noel Fryer’s desk sat a pair of purple stilettos with distinctive scarlet red soles. Hailey would have recognized them a mile away. They belonged to Sookie Downs.

Instinctively, Hailey backed against a darkened wall and eyed the only other door in the room. It was across the length of the office, obviously leading to Noel’s adjoining personal quarters, where he could shower, rest, even stay overnight if he wanted. Judging by the lack of doors or windows in the hallway outside his office, Fryer’s personal quarters were expansive and took up the entire length of the long hall.