The Survivors Club (15 page)

“I’m warning you!” Jillian’s voice started to rise in spite of herself as another leaf quivered and Meg rocked back and forth like a giant pendulum.

“A beautiful, beautiful night. A lovely, lovely night . . .”

“Goddammit!”
Jillian strode over to the bush. She thrust in her hand as if she would drag out the interloper by his ear. She’d yank him out. And then she’d . . . she’d . . .

The gray tiger-striped cat sprang out of the bush with a hostile
MEOW
and Jillian staggered back, her heart hammering hard in her chest. She had to take a deep breath, then another. Her heart was still racing. The hairs had prickled up on the back on her neck. Oh God, she suddenly wanted away from this house and out of this too-empty street. She couldn’t stop shivering.

On the porch, Meg had a beatific smile plastered on her face. “Gone now. He’s all gone now.”

“Please go inside, Meg,” Jillian said tiredly.

“It won’t make a difference. He’s here, he’s here, he’s here.”

“Who is here?”

And Meg whispered, “I don’t know. Whoever’s worse than Eddie Como.”

CHAPTER 17

Griffin

“W
E GOT A PROBLEM.
”

Now at the state police headquarters in North Scituate, Griffin finally paused in the middle of five piles of paper. It was a little after six-thirty, and he was trying to get the command post up and running in the vast gray-carpeted Detective Bureau meeting room. It never failed to amaze him how much paperwork could be generated by a single crime. Contact reports, witness statements, detective activity reports (DARs), financial workups and preliminary evidence reports. He was already knee-deep in paperwork and even as he pored over documents, uniformed officers, financial crimes detectives and CIU detectives were breezing through the conference center to drop even more reports on the table. Occasionally, the lieutenant or major or colonel also stopped by, wanting to know if he’d magically solved the case yet. Oh yeah, and the phone rang a lot. Reporters wanting quotes. Local businessmen wanting justice. The AG wanting to emphasize once again that he didn’t like shootings in his backyard and that the mayor felt major explosions were bad for tourism.

Now he had Fitz on the phone. “Are you watching this?” Fitz was saying. “Can you fuckin’ believe this?”

“I’m not watching anything.”

“Then turn on the TV!”

Griffin raised a brow, sifted through the precariously stacked mounds of paper for the remote, then turned on the TV. He was instantly rewarded by a live news feed being shown on Channel 10.

“Ah, so that’s where all the reporters went. I kind of wondered when they magically disappeared from the parking lot.”

“This is not good,” Fitz moaned. “So really not good.”

Eddie Como’s public defense lawyer, an earnest fellow by the name of Frank Sierra, was now explaining to the equally earnest press corps that a true tragedy had happened this morning on the steps of justice. Why, just last night, he’d gotten a fresh lead that proved once and for all his client’s innocence. He’d been planning on introducing the new evidence first thing this morning to clear Eddie Como’s name. Another fifteen, twenty minutes, that was all he would’ve needed, and Mr. Como would have been as free as a bird.

“That doesn’t sound promising,” Griffin informed Fitz by phone.

“I fucking hate lawyers,” Fitz growled.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they hate you, too.”

Griffin paused long enough to listen to Sierra’s next statement. In the conference room, Waters and a bunch of other Major Crimes detectives had also halted to watch the show. Better than Barnum & Bailey, most of these press conferences.

“Late last night,” public defender Frank Sierra was saying, “I made contact with a witness who can place Mr. Como halfway across town on the night and time of the second attack, offering corroboration of my client’s activities on the evening in question. Ladies and gentlemen, may I please introduce Lucas Murphy.”

Eddie Como’s lawyer stepped aside, and a gangly kid who couldn’t have been more than eighteen took his place. The kid, all arms, legs and zits, stared at the flashing cameras like a deer in headlights. For a moment, Griffin thought the kid might bolt, and Sierra must’ve thought so, too, because he grabbed the teenager’s arm. Then he remembered his audience, and smiled brightly for all the pretty people.

“A witness,” Fitz muttered on the phone. “What the hell kind of evidence is that? For fifty bucks or less even I could conjure up a witness.”

Sierra announced, “Mr. Murphy works at Blockbuster Video over in Warwick.”

Griffin said, “Uh oh.”

“Mr. Murphy, on the night of May tenth, could you please tell these fine people where you were?”

“Oh my God!” Fitz went apoplectic. “He’s treating him like a witness. Right here on the evening news, he’s launching into his defense. I cannot fucking believe this!”

“I was . . . uh . . . well . . . working,” the kid squeaked. “You know, um, at Blockbuster.”

