Lisa Gardner - The Survivors Club

Jillian's features had turned the color of ash. A moment later, however, she recovered her bearings and got her chin up. Behind her, Carol had raised a hand in a vain attempt to shield herself from the cameras. Meg simply looked dazed.

“Ms. Hayes, Ms. Hayes, how do you respond to allegations that your group pressed too hard for Eddie Como's arrest?”

“Do you believe this newest attack proves Eddie's innocence?”

“What about the defense attorney's witness? Mrs. Rosen, how sure are you of the time when you were attacked?”

“Ms. Hayes, Ms. Hayes-”

“Did you shoot Eddie?”

“Hey, step aside. State police, don't make me seize your tape.”

In all honesty, Griffin couldn't legally seize any of the reporters' tapes, but evidently word of what he'd done to Maureen had gotten around, because three reporters immediately leapt back and snarled at him. He gave them his most charming smile. Then he flung out his massive arms and forced the rest of the jackals back four steps.

Not an idiot, Jillian seized the opportunity to grab Meg's and Carol's hands and bolt from the steps.

“Ms. Hayes, Ms. Hayes-”

“Did you persecute an innocent man?”

“What about his wife and baby?”

“Hey, Miss Pesaturo, remember anything yet?”

The Survivors Club disappeared around the corner and the last question dissipated into the crisp morning air. The press corps took a second to regroup. Then they went after Fitz and Griffin again.

“Who's leading the investigation?”

“What will be your next steps?”

“Is the real College Hill Rapist still out there? What is your advice for all of our young women?”

“Press briefing at four,” Fitz barked. “Through official channels. For God's sake, we're just the working stiffs. Now get outta our way.”

He and Griffin still had to battle their way back to Fitz's car. This time, they both managed to get inside the Taurus and slam the doors. The reporters tapped on the window. Fitz gunned the engine.

Not doubting for a moment that a Providence cop would run them over, the reporters finally dropped back. Fitz pulled away from the curb while simultaneously digging around his feet for a bottle of Tums. Griffin amused himself by picking up the newest edition of People magazine from the dash. Sure enough, Fitz had already inked in half of the crossword.

“You're fucked,” Griffin said conversationally.

Fitz had gotten his Tums open. He started chomping. “At this rate, we're all fucked.”

“I'm not fucked. I just have a dead rape suspect. Same as yesterday.”

“Don't kid yourself. Eddie turns up innocent, we're all fucked. The women'll get heat for applying pressure. We'll get heat for making the arrest. DA'll get heat for building the case. State marshals will get heat for not better protecting one of their transports. And you, the lucky state, will get heat for not stepping in and keeping the rest of us from fucking up. So there.”

“You're an optimist, aren't you, Fitz?”

“Tried and true. Goddamn case.” Fitz's features grew more haggard. “Goddamn case…”

Griffin understood. He lapsed into silence, giving Fitz a chance to pull himself back together as they drove aimlessly around Federal Hill.

“Dr. No,” Griffin said finally.

“Dr. No?”

“Forty-eight down. A four-letter James Bond movie. Dr. No .”

Fitz grunted, felt around his shirt pocket, then handed Griffin a pen.

“I'm honored,” Griffin assured him, and filled in the spaces.

“You went to the Hayes residence,” Fitz said. “Last night.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“A uniform caught the report on the scanner and let me know. I figured anything happening at Jillian's place the same day as Como was shot couldn't be good.”

Fitz looked at him. “You just called her Jillian.”

“Mmmm, yes.”

“I haven't met a statey yet who doesn't use formal address when working a case. For God's sake, you guys don't even refer to each other by first names. You're like a bunch of friggin' Marines.”

“I'm the black sheep?”

“Don't go getting any ideas, Griffin. This case is messy enough.”

“You like her that much, Fitz?”

For his answer, Fitz growled and flexed his hands on the wheel. “I am having a really bad day.”

“We're both barking up the wrong tree,” Griffin told him lightly. “Have you ever asked Jillian Hayes what she thinks of men in our profession? She's not exactly an aspiring groupie. In fact, from what I can tell, she pretty much considers us incompetent morons who are at least indirectly responsible for her sister's death. Hence her total openness and willingness to cooperate with us now.”

Fitz grunted, which Griffin took as at least partial acknowledgment of Jillian's point.

“Serial crime is the worst,” Fitz grumbled after a moment. “Longer it goes on… more victims the perp claims… Yeah, maybe I should just be happy I can still find my pants in the morning, 'cause these days I'm sure as hell not finding much else.”

“You're riding the case hard,” Griffin said. “It's the most a detective can do.”

Fitz grunted again. “That incident at Jillian's house, you think it was a prank? Some teenage kid armed with a can of red spray paint and up to no good?”

“It's East Greenwich 's call.”

“Don't fuck with me, Griffin. Not after the night I've had.”

Griffin was silent for a moment. “I don't know,” he said finally, then held up a hand to ward off Fitz's snarl. “Honest. The spray paint, graffiti, yeah that fits with a teenage kid. But loosening the bulbs in the motion-sensor lights…”

“I wondered about that.”

“When you were a kid going to egg someone's house, did you unscrew the outdoor lights?” Griffin shrugged. “Couldn't have done it at night either. The minute someone approached in the dark, the lights would go on. So that means it was done before, during the day, when no one would notice the lights being activated.”

“Premeditation.”

“Seems very thoughtful. For a kid.”

“Ah shit…”

“My turn. Off the record, just you and I. Last night, what are you thinking?”

“Christ, I haven't had enough sleep to think.” Fitz rubbed his face wearily, then belatedly grabbed the steering wheel as the car swerved across the street.

“There's still the DNA evidence.”

“Yeah, that's what bothers me so much. If it had been merely a circumstantial case, just the fact that he worked for the Blood Center and knew the victims, well then…”

“You might have jumped too soon.”

“Maybe.”

“But you got DNA.”

“We got good DNA. I went back after our little discussion yesterday evening. Grabbed the report. Given the high-profile nature of the case, we sent the samples out to an independent lab in Virginia in addition to the analysis done by the Department of Health. Both agree. DNA samples from Eddie Como match DNA samples taken from the sheets and the women in all fourteen sites tested. Meaning the likelihood of another person being responsible for the DNA present at the rape scenes is one in three hundred million times the population of the entire earth . That's pretty damn conclusive if you ask me.”

“Sounds pretty good to me, too,” Griffin agreed. “Do the women know this?”

“D'Amato knows this. He's the one who sent it out for the independent analysis, plus it was gonna be the linchpin of his case. He probably went over it with them.”

“Meaning they must really, truly feel that they know Como was the attacker.”

“Hey, I know Eddie was the attacker.”

“Meaning we're back to a very good motive for murder.”