Lisa Gardner - The Survivors Club

An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

“You don't suppose…” Carol said.

“He arranged for his own death?” Meg picked up with a frown. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Could be merely coincidence.” Fitz shrugged. “Remember, real life is stranger than fiction.”

“Detective.” Jillian turned to him with pleading eyes. “The new incident last night. You of all people know what this is doing to us. We understand you don't owe us anything. We understand there is a police protocol… But this is so close to home. After everything we've been through. Please…”

Fitz hesitated one last time, probably for ego's sake, but the end was never in doubt. He rubbed his red-rimmed eyes, then ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Yeah. All right. You might as well know because the press is gonna come after you, too. We had another assault. A Brown University student. She was attacked in her apartment, tied up with ten latex strips, raped and then… strangled to death. She was pronounced DOA at the scene.”

“Her name?” Meg asked.

“You really want to know that?”

“I do.”

“Sylvia Blaire.”

“Her age?”

“Twenty.”

“What was she studying?”

“I'm not sure. Psychology, I think. We're still putting together the victim profile.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Come on, Meg.” Fitz gestured impatiently. “Don't do this to yourself. She's gone now. Learning all this… You're just going to torture yourself with it in the middle of the night.”

“We need to know,” Meg said quietly. “ I need to know.”

“It won't help you, Meg.”

Meg smiled gently. “I'm not looking for help, Detective. I'm looking to learn about Sylvia Blaire, a young college student just like Trisha Hayes or myself. This is the Survivors Club, after all. And one of the obligations of survivors is to learn about the other victims and remember them well.”

A heavy silence filled the room. Fitz didn't know where to look. Neither did Griffin. And for the first time he got something about the women, their group, this club. They had become a unit. They gave each other strength. And Sylvia Blaire, if she hadn't died…

Fitz looked old. Fitz looked like a detective who'd been to one too many crime scenes, and this one, this last one, would be the one he'd never get out of his head. Guys around here liked to retire to Florida, but even there, most of them would say, the images still followed. Too many sad faces staring back up from the tranquil blue waters as they cast their lines and tried to fish.

“In her photos she was very pretty. Long dark hair, big brown eyes. A former high school track star. Got good grades. Donated time to the Boys amp; Girls Club in Pawtucket.”

“A regular blood donor,” Jillian filled in.

“Yeah,” Fitz said heavily. “Yeah.”

“It sounds like him,” Carol spoke up. Her gaze went around the room. “You have to admit…”

“Too soon to know.” Fitz shook his head, his voice picking back up. “Sure, there are common elements, but this isn't exactly a case that's been held back from the public.”

“You think it might be a copycat,” Jillian filled in.

“It's a possibility. The victim profile-young, brunette, college student- is hardly rocket science. All anyone has to do is flip on the TV and see a picture of Meg or Trish. The connection with the blood drives, also on the evening news, given that Eddie worked as a phlebotomist for the Blood Center. And that latex-ties business came out shortly after Eddie's arrest. So there you have it. One rapist profile, ready to go.”

“Was there sign of forced entry?” Jillian again.

“Nah.”

“That wasn't in the news.”

“Might not be a stranger-to-stranger crime.”

Jillian frowned, then got it. “Meaning maybe someone this girl knew-an ex-boyfriend, say-staged this as one of the College Hill Rapist's attacks to cover up what he had done.”

“Could be.”

“Did she have an ex-boyfriend?”

“It's only been eight hours. Ask me in another two.”

“What about fingerprints?”

“We took all sorts.”

“DNA?”

Fitz hesitated, shot Griffin a look. Griffin didn't say anything; it was Fitz's party after all. Jillian, however, was too fast for both of them. Her eyes widened. Her face paled. Very slowly, her arms wrapped around her waist.

“No,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Fitz said.

“But the douche wasn't in the news. None of the reports ever gave out that information.”

Carol was picking up on things, looking around the room even more wildly. “Are you saying… Was it the same kind?”

“Berkely and Johnson's Disposable Douche with Country Flowers.” Fitz sighed again, then brought up his hand and rubbed his bleary face. Griffin had done much the same when Fitz had given him the news. The douche was the kicker. You could spin the scene so many ways, until you got to the douche.

“But… but,” Meg said. She couldn't seem to get beyond that. “ But… but…”

“Let's not rush to any conclusions,” Fitz warned.

“There are still other possibilities,” Griffin said.

“Like what?” Jillian cried.

“Like maybe Eddie had a friend,” Fitz stated flatly. “Or maybe he liked to brag all about it. Just because we didn't give out the details doesn't mean that he didn't.”

“He always claimed he was innocent,” Carol said, her eyes still dashing all about. “You don't say you're innocent, and then brag all about your crime.”

“Sure you do, happens all the time.”

Meg had started rocking back and forth. “It's not a friend. It's not a friend. Oh God, oh God, oh God…”

“Meg…” It was Jillian, her voice hard, trying to restore order.

But Meg was beyond reason. Carol was beyond reason. Only Jillian remained tight-lipped and determined at the head of the table. Her gaze rose to meet Fitz's, to meet Griffin 's.

“Eddie Como lives,” she whispered helplessly. “Oh God, Eddie Como lives. ”

GRIFFIN AND FITZ STEPPED OUTSIDE THE RESTAURANT, and the first camera flash exploded in their faces.

“Detective, Detective, can you comment on reports that last night's victim was also tied up with latex strips-”

“Was it true that a man matching Eddie Como's description was seen running from the girl's apartment-”

“Sergeant, Sergeant, will the state police now be taking over the case-”

“What does this latest attack mean for the case against Eddie Como-”

“Detective, Detective-”

“Is it true that someone used blood to scrawl ‘Eddie Como lives' on the wall of the new victim's-”

“What about rumors that the man shot yesterday wasn't really Como?”

Fitz and Griffin finally forced their way to Fitz's car. Technically, Griffin had arrived in his own vehicle, but given that it was parked another two blocks away on the crowded street, Fitz's beat-up Taurus beckoned like a godsend. Griffin used his shoulder to muscle back one particularly aggressive reporter, got the passenger-side door open and ducked inside just as a new round of flashes erupted from the herd. A cry went up. The women were now trying to leave the restaurant. The whole pack shifted right and immediately surged forward.

“Shit,” Fitz said.

“Shit,” Griffin agreed.

They abandoned the Taurus and grimly waded back into the fray.

“Step aside, step aside, step aside.”

“Police, coming through.”

On the restaurant steps, Jillian stood shell-shocked in front of Carol and Meg as more lights flashed and heated questions started peppering the tiny space. She had probably thought their little rendezvous was safe from the press. In a private room in a restaurant that she knew. She probably hadn't seen the morning news and the public flogging the local news affiliates had delivered to both the Providence Police and the so-called Survivors Club for their aggressive pursuit of Eddie Como. She probably hadn't realized just yet, that last year's press coverage had only been a warm-up. Now, as of this morning, was the real thing. She and Carol and Meg could run. But they could not hide.