The Eleventh Victim

by Nancy Grace

  “Thank you.”

  The nurse showed up a few minutes later to explain how to wrap her ribs with Ace bandages.

  Then she left, and Hailey began gathering her clothes, mentally preparing herself to deal with Detective Kolker, still skulking outside her hospital door.

  She couldn’t be too hard on him. He was just doing his job.

  Finally dressed, she reached down for her purse, and nearly passed out again. The pain across her ribs was sharp and intense.

  Hailey stood up and it hit her. It hit her like a ton of bricks. She remembered.

  A pair of legs…in blue jeans…crossing the floor of Dana’s office, walking toward her after she fell.

  The blood had been coming down her cheek, she could feel it…and those legs…a man’s legs…

  He pulled back and kicked, putting his whole body into it, as if she were the football in a college playoff.

  Again, she felt the first vicious kick to her side, then the next and the next, the tip of his boot working its way down her ribs to the soft side of her stomach.

  She remembered doubling over, lying there on the carpet, her body reacting defensively to one unrelenting kick after the next, instinctively trying to cover her stomach with her arms…her ribs caving in onto her lungs and blood drizzling into her mouth.

  But the face…she couldn’t remember the face. She hadn’t been able to move to look up.

  She never saw his face.

  Ribs wrapped tightly in layer upon layer of Ace bandaging, Hailey stepped gingerly around the foot of the hospital bed, sheets still rumpled. She leaned over carefully to pick up the doctor’s card.

  She tucked the card into her bra and made her way across the room, placing one foot after the next. Stepping through the swinging door from her hospital room out into the hallway, the first thing she encountered was Lieutenant Kolker, positioned like a vulture in the hallway.

  “Still here? I’m damn impressed, Kolker.”

  “I have some more questions for you.”

  “Look, I’m happy to talk, but it’s pretty hard to catch a breath with my ribs wrapped.”

  The smell of medicine in the hallway was heavy. She couldn’t wait for a breath of cold, fresh air.

  “If you’ll just tell me—”

  “Lieutenant. I’d like to get home to my apartment first. At least take a bath and change out of these bloody clothes.”

  It was all she could do to walk. But she did, all the way down the hall. He never offered to help and as she made her way toward the elevator, she could feel him watching her through narrowed eyes. She stepped on and fought the impulse to look back at him. The elevator closed, her back still turned to him.

  She had a feeling she hadn’t seen the last of him.

  45

  Atlanta, Georgia

  CELL PHONE IN ONE HAND, C.C. GLANCED AT HIS WATCH ON THE opposite wrist and waited.

  Tina had impressed upon him repeatedly in the past just how much a performer needed her beauty sleep.

  It was one o’clock in the afternoon, though—she should be up by now. He didn’t have lunch plans, maybe he should just hop in the Caddy and drive on over to her apartment.

  Then again, he just got here and it was a full twenty minutes drive out to Tara Boulevard. Plus, one of the other judges might see him leaving early again.

  But the thought of spending the afternoon with Tina was a temptation. God, she had a beautiful body and wasn’t the least bit inhibited. And hey, locking in the announcement as Democratic candidate for governor didn’t happen every day…. C.C. wanted to celebrate.

  Making up his mind, he wheeled his office chair around, picked up the phone, and dialed Tina’s number.

  At first the machine picked up and C.C. heard the familiar message. It was the breathy voices of two girls, Tina and Lola speaking in unison, promising the caller they’d return the call as Isaac Hayes sang in the background.

  In mid-sentence, the machine clicked off.

  “Hello?” Tina’s voice was all sweet and sleepy at first. He had clearly woken her up.

  Was one o’clock too early? Damn!

  “Hey, baby.” He spoke softly and tried a form of baby talk so as not to irritate her, but the baby talk backfired.

  “Damn it C., you freakin’ woke me up! How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  How she could generate that much lung power lying flat in bed under a pillow with her eyes still closed was a wonder.

