Lisa Gardner - The Survivors Club

“I believe the police conducted a thorough and responsible investigation.”

“Ms. Hayes, another young girl is dead.”

“A tragedy we should not lose sight of.”

Maureen frowned. “Surely you understand there is a connection between Sylvia Blaire's attack and the College Hill Rapist.”

“I wasn't aware that the police had made any such connection.”

“You don't want the police to make any such connection, isn't that true, Ms. Hayes? Because if the police did make a connection, that would mean the police were wrong about Eddie Como. That would mean you were wrong about Eddie Como. You and your friends have spent the last year persecuting an innocent man. ”

“I have spent the last year aiding the police and the district attorney with their investigation into who brutally raped and murdered my nineteen-year-old sister, Trisha Hayes. I want justice for what was done to my sister. I think anyone who has lost someone they love can understand that.”

“Even at the expense of an innocent man?”

“I want the man who brutally killed my sister. No one else.”

“What about allegations that you and your group, this so-called Survivors Club, contributed to a miscarriage of justice by whipping the public into a witch-hunt mentality, desperate for an arrest?”

“I think the citizens of Providence should object to being characterized as an angry mob.”

Maureen scowled again. Jimmy made the mistake of choosing that moment to home in on her face with the camera. She furiously waved him off.

“Sylvia Blaire is dead,” Maureen said.

Jillian was quiet.

“Eddie Como is dead.”

Jillian remained silent.

“From the RISD parking lot, the police have another, unidentified body at the morgue. That's three dead people in a space of twenty-four hours.”

Jillian still didn't say anything. Maureen changed tactics.

“The day the police arrested Eddie Como, you said you were pleased they had gotten their man. You stood with Meg Pesaturo and Carol Rosen on the steps of City Hall and all but publicly branded Eddie Como as the College Hill Rapist.”

“The police had compelling evidence-”

“Another girl is dead ! Raped and murdered just like your own sister!”

“And I am sorry!”

“Sorry?” Maureen trilled, “ Sorry doesn't help Sylvia Blaire. Sorry doesn't give Mr. and Mrs. Blaire their beautiful young daughter back.”

“It is not our fault-” Jillian bit back her own words, shook her head. Her composure was beginning to slip, her voice starting to rise angrily. Griffin tried to catch her with his gaze, but she would no longer look at him.

“You pushed for justice,” Maureen persisted.

“We were raped! Of course we pushed for justice.”

“You told the public they weren't safe until the College Hill Rapist was put behind bars.”

“They weren't!”

“You held numerous press conferences, applying enormous pressure on the Providence police to make an arrest.”

“Four women had been attacked. The police were already under enormous pressure!”

“You said you were happy with Eddie's arrest.”

“I was happy with Eddie's arrest!”

“Yeah? Well, how do you feel about his death ? Need more champagne, Ms. Hayes? It's not every day someone publicly toasts the murder of an innocent man.”

Jillian drew up short. Too late she saw the trap. Too late she looked into Jimmy's camera, with her round, dazed eyes, her loose hair wild around her face, her cheeks flushed with outrage.

“Death is not justice,” she replied quietly, but her words no longer mattered. Maureen had her clip, and they all knew it. The reporter smiled, genuinely this time, and motioned for Jimmy to turn off the tape.

“Thank you,” she said crisply, lowering the mike.

“Do you really think you're helping things?” Jillian asked.

The reporter shrugged. “Can't fuck it up any more than you did now, can I?”

“This is my fault?”

Maureen looked at her. “Are you fucking nuts? Have you ever gone back and watched your old press conferences, Ms. Hayes? Have you ever seen yourself on camera? You spin. Hell, you spin better than most politicians. Always cool, always composed, telling the public what happened to you, what happened to Meg, what happened to Carol. Reminding the public that it might be their daughters next.

“You didn't just insert yourself into a story. You became the story. Even I sympathized with you and those other two women. Hell, a bunch of the reporters bought a round of drinks in your honor the day they arrested Como. But that was before Sylvia Blaire. Of course you bear a responsibility for what happened yesterday. Maybe if you hadn't kept the fire so hot, the police investigation could've been more thorough. Maybe if the police hadn't had to spend so much time reacting to your presence on the news, they could've spent more time on the case. The police are vulnerable to public pressure, you know. Just ask your good friend Sergeant Griffin.”

“I love you, too, Maureen,” Griffin said.

She flashed a smile at him. “That's what makes my job so meaningful.”

“There is no conclusive evidence that Eddie Como's innocent,” Jillian insisted.

“Tell that to Sylvia Blaire.”

“It could be a copycat.”

“Would you like to go on record?”

Jillian didn't say anything. Maureen nodded. “Yeah, that's what I thought.”

She and Jimmy were back in the news van. They had come, they had seen, they had conquered. Maureen waved quite merrily, right before slamming the door shut.

“You shouldn't listen to her,” Griffin said shortly, as the news van sped away.

Jillian merely smiled. “Oh, but I will. And Meg will and Carol will. In the middle of the night, we'll think of nothing but what she said. We're women. It's what we do.” She turned and headed for her car.

“Jillian…” He caught her arm. The contact startled them both. They stared at his hand on her forearm until his fingers slipped away. “Fitz ran a good case. I run a good case. We're going to get to the bottom of this.”

Jillian looked out at the sky. “Four hours before nightfall, Griffin. I wonder what young woman will be home alone tonight. I wonder what college student will be hitting the books or daydreaming about her boyfriend or maybe even resting in front of the TV. I wonder what girl is making what small mistake right now that will very soon cost her her life.”

“You can't think that way.”

“Oh, but I do. Once you've been assaulted, it's very hard to think of anything else. The world is a very dangerous place, Sergeant. And I haven't seen anything to give me any hope yet.”

“GOOD NEWS,” DETECTIVE WATERS SAID ON THE OTHER end of the cell phone. “Eddie Como's dead.”

“Now there's something I haven't heard lately.” Griffin passed under the Towers on Ocean Road and headed toward Providence while holding the cell phone pressed against his right ear. Traffic wasn't too bad this early in May. Give it another month, and this area of Narragansett would be turned into a tourist-crazed parking lot. Ah, the joys of summer.

“ME confirmed the fingerprints this afternoon,” Waters was saying. “Our vic is definitely Eddie Como. In the even-better-news department, Providence just got a hit on the deep-fried DOA, as well.”

“No kidding.”

“Guy had a military record. Gus J. Ohlsson, formerly of New York. Get this-he served eight years in the Army, as a sharpshooter.”

“Ah, so our detective intuitions are right again. Let's face it, the nose knows.”