Sierra was getting into things now. “And did you happen to see Mr. Como that evening, the evening of May tenth, in your video store on Route Two in Warwick?”

“Um . . . yes.”

The reporters obligingly gasped. Fitz swore again. Griffin simply rolled his eyes.

On TV, Eddie Como’s lawyer practically rubbed his hands together with glee. “Mr. Murphy, are you certain you saw Eddie Como on the night of May tenth?”

“Um, yes.”

“But, Mr. Murphy, because I know the fine members of the press will ask this next,
how
can you be so certain it was Mr. Como who came into your store that night?”

“Well . . . I saw his name. You know, on his membership card.”

The press gasped again. Fitz mumbled something along the lines of “Oh my God, someone shut that kid up. Quick, get me a gun.”

Griffin told him kindly, “Oh yeah, now you’re in trouble.”

On TV, Sierra paused, beamed for the cameras again, and prepared to move in for the kill. “Mr. Murphy, isn’t it true that whenever someone rents a video at Blockbuster, there is a record of the transaction?”

“Well, yeah . . . you know. People hand over their card. We scan that in. Then, you know, we scan in the video. So the computer has um, the video, and um, who rented it, and oh yeah, at what day and at what time. You know, so we know who has what video and if it’s late when they return it, in case, you know, they owe any late fees, that sort of thing. You gotta know that stuff if you’re a video store.” The kid nodded earnestly. “Also, we got this program now, where if you return a new release right away, like, um, in twenty-four hours, you get a dollar credit on your Blockbuster account. So people come inside for the returns to show their card. I mean, a buck’s a buck.”

Eddie Como’s lawyer practically creamed his pants on live TV. “So,” he boomed. “Not only did you
personally
see Eddie Como returning a video to your store on the night of May tenth, at ten twenty-five
P
.
M
., just five minutes before the alleged attack on Mrs. Rosen, over on the East Side, which Eddie couldn’t possibly have driven to in just five minutes, you have a
record
of that transaction. A computer-generated
record
!”

“Fucking computers!”
Fitz roared.

While on TV, Lucas Murphy, Blockbuster’s new employee of the month, said, “Mmmm, yes.”

The reporters started to buzz. In the conference room, Waters shook his head and sighed. Over the phone, Fitz sounded like he was moaning, then came the distinct crunch of antacid tablets.

“Come on,” Griffin murmured, staring intently at the TV. “Ask him the next question. Ask him the logical next question . . .”

But Eddie Como’s defense lawyer was smarter than he looked. Frank Sierra thanked the press, he thanked the Lord for giving them the truth, even if it was tragically too late, and then he yanked his young, big-eyed witness out of the line of cameras while he was still ahead. The news briefing broke up. Channel 10 cut to a shot of good old Maureen, her blue eyes brighter than ever, saying breathlessly, “Well, it has certainly been a big day in the College Hill Rapist case. New information casts doubt that Eddie Como, shot dead just this morning, was indeed the College Hill Rapist. Ladies, does that mean the real rapist could still be out there—”

Griffin shut off the TV. Waters was looking at him, while on the other end of the phone, Fitz continued chomping away on Tums.

“Sierra ambushed us,” Fitz growled between mouthfuls of antacid. “Didn’t give us any warning. Not even a peep about his new evidence, new witness, nada. One minute I’m down at the morgue watching the ME search for viable skin on a deep-fried John Doe, the next I got a call from my lieutenant telling me I’d better turn on the news. What the fuck is up with that? Sierra could’ve at least given us the courtesy of a phone call.”

“Ah, but then you could’ve prepared a reply,” Griffin said.

“This is bullshit,” Fitz continued, full steam ahead. “Sierra’s client is dead, so now he’s carrying out his case on the evening news, where he’ll never have to fear being cross-examined. The public will only hear what he wants them to hear.” His voice built again. “
Forget
about three raped women.
Forget
about Trisha Hayes, tied up and asphyxiating in her own apartment.
Forget
that Eddie Como irreparably damaged four innocent lives. Let’s just focus on the poor little rapist, who was probably potty-trained at gunpoint. For heaven’s sake, why didn’t Sierra just march over to the women’s homes and personally slap them across the face!”

“It’s not conclusive evidence,” Griffin said, addressing both Waters and Fitz at once. “Saying he could have Eddie’s name cleared by afternoon was overstating things a bit. Who’s the prosecutor?”

“D’Amato,” Fitz grumbled. He seemed to be working on taking deep breaths.

