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 go

“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 co

“I wasn't aware that the police had made any such co

“You don't want the police to make any such co

“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 i

“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 begi

“You pushed for justice,” Maureen persisted.

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