  “I’m starting to think you don’t respect me as a performer. You continually sabotage my career this way. How am I supposed to create tonight on stage if I’m exhausted?”

  Tina was not a morning person.

  Or, technically, an afternoon person.

  “Sweet potato, you’ll be perfect no matter what. I just wanted to tell you I have a meeting tonight about the governor’s race and I’m in the mood to celebrate…. Any ideas?” He couldn’t suppress an anticipatory smile. Maybe she’d describe in detail just how they would celebrate the good news after she got off work.

  “I only have one freakin’ idea, C.C. Sleep! That’s my big idea. Now call me back after four, okay? Is that so freakin’ unreasonable? Just to let an artist sleep until a simple four o’clock? Is that so wrong? Am I asking too much out of you? To be conscious of my career demands just once?”

  He paused, not sure how to answer after she posed the rhetorical question loudly into his ear.

  Tina seized on C.C.’s silence and continued on.

  “I mean, C.C., do you think it’s all about you just because you’re a big-shot judge? I mean, I’m a performer, for God’s sake…doesn’t that mean anything? I mean, does it count for anything to you? Must I be tortured every morning this way? It’s not all about you, C.C.”

  God…how close to the receiver was her mouth?

  No way was he going to get a sex fantasy phone call at this point.

  Nothing to do but retreat and forge ahead after four.

  “Yes, kitten…after four. Sleep tight.”

  She clicked off without a good-bye.

  Artists were so temperamental.

  She’d be in a better mood tonight.

  Okay, it was decided. He’d hold out through lunch and after tonight’s meeting at Bones about the announcement, he’d head over to the Fuzzy to celebrate.

  In fact, he’d just eat lunch here. To make sure the others noticed he was here this late in the day, he’d leave his chamber door wide open while he ate and then after lunch, he’d head into the law library and check out some books. Maybe he’d actually sit in the law library for a few minutes, for authenticity. Like he was actually reading the books. Maybe write in a notepad while he was reading? Or would that be overkill…probably yes.

  He buzzed his secretary. “Amanda?”

  “Yes, Judge?”

  “Can you get my lunch and bring it here, to my desk?”

  “Sure can, Judge. What would you like?”

  “Fried chicken with mash potatoes and turnip greens on the side. A light sprinkling of Tabasco sauce on the turnips would be perfect.”

  He hoped to God she’d get the order right this time. He’d given her the exact same order fifty times before and forty-eight of those times, something was wrong…no Tabasco, no plastic forks, forgot the napkins…

  Incredible, C.C. thought. Some people just had no ambition.

  46

  New York City

  HANGING ON TO A POLE ON THE NUMBER 6 TRAIN, HAILEY NOTED that her ribs hardly hurt at all. The subway was less crowded now, it was nearly eight, and most of the after-work commuters flooded the lines at five sharp. All the seats were taken, but there was plenty of standing room.

  She was lost in thought and didn’t even notice all the bodies stuffed in around her. Just before she left work, she’d had a second conversation with a uniformed cop, this time over the phone. He had taken the incident report, also over the phone, when she was in the hospital. Seemed like a nice young guy, a rookie cop taking her inf
ormation to create a police report. He was still new enough to the force to sound hopeful they’d find the guy. The room had been dusted for prints but so far, no match in AFIS, the nationwide fingerprint data bank. They were probably all prints of her and her patients anyway.

  Over a week had passed now. Hailey was ready for her ribs, and her life, to get back to normal. She had been feeling cooped up, due to her lack of mobility, and although the doctors told her to take it easy, she had to get out tonight for some fresh air along the river.

  The subway lurched to a stop at Fifty-first and Lex. Hailey made her way out of the car and up the steep steps to Lexington, took a left, and headed home. The wind was strong out of the west, but her suite at work had been overly warm today, and it felt great to be out.

