suspects are the rape vics and/or their families. The only good rapist is a dead rapist, etc., etc. But how many vengeance cases do you know that involve a hired gun? Your typical distraught father, irate husband, shattered victim, they show up at the courthouse, pull out the family pistol and take care of business up close and personal. They’re not concerned with getting caught or covering their tracks. They’re obsessed with revenge. They’re angry, mad, sad. It’s an emotional act. A hired assassin on the other hand . . . That’s pretty cold.”
“It’s been a while,” the lieutenant said. “Maybe the person’s had time to calm down.”
“Which would be my second problem,” Griffin said immediately. “It’s been what, a year since the attacks? Sounds to me like the vics have been doing pretty well. They formed some sort of survivors club, took their mission to the press, became activists. By all accounts, Eddie Como’s arrest was a victory for them. And now they’re in the homestretch. The actual trial’s about to start. Two weeks from now it would end, and most likely Como would be sentenced to life behind bars once and for all. The women, their Survivors Club, whatever, would have justice. Now, it would be one thing if there was doubt about the outcome of the trial, but from what I’ve heard they had Como dead to rights—DNA evidence.”
“They had DNA on O.J., too,” the captain spoke up dryly.
“But Como isn’t packing the legal dream team. We’re talking public defender. In other words, this kid was toast and we’re a mere two weeks from his public toasting. So why shoot him now? If you’re really angry, and you want to spare yourself or your loved one the agony of the criminal justice system, shouldn’t you have shot Eddie Como when he was collared one year ago?”
“Better late than never?”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Griffin was still frowning. “I don’t know. A rooftop sniper is cold. Calculated. It feels wrong.”
“How much do you know about the Como case?” the major asked.
“Not much,” Griffin answered honestly. He looked the major in the eye. “I took a break from watching TV.”
“And now?”
“I can watch a little telly. I doubt I’ll have the time in the foreseeable future, but I can watch.”
“Good,” the major said brusquely. He cleared his throat. “So, Providence wants in on the case.”
“No kidding.”
“Como’s their catch. They know him, the rape case, and the victims the best.”
“Yeah, well, if they know everyone so well, how did ‘their catch’ just wind up dead?”
Lieutenant Morelli was biting back another smile. She stopped looking at Griffin, and made a big show of examining her shoes.
“We’re going to need their cooperation,” the major was saying, “to get information on the explosion. Specifically, Providence would like the lead investigator of the College Hill Rapist case to join our case team looking into the shooting.”
“Who was the lead investigator on the rape case?” Griffin narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“Detective Joseph Fitzpatrick from Sex Crimes.”
“Ah, nuts.” Griffin only knew Detective “Fitz” Fitzpatrick by reputation, but by reputation, Fitz was a third-generation Providence cop who didn’t care much for Rhode Island’s Detective Bureau. According to him (as well as some other members of the PPD), the state should stick to doing what it did best—patrolling the highways—while the city cops did what they did best—investigating real crimes.
“Can’t we just copy them on our reports?” Griffin asked, already feeling cranky.
“No. Besides, you’re going to need to interview the victims next, and Detective Fitzpatrick has a relationship with them that could be quite useful. Plus, he’s been in on the Como case since the first attack. He can bring you up to speed.”
“Shouldn’t he be bringing the primary case officer up to speed?”
The major smiled at him.
“It’s been a while,” the lieutenant said. “Maybe the person’s had time to calm down.”
“Which would be my second problem,” Griffin said immediately. “It’s been what, a year since the attacks? Sounds to me like the vics have been doing pretty well. They formed some sort of survivors club, took their mission to the press, became activists. By all accounts, Eddie Como’s arrest was a victory for them. And now they’re in the homestretch. The actual trial’s about to start. Two weeks from now it would end, and most likely Como would be sentenced to life behind bars once and for all. The women, their Survivors Club, whatever, would have justice. Now, it would be one thing if there was doubt about the outcome of the trial, but from what I’ve heard they had Como dead to rights—DNA evidence.”
“They had DNA on O.J., too,” the captain spoke up dryly.
“But Como isn’t packing the legal dream team. We’re talking public defender. In other words, this kid was toast and we’re a mere two weeks from his public toasting. So why shoot him now? If you’re really angry, and you want to spare yourself or your loved one the agony of the criminal justice system, shouldn’t you have shot Eddie Como when he was collared one year ago?”
“Better late than never?”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Griffin was still frowning. “I don’t know. A rooftop sniper is cold. Calculated. It feels wrong.”
“How much do you know about the Como case?” the major asked.
“Not much,” Griffin answered honestly. He looked the major in the eye. “I took a break from watching TV.”
“And now?”
“I can watch a little telly. I doubt I’ll have the time in the foreseeable future, but I can watch.”
“Good,” the major said brusquely. He cleared his throat. “So, Providence wants in on the case.”
“No kidding.”
“Como’s their catch. They know him, the rape case, and the victims the best.”
“Yeah, well, if they know everyone so well, how did ‘their catch’ just wind up dead?”
Lieutenant Morelli was biting back another smile. She stopped looking at Griffin, and made a big show of examining her shoes.
“We’re going to need their cooperation,” the major was saying, “to get information on the explosion. Specifically, Providence would like the lead investigator of the College Hill Rapist case to join our case team looking into the shooting.”
“Who was the lead investigator on the rape case?” Griffin narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“Detective Joseph Fitzpatrick from Sex Crimes.”
“Ah, nuts.” Griffin only knew Detective “Fitz” Fitzpatrick by reputation, but by reputation, Fitz was a third-generation Providence cop who didn’t care much for Rhode Island’s Detective Bureau. According to him (as well as some other members of the PPD), the state should stick to doing what it did best—patrolling the highways—while the city cops did what they did best—investigating real crimes.
“Can’t we just copy them on our reports?” Griffin asked, already feeling cranky.
“No. Besides, you’re going to need to interview the victims next, and Detective Fitzpatrick has a relationship with them that could be quite useful. Plus, he’s been in on the Como case since the first attack. He can bring you up to speed.”
“Shouldn’t he be bringing the primary case officer up to speed?”
The major smiled at him.
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