star, kind of, a D-Lister, anyways. Love is sort of a star. Hey, they’re both D-List celebrities! I hadn’t thought of that one!”
O’Brien took a sip of the black brew, winced a little, and kept going. “I know we don’t have all the evidence from the other jurisdiction, the Hamptons, but look. Stockton’s a woman, Love’s a woman. Both shot, one bullet to the head. Both with a handgun, don’t know the caliber yet. Both within short range, well, fairly short range. Love was within twelve inches, based on the amount of gunshot residue, and a little stippling on the left cheek. Stockton within three feet. Not exactly the same, but still, Kolker, they’re both close range. Both boozers, both just out of bad relationships. Too many similarities not to be the same killer. And both within a month. What, are you blind?”
“Sounds like you’ve been reading Snoop . Don’t know how those S.O.B.s got the scoop. Suffolk County PD better be looking at the reporter and the photographer as material witnesses, if not suspects. How the hell did Snoop get to the scene before the cops?”
“Yeah. I was wondering that, too.”
“But to answer your question, no, I’m not blind, O’Brien, I just want to be cautious and not stir anybody up into thinking we’ve got a serial killer stalking the city’s celebs, even if they are D-List. We don’t need that.”
“Have you heard anything about forensics yet?”
“Too soon on the bullet.”
“What about Stockton? There’s been plenty of time on that one.”
“It’s Suffolk County. They gotta get their heads outta their butts first and figure out how to get the bullet to the crime lab without breaking the chain of evidence! Of course they haven’t gotten the caliber yet. Or at least they haven’t shared it with us! Last thing they want is NYPD trying to big-foot the only murder case they’ve had in five years.”
“What about cell records and computer? Anything?”
“I told you, it’s their baby. They’re not sharing. But the only text Love got that we haven’t been able to ID overnight is somebody named Jonathon. But from the body of the texts, it sounds like it’s some kid she befriended, maybe in high school. He wants another signed photo, talks to her about Celebrity Closets, talks about his classes, you know, stuff like that. Harmless. So, long story short, nothing in the texts so far.”
“Is he a stalker? High school kids are weird these days. Look at Columbine for Pete’s sake.”
“Nope. Nothing like that. They seem to have been texting for over a year. Must have given him her cell at one of those book signings or a red carpet or something.”
“Yeah, that’s weird a fan would have her private cell number.”
“A computer geek could find it online.”
“Yeah. I know. That makes him a stalker in my book. But bottom line, are they connected?”
“Nah. Doubt it. Just coincidence. Kid probably writes a lot of stars.”
The waitress came by. “How much do I owe you, ma’am?”
“For you, Kolker, it’s on the house. Come back when you can stay longer. We’ll have your favorite lemon meringue pie this afternoon.”
The notoriety he got from the Hailey Dean case had made him a little bit of a celebrity. Whenever she was asked about the cops arresting her for the murders of two of her patients, she never once blasted him. It had been his big case, and he’d been so damn pig-headed. He was convinced she’d gone over the edge and started rubbing out her clients . . . although even the police shrinks had a hard time giving him a motive. It had to have been her.
But it wasn’t. That perv defense lawyer had been behind it all. To hear Hailey tell it, NYPD was just doing their job. She could have torpedoed him, ruined him . . . if she wanted to. But she didn’t.
He’d never had the guts to go and formally apologize, just sent flowers and peace offerings. And she always sent those back, always in the same box he’d sent them in. He
O’Brien took a sip of the black brew, winced a little, and kept going. “I know we don’t have all the evidence from the other jurisdiction, the Hamptons, but look. Stockton’s a woman, Love’s a woman. Both shot, one bullet to the head. Both with a handgun, don’t know the caliber yet. Both within short range, well, fairly short range. Love was within twelve inches, based on the amount of gunshot residue, and a little stippling on the left cheek. Stockton within three feet. Not exactly the same, but still, Kolker, they’re both close range. Both boozers, both just out of bad relationships. Too many similarities not to be the same killer. And both within a month. What, are you blind?”
“Sounds like you’ve been reading Snoop . Don’t know how those S.O.B.s got the scoop. Suffolk County PD better be looking at the reporter and the photographer as material witnesses, if not suspects. How the hell did Snoop get to the scene before the cops?”
“Yeah. I was wondering that, too.”
“But to answer your question, no, I’m not blind, O’Brien, I just want to be cautious and not stir anybody up into thinking we’ve got a serial killer stalking the city’s celebs, even if they are D-List. We don’t need that.”
“Have you heard anything about forensics yet?”
“Too soon on the bullet.”
“What about Stockton? There’s been plenty of time on that one.”
“It’s Suffolk County. They gotta get their heads outta their butts first and figure out how to get the bullet to the crime lab without breaking the chain of evidence! Of course they haven’t gotten the caliber yet. Or at least they haven’t shared it with us! Last thing they want is NYPD trying to big-foot the only murder case they’ve had in five years.”
“What about cell records and computer? Anything?”
“I told you, it’s their baby. They’re not sharing. But the only text Love got that we haven’t been able to ID overnight is somebody named Jonathon. But from the body of the texts, it sounds like it’s some kid she befriended, maybe in high school. He wants another signed photo, talks to her about Celebrity Closets, talks about his classes, you know, stuff like that. Harmless. So, long story short, nothing in the texts so far.”
“Is he a stalker? High school kids are weird these days. Look at Columbine for Pete’s sake.”
“Nope. Nothing like that. They seem to have been texting for over a year. Must have given him her cell at one of those book signings or a red carpet or something.”
“Yeah, that’s weird a fan would have her private cell number.”
“A computer geek could find it online.”
“Yeah. I know. That makes him a stalker in my book. But bottom line, are they connected?”
“Nah. Doubt it. Just coincidence. Kid probably writes a lot of stars.”
The waitress came by. “How much do I owe you, ma’am?”
“For you, Kolker, it’s on the house. Come back when you can stay longer. We’ll have your favorite lemon meringue pie this afternoon.”
The notoriety he got from the Hailey Dean case had made him a little bit of a celebrity. Whenever she was asked about the cops arresting her for the murders of two of her patients, she never once blasted him. It had been his big case, and he’d been so damn pig-headed. He was convinced she’d gone over the edge and started rubbing out her clients . . . although even the police shrinks had a hard time giving him a motive. It had to have been her.
But it wasn’t. That perv defense lawyer had been behind it all. To hear Hailey tell it, NYPD was just doing their job. She could have torpedoed him, ruined him . . . if she wanted to. But she didn’t.
He’d never had the guts to go and formally apologize, just sent flowers and peace offerings. And she always sent those back, always in the same box he’d sent them in. He
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