by Nancy Grace
She couldn’t name the time or place, but the TV had just finished the American anthem…. She knew what it was now: It was WMAZ, the old Channel Thirteen of her youth.
It was fuzzy and static. At the end of the U.S. anthem every night, the broadcast signed off with Ray Charles singing, rocking side-to-side at his piano to the beat in his head. He sang it soft and sweet…Georgia.
Her heart felt like it would burst with longing…but for what?
The lyrics came rushing through her head…loving arms reaching out…moonlight pouring through tall pine trees. The rain outside began coming down in torrents…but now, in the half-dream, it was pouring down onto the hard red dirt of home.
“…Georgia on my mind…”
The pine smell filling her up, before she had ever seen an autopsy photo or smelled a bloody crime scene or looked through a microscope to compare markings on bullets dug out of a body. Before she ever stood sweating through her bra in front of a jury or read an indictment out loud in front of a waiting panel to commence a trial…before she saw it all, felt it all, became old with the knowledge.
Back when it was all bright and shiny, too bright to even touch or look at.
She would fly out of LaGuardia in the morning. First thing, before the shops opened or the Post hit her door.
She’d leave early, early when the street was hers alone and fifty cabs would race straight toward her arm held up in the dark of morning. She’d book the flight from the back of the cab.
LGA to ATL.
One-way, for now.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First, my deepest thanks to my friend and editor, Gretchen Young, who has had great faith in me and The Eleventh Victim. You have made so many wonderful things possible for me. Thank you.
To Wendy Corsi Staub, you are a wonder! Thank you!!
To Jim Walton and Ken Jautz, thank you for the support, the opportunities, the trials we’ve covered, and of course, the friendship. I owe you both so much, it can’t fit onto a page.
To our wonderful staff on Nancy Grace, and especially Liz, thank you. You are the backbone.
Without Dean Sicoli, “the muse,” there would be no HLN Nancy Grace. First e-mail in the morning, last e-mail at night…my friend and my EP, thank you.
And last and dearest, thank you, David. What would it be without you? Nothing. You and the twins are the joys of my life. And to my Father God and Christ, thank you for these and all your many blessings.
ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
Objection!
Copyright
THE ELEVENTH VICTIM. Copyright © 2009 Toto Holdings, LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Hyperion e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition June 2009 ISBN 978-1-4013-9453-0
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Contents
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Other Books by Nancy Grace
Copyright