Part 15 (1/2)
”Most good things are.”
”I didn't see you at the press conference,” she said.
”Lomax had me cover it off the TV.”
”The attorney general holds a press conference to announce that a serial killer is on the loose, and the Dispatch doesn't bother to show up?”
”Appalling isn't it? But it's the sort of thing that's bound to happen after three-quarters of our reporters are given walking papers.”
”Hard to ask questions if you're not there, Mulligan.”
”Even harder to get answers.”
”Anything you want to ask now?”
”Yeah. Have you heard from Captain Parisi yet?”
”I have.”
”And?”
”He's mad as h.e.l.l. Says I've turned his case into a quote, f.u.c.kin' circus, unquote.”
”And you said?”
”That parents have a right to know someone out there is butchering kids.”
The operatic theme song for Channel 10 Action News, which seldom offered much of either, burst from the TV set over the bar. Fiona lit a cigarette, and we both turned to watch the teaser.
”Is a serial killer stalking Rhode Island's children, hacking them to pieces, and feeding them to pigs? We'll be back in a moment with our exclusive investigative report. You'll be shocked!”
The exclusive investigative report turned out to be neither exclusive nor investigative. It consisted of a sound bite from Fiona's press conference, an angry ”No comment” from Parisi, wild speculation by on-air reporter Logan Bedford, and a rea.s.surance from anchor-babe Amy Banderas that ”the monster among us is a threat to every child in Rhode Island.” Then she beamed at the camera and exclaimed, ”Get ready for an unseasonably warm weekend! Next up, Storm Surge with the weather.” Probably not the name his mama gave him.
This is what will pa.s.s for local news once the Dispatch's death rattle falls silent. I looked at my friend and shook my head sadly.
”Fiona,” I said, ”look what you did.”
”Think I was wrong?”
”I think you should have listened to Parisi.”
”If what I did saves just one kid...”
”It won't,” I said.
”It's going to make parents more watchful.”
”Not all of them, Fiona. Some of them are stupid. Some are on drugs. Some just don't give a s.h.i.+t. Besides, not even the best parents can stand guard over their kids every minute of the day. If the killer wants another kid, he'll s.n.a.t.c.h another kid. It's as easy as picking up a quart of milk at 7-Eleven.”
Fiona didn't have anything to say to that. Her vanquished Bud joined its fallen comrades, and she ordered another.
”Got the autopsy report yet?” I asked.
”It's not final. Tedesco's waiting on the DNA.”
”What's he saying about cause of death?”
”That unless we turn up more body parts, we'll never know. Of course, he's pretty much ruled out natural causes.”
”Anything else?” I asked.
”Off the record?”
”Okay.”
”I'm afraid there is.”
”What?”
She just stared at me and shook her head.
”Rape?”
”Yeah,” she said. ”Violently and repeatedly.”
We sat quietly for a while, she guzzling her Bud, I sipping my club soda and pretending not to notice that Attila the Nun had begun to cry.
On the TV, the sports guy was showing NBA highlights. Fiona locked her eyes on the screen as Paul Pierce drained a last-second three-pointer to ice a game for the Celtics. Then she clunked her Bud down on the tabletop, looked at me with wet eyes, and said: ”I wonder what he's doing with their heads.”
21.
In the days following Fiona's press conference, parents all over Rhode Island showed up late for work and skipped out early so they could ferry their children back and forth to school. Elementary and middle schools held a.s.semblies so Officer Friendly could repeat the customary warning to avoid strangers. Grandstanding local officials pledged stepped-up police patrols of schoolyards and playgrounds. The cops complied, knowing full well that it wouldn't do any good. The killer would hunt where the police weren't.
Four days after Fiona's press conference, on a clear and cold Tuesday morning, Angela Anselmo rapped on my apartment door and asked if I could drop Marta off at school.
”I hate to bother you with this,” she said, ”but the nursing supervisor yelled at me for being late yesterday, and I'm too afraid to let Marta walk to school alone.”
”It's no bother,” I said. ”I'm happy to do it.”
”Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
”Need me to pick her up in the afternoon?”