  Past the doorman, into her apartment for a quick change, hair into a ponytail under a hat, black plastic running watch clasped into place, gloves and an extra sweatshirt, and off she went.

  It was just past nine o’clock by the time she finally turned onto the path by the river and the moment the smell of the water hit her nose, she felt great. The ribs were aching, but if she kept it light, she’d make it just fine. Hailey usually ran without music. She liked to hear the city, her own steps hitting the cement, other runners chatting as they jogged by.

  She tried a light jog, but it caused an ache to spread down the side of her torso, so walking would have to do. Looking out over the water, she thought back on Dana’s reaction to the assault. “Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?” Dana kept asking her…as if Hailey could possibly mistake tripping and falling with being beaten unconscious by an intruder.

  At least Dana hadn’t been around tonight to drag her out for happy hour. She’d left early, saying she had a date with Greg. They were still going strong.

  Dana was already wondering if he’d propose in time for her to plan a fall wedding.

  “He’s the One, Hailey,” she had said just this morning in Hailey’s kitchenette. “I can’t wait until you meet him. I’ve been trying to coordinate everyone’s schedule, but he’s just so busy…and so are you.”

  The blocks passed and Hailey began pondering the long-ignored article she never got around to finishing. She had read something…oh what was it?…something about the inception of self-hatred in childhood. Deftly, she reached into her running bra, where she carried her cell phone religiously, and pulled it out. Dialing her office number, she spoke quickly. “Remember, word search, key words are self-hatred, inception, childhood for the article. Maybe it was in…”

  Before she could finish the thought, an awful wail came out of nowhere. It was the sirens cranking up back at Sixty-seventh Street, Engine 39. It was a few blocks away, but it sounded like it was right beside her, and then a man’s voice over a bullhorn…

  “Sir, you are blocking the fire station. Please move your vehicle immediately. You are blocking the fire station…”

  Engine 39 had a massive thousand-gallon pumper, and it needed all the room it could get to pull out. Hailey imagined if the guy didn’t move, the firemen would jump off the truck and move his car for him. She’d call back later and leave the rest of her message to herself.

  She had slowed down when the sirens started and, losing the momentum, she realized that even walking, her ribs were really starting to ache.

  She turned and started the long walk back and the cold set in. She had left without money or ATM card, so walking was the only option.

  It was getting late. Suddenly, she realized how stupid this was. It was after ten o’clock, and here she was out alone, armed only with her apartment key and her cell phone. She tried to pick up the pace.

  It seemed like such a great idea when she was crammed into a stuffy subway, but now the path had become empty. She was getting closer to home…but still, a dozen blocks to go. Deciding it was safer on city streets, she turned right and started up a flight of steep steps, leaving the East River path and going back up to the avenues. Walking south on First, instinct made her turn back and glance behind her.

  Only one guy was trailing about two blocks behind her, and Hailey was sure it was the same guy right behind her when she slowed down at the sirens a while back. She couldn’t see his features; his face was covered by a hat riding low…like every other New Yorker on a night like this.

  He could be anybody. Having counseled countless victims in the past, she knew a common aftereffect of a violent attack was fear of going out and being afraid of your own shadow.

  A block later, when she looked back again, the guy was still there. Even though it hurt, she tried to pick up the pace. The wind was biting across her face where the skin was unprotected. She could always hop into a diner, but she hadn’t brought money…that wouldn’t matter. And even if she did, then what? She had to come out sometime; she couldn’t stay in a diner all night. And if she called police on her cell, what would she say? “Help, I see a man walking on the street?”

  She looked back. She caught him suddenly turn, as if he were looking intently into the darkened overhang of an antiques-store window. She paused in her tracks, something about him when he abruptly turned away…a body movement, a mannerism, was so familiar to her…

  Whoever he was, she wasn’t about to go introduce herself. Now she was limping, favoring her injured side. Fifteen more minutes, and then she made it to her cross-street. Hailey turned back just in time to see him turn in toward D’Agostino’s automatic doors. Okay…he was right behind her for twelve blocks, but he wasn’t following her. So this must be his neighborhood, too. He was stopping at the local grocery.