“Yeah, well, that’s why Sierra made his case on TV instead of in the courtroom. D’Amato would’ve eaten this kid alive. Do Blockbuster Video cards contain photo ID? No. Isn’t it true that anyone could’ve come in with Eddie Como’s card to return a movie, not necessarily Eddie Como? But he thought the guy did look like Eddie Como? Well then why didn’t he come forward before now? Why did he wait a full year to share this news? That’s the
real
question.”

“He was scared.” Fitz played devil’s advocate.

“Why? The College Hill Rapist never attacked a man. And don’t you have a girlfriend, mother, sister, Mr. Murphy? Didn’t you think about them, worry about them? If you really thought Como wasn’t the guy, then that means the rapist is still out there. So why didn’t you come forward to help catch the real perpetrator and keep your girlfriend/sister/mother safe?”

“I don’t know,” Fitz said.

“Of course you don’t know, Mr. Murphy. That’s because it’s now been over a year since ten May. How sure can you be after a whole year? Do you remember what you ate that morning for breakfast? What were you wearing? What did you do for lunch? Who did you call? Who were your other customers? What video did you watch that night at work? That’s what I thought, Mr. Murphy, you don’t really remember that much at all about that night,
do you
?”

“Uh oh, I think I just wet myself,” Fitz intoned. “You’re right, I am nothing but miserable scum. On the other hand, those fine, magnificent detectives at the Providence Police Department are geniuses, men above men. And that Detective Fitzpatrick, he’s a stud. If I had a young, nubile sister, I would send her to him.”

“Yeah, but since he’s already given his best years to the job, I wouldn’t bother.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Fitz murmured. He took a last deep breath and seemed to come to grips with things. “Computerized records of a rental return. Who would’ve thought?”

“How sure are you of the time of the rape?”

“It’s not exact. Carol Rosen went to bed a little after ten. She thought she’d been asleep about a half an hour when she woke up to a sound in her bedroom. She didn’t look at the clock, though.”

“So even if Eddie was returning a video in Warwick, that doesn’t prove he
didn’t
later head into Providence.”

“It’s not concrete. But if you take this kid’s statement and you combine it with Eddie’s girlfriend, Tawnya, talking about Eddie’s favorite pastime being hanging out with her and their unborn child and watching a few movies . . .”

“Eddie starts looking sympathetic. A quiet family man. Given his fetish, you never checked with Blockbuster?”

“When we asked Eddie what he’d done that night, it was already six weeks later. He thought he might have rented a movie, which was his habit, but when he checked his credit card statement he hadn’t. No one thought about a
returned
movie as an alibi.”

“Live and learn,” Griffin said.

“The DNA evidence is still DNA evidence,” Fitz muttered. “God knows, if cops comprised juries, we would send him to the chair. But of course jury boxes are filled with, well, jurors. If Eddie starts looking good . . .”

“The outcome of the trial grows doubtful,” Griffin concluded for him. He was quiet for a moment. “You know, if this testimony looked really bad, D’Amato had another option. He could drop the charges pertaining to the second attack. Only try Eddie for Meg Pesaturo, Trisha Hayes and Jillian Hayes. He loses one count of first-degree sexual assault, but life in prison is still life in prison.”

“Carol Rosen wouldn’t like that much.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Griffin said meaningfully.

“Even if D’Amato dropped the charges involving Carol so Eddie’s lawyer couldn’t get Teen Blockbuster in court,” Fitz said, “Sierra could still trot the kid out for the press like he’s doing now. That makes Eddie start looking good to the public, the ACLU or anyone else who gets off on pitying rapists. And that would piss
all
the women off. Hell, it pisses me off.”

“Makes things interesting. Do you think this is what Tawnya meant when she said something was going to come out at trial?”

“I don’t know. She’s been firm about Eddie’s innocence. Seems to me that if she knew about Teen Blockbuster, she would’ve been shouting this evidence from the rooftop. I had the impression she was talking about something on one of the women.”

“Is there something we should know about the women?” Griffin asked sharply.

“Hey, I spent a year with the women, and if there was something we should know, we would know it. Then again,” Fitz admitted sulkily, “I’m ‘refreshing’ my report on them as we speak.”

“It provides motive. Particularly for Mrs. Rosen and/or her family.”

“Assuming they knew about Teen Blockbuster.”

“Which gives us a starting point. How did Eddie Como’s lawyer hear about this kid? And how many other people knew about him as well? Assuming, of course, that the kid is telling the truth.”

Fitz sighed. “I knew this day was going to end badly. Okay, let’s talk it through. Scenario A is that Eddie’s lawyer finally got bright and decided to check Blockbuster just in case. Then . . .”

“Kid’s probably telling the truth, and never came forward on his own because he didn’t want to get involved, or was afraid to get involved, or all of the above.”