The Sleeping Beauty Killer

4

When Laurie exited the elevator on the sixteenth floor of the Fisher Blake Studios offices in Rockefeller Center, she headed directly to the conference room. Grace had managed to learn from Brett’s secretary, Dana, that Brett would be on a conference call for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, but that he’d be continuing his hunt for Laurie once he was finished.

She was wondering why Brett was so eager to speak to her. She knew he was pushing her to lock down her next case, but that was nothing new. Was it possible he had somehow figured out in advance that the professor’s widow was going to cancel on her? She shook off the thought. Her boss might want people to think he was clairvoyant, but he wasn’t.

The woman waiting for her in the conference room sprang to her feet when Laurie opened the door. Laurie recognized Katherine “Casey” Carter immediately. Laurie was just out of college, beginning her journalism career, when the Sleeping Beauty case hit the headlines. The start of her “career” meant fetching coffee in the newsroom of a regional paper in Pennsylvania, but at the time, Laurie was in heaven, soaking up every ounce of training.

As an aspiring journalist, she’d been riveted by the trial. When she’d heard the news last night of Casey’s release, Laurie couldn’t believe it had been fifteen years already. Time flew so fast, though probably not for Casey.

When her trial had occupied the headlines, Casey had been absolutely stunning, with long, shiny dark brown hair, alabaster skin, and almond-shaped blue eyes that sparkled as if she was thinking of a joke. Right out of college, she had landed a coveted job as an assistant in the contemporary art department at Sotheby’s. She was pursuing a master’s degree and dreamt of having her own gallery when she met Hunter Raleigh III at an art auction. It wasn’t just because of her fiancé’s prominence that the nation had been riveted by the case. Casey was captivating in her own right.

Even after fifteen years, she was still beautiful. Her hair was shorter now, bobbed at the shoulders like Laurie’s own style. She was thinner, but looked strong. And her eyes still sparked with intelligence as she shook Laurie’s hand firmly.

“Ms. Moran, thank you so much for seeing me. I’m sorry I didn’t call for an appointment, but I imagine you get flooded by requests.”

“True,” Laurie said, gesturing that they should both take a seat at the conference table. “But not from people with names as well known as yours.”

Casey let out a sad laugh. “And which name are we talking about? Crazy Casey? The Sleeping Beauty Killer? That’s why I’m here. I’m innocent. I did not kill Hunter, and I want my name-my good name-back.”

For those who weren’t on a first-name basis with him, Hunter was Hunter Raleigh III. His grandfather, Hunter the first, had been a senator. Both of Hunter the first’s sons, Hunter Junior and James, joined the military after graduating from Harvard. After Hunter Junior was an early casualty of the Vietnam War, his younger brother, James, committed himself to a lifelong army career, and named his first-born son Hunter the Third. James ascended to the level of a three-star general. Even in retirement, he continued to serve as an ambassador. The Raleighs were a smaller version of the Kennedys, a political dynasty.

And then Casey killed the heir to the throne.

At first, the papers called Casey the Sleeping Beauty. She claimed to have been sleeping soundly while an unknown person or persons broke into her fiancé’s country house and shot him to death. The couple had attended a gala for the Raleigh family’s foundation in the city that night, but left early after Casey said she felt sick. According to her, she fell asleep in the car and did not even remember arriving at Hunter’s house. She woke up hours later on the living room sofa, wandered into the bedroom, and found him covered in blood. She was a young, beautiful up-and-comer in the art world. Hunter was a beloved member of a treasured American political family. It was the kind of tragedy that captivated the nation.

And then, within a few news cycles, the police arrested poor Sleeping Beauty. The prosecution’s case was strong. The papers started calling her the Sleeping Beauty Killer and, eventually, Crazy Casey. According to most theories, she’d flown into a drunken, jealous rage when Hunter broke off the engagement.

Now she was in a conference room with Laurie, claiming still-after all these years-to be innocent.

Laurie was aware of the seconds ticking away before she’d need to speak to her boss. Normally, she would have wanted to walk methodically through Casey’s side of the story, but she needed to cut to the chase.

“I’m sorry to be blunt, Casey, but the evidence against you would be hard to set aside.”

Even though Casey denied ever having fired the handgun that was determined to be the murder weapon, her fingerprints were found on the gun. And her hands tested positive for the presence of gunshot residue. Laurie asked her if she was denying those facts.

“I assume the tests were done correctly, but all that means is that the real killer pressed my hand to the weapon and let off a shot. Think about it: Why would I have said I never fired the gun if I had shot Hunter with it? I could have easily explained my prints by saying I fired it at the range. Not to mention, whoever shot Hunter apparently missed twice, based on the bullet holes found at the house. I was a very good shot. If I had wanted to kill someone-which I never would-trust me, I would not have missed. And if I had fired his gun, why would I consent to GSR, gunshot residue, testing?”

“What about the drugs the police found in your purse?”

Casey described her illness that night as so severe that the police had tested her blood for intoxicants. But by the time the results confirmed that she had both alcohol and a type of sedative in her system, a search of Hunter’s home had turned up that very same drug in Casey’s own evening bag.

“Again, if I went through all the trouble of drugging myself, why would I keep three extra Rohypnol tablets in my own purse? It was one thing to accuse me of being a murderer, but I never thought anyone would believe I’d be that stupid.”

Laurie was aware of Rohypnol, a drug commonly used in date rapes.

So far, what Casey was saying was all a rehash of the arguments that her lawyer tried to raise at the trial. She was claiming that someone drugged her at the gala, went back to Hunter’s house, shot him, and then framed her while she was sleeping. The jury hadn’t bought it.

“I followed your trial at the time,” Laurie said. “Forgive me for saying this, but I think one of the problems was that your lawyer never seemed to suggest a concrete alternative explanation. She hinted that police may have planted evidence, but never really explained a motive for them to do so. And most importantly, she never gave the jury an alternative suspect. So tell me, Casey: If you didn’t kill Hunter, who did?”