  No one’s following me! she scolded herself…she had to get control…mind over matter. The attack in her office had been random.

  But then why no robbery? It was an obvious question…a break-in and assault, for what? No robbery, no sex assault…

  Okay, she had to stop. The guy was likely scared off by someone coming up the steps or one of the dentists slamming a door on the way out.

  She slid onto the elevator and headed up. Glancing down, she saw that she’d been out close to two hours. It was ten forty-five.

  A tingle went down her body.

  Ten forty-five. He couldn’t possibly have gone into D’Ag’s, they locked the doors at ten sharp. He didn’t want her to see his face.

  She moved as quickly as she could down the hall, twisting the deadbolt, letting herself in and quickly sliding it, along with the chain lock, into place behind her before leaning back against the door, her heart beating wildly.

  47

  New York City

  A STRONG, BRACING WIND MADE IT DIFFICULT FOR HAY DEN TO breathe as she walked home from her cubicle in the graphics department. The thin slice of her face exposed to the freezing air was numb.

  Why, tonight of all nights, with the lowest temperatures on record for this time of year, had her Metro card run dry? She could have sworn there were at least three rides left on it, but when she tried to run it through the turnstile, it was empty.

  A cab would be perfect, tucked away in the backseat with the heat on high. She also could have sworn she had a few dollars and a credit card in her wallet, but somehow, that was empty, too. That meant no bus and no subway for her, and certainly no cab.

  Tiny snowflakes danced around her, and she momentarily took in their beauty before going back to worrying about her job, a job that made no allowance for beauty in art. How creative could she be when she worked for a corporation with no heart?

  Reminding herself that “art” and “corporation” don’t mix, she decided she had to go freelance, but first she’d have to line up enough work to tide her over until she was established.

  The light changed. Hayden resumed walking Her backpack was heavy with art materials and her poetry notebooks.

  Maybe she should try to get some of them published. Was there even a chance?

  Hailey said there was.

  But having her work published seemed too wonderful for someone like her, like winning the lottery or fal
ling in love. Those kind of miracles were for other people.

  Would you listen to yourself? That’s just the kind of talk Hailey hates.

  Hayden kept walking.

  According to Hailey, Hayden could make something wonderful happen, if she just believed in it hard enough.

  But did Hailey really mean it when she said the poetry was beautiful? Or was she just trying to boost her confidence?

  Hayden hadn’t had the guts to show her work to anybody else, but during her last therapy session Hailey reminded Hayden again that she knew somebody in publishing who could look them over.

  But what if they were rejected? Hayden didn’t know if it would be worth risking that kind of blow…the work was a look straight into Hayden’s psyche.

  She’d love to put down her backpack, it was so heavy, but her poetry and sketches were her treasures. Her shoulders were actually hurting, the ache reaching down her back. Waiting at the next cross-street, she shifted the backpack from one shoulder to the other.

  Fifteen more blocks to go.

  Somehow, the snow was getting inside her boots. She couldn’t feel her toes anymore.

  Was there anything in her fridge or would she have to order in? Definitely Thai, if that were the case.

  Then she could finish one of the pieces she had started last week. This time she was changing themes and she knew Hailey was going to love it. Her new piece was all about hope, and—

  In one shattering moment, her backpack was wrenched so hard Hayden didn’t know what had happened. She reeled backward and sideways at the same time, then was jerked upward by her own backpack with incredible strength, and whirled sideways into an alley Hayden had walked past a hundred times and never looked down.

  Desperately trying to gain traction, her feet skidded in the slush. She struck out wildly into the cold air with balled fists, but never made contact with her attacker.

  Opening her mouth to scream, she felt something nylon, like pantyhose, crammed down her mouth, deep into her throat. She could hardly breathe.