The Survivors Club

Chapter 24

GOING AROUND THE HOUSE TO THE FRONT DRIVE, GRIFFIN saw good ol' Maureen, already out of the van and adjusting her mike. Griffin knew immediately from the light in the reporter's eyes that they were in trouble. Maureen's gaze shot from him to Jillian and back to him.

“Hey, Jimmy,” she called out. “Come out here. I need you to get a shot of this.”

Griffin knew better than to rise to the bait. He found himself taking another step forward, positioning himself between the emerging cameraman and Jillian. Not that Jillian required a shield. She'd already wiped her cheeks, touched up her mascara, squared her shoulders. From mini-breakdown to pale composure in ten seconds or less. If he hadn't actually witnessed her crying, he wasn't sure he would've believed it himself. And, frankly, that worried him a little.

“What ya doing, Griff?” Maureen asked with naked speculation.

“Police business.”

“Didn't know you made house calls.”

“Didn't know you wanted to be arrested for trespassing on private property.”

“She can't have me arrested. It's not her property. It's her mother's.”

“I have power of attorney over my mother's affairs,” Jillian spoke up. “So, yes, I can.”

“Oh.” Maureen finally faltered. But then she brought up her chin and gave them another dazzling smile. “Then I'll only take a minute of your time.”

“No comment,” Jillian said.

“I haven't asked the question yet.”

“Whatever it is, the answer remains no comment.”

“Oh, well, Mr. and Mrs. Blaire will be very sad to hear that.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Blaire?”

“Yes, the parents of the slain college student? They flew in from Wisconsin this morning to claim her body. Very nice people. Apparently Mr. Blaire owns a dairy farm which supplies milk for all that wonderful Wisconsin cheese. Sylvia was their only daughter. The real apple of their eye, quote, unquote. They were so proud of her getting a scholarship to an Ivy League school. The first member of their family to get a college degree and all that.”

Maureen smiled again. Griffin had to fight back the urge to wring her neck.

“I don't understand what this has to do with me,” Jillian said.

“Well, they want to meet you, of course.”

“They want to meet me?”

“The head of the Survivors Club? Absolutely!”

“I'm not the head of the Survivors Club. There is no head of the Survivors Club.”

Maureen waved her hand carelessly. “Oh, you know what I mean. You are the woman whose face has been in the news. They really do want to speak with you.”

“Why?”

“To ask you why you didn't save their daughter, of course.” Maureen smiled. Jillian stiffened as the arrow struck home.

“Maureen-” Griffin growled.

“You need to leave,” Jillian said.

Maureen ignored them both. “Do you still believe Eddie Como was the College Hill Rapist? What about reports that Sylvia Blaire was also tied up with latex strips? What does this new attack mean for the allegations against Como? And even more importantly, what does it mean for the safety of the women in this city?”

Maureen stuck out her microphone greedily. Jimmy homed in with his camera. And Griffin took three steps forward, never raising a hand, never touching a hair on either reporters' head, but effectively blocking their shot with the broad expanse of his chest.

“The homeowner has asked you to leave,” he said firmly. Ominously.

“Don't you mean the murder suspect?”

“Maureen…”

“What ya gonna do, Griffin, seize my tape?” Maureen dropped her microphone. Far from being intimidated, she stepped right up to him and jabbed her finger into his chest. “I have First Amendment rights here, Sergeant, so don't you go threatening me or my cameraman. I don't care if you think freedom of the press is the root of all evil. As far as I'm concerned, a little fourth-estate action is exactly what we need around here. For God's sake, a man was gunned down at our own courthouse yesterday morning. Now another young college student is dead. And what are you doing about it? What is she doing about it?” Maureen jerked her head toward Jillian. “Something about this whole case stinks and I have not only a constitutional right but a civic obligation to do something about that.”

“Maureen Haverill, defender of the free world,” Griffin drawled.

“Goddamn right!”

“You've been reading your own press briefings again, haven't you?”

“You son of a bitch-”

“I am sorry Sylvia Blaire is dead.” Jillian spoke up quietly, unexpectedly. All heads swiveled toward her.

“What?” Maureen said.

“I'm sorry Sylvia Blaire is dead,” Jillian repeated. “Her family has my deepest sympathies.”

Maureen stepped back from Griffin, motioned furiously at Jimmy, and quickly adopted her most serious reporter's expression. The woman could cry on command. Griffin had seen her do it once by plucking a nose hair. “Do you believe Eddie Como was the College Hill Rapist?” she asked Jillian, thrusting her microphone forward.

“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.”