Part 4 (1/2)
”The night she died, we were on my terrace. She was drinking heavily and begged me to leave my husband. Same-s.e.x marriage had been legalized in New York. Everyone was talking about it, and she wanted me to tell the world that we were in love. I told her I couldn't even tell my father, how could I tell the world? She said, 'If you won't, I will.' And then she walked to the edge of the terrace, stood up on a planter, and started screaming.
”We were fourteen stories over Park Avenue. It was dark. Probably n.o.body would hear her. Even if they did, I thought she'd just yell something like 'Evelyn Parker-Steele is gay' and that would be it, and we'd laugh about it in the morning. But that's not what she did.
”She screamed, 'Leonard Parker cordially invites you to the wedding of his gay daughter, Evelyn, to Cynthia Pritchard, a beautiful and talented young lesbian. Mr. Parker deeply regrets his narrow-minded, h.o.m.ophobic behavior that f.u.c.ked up his daughter's life and-'”
There were several seconds of silence as Evelyn just stared into the camera. ”And that's when I pushed her. It all happened in an instant. I didn't want to kill her. I just wanted to stop her.
”I panicked. I picked up the phone to dial 911, but I knew if I called just a few seconds after she hit the ground, they'd know I was right there with her. I had to be not with her if they were ever going to believe that she fell. I couldn't leave the apartment. People knew I was home. And then I had an idea. I went to the bar and grabbed a bottle of vodka. I took a big gulp, then another, and another. I was gagging with every swallow, but I just kept drinking.
”The cops found me pa.s.sed out on the floor in a pool of vomit, drunk, incoherent. It wasn't an act. My blood alcohol level was three times the legal limit. They took me to the hospital. When I finally could focus, they told me Cynthia was dead, and I cried. I was so sick they couldn't interview me till the next day. By that time, my father had a wall of lawyers around me. I told the police that I had pa.s.sed out early in the night, and the last thing I remember was Cynthia sitting on the terrace, drinking. The DA bought my story. It didn't hurt that my father plays golf with him and supports his reelection campaigns.
”I want to apologize to Cynthia's parents and her two brothers. I killed her because I didn't want the world to know how I felt about her. But now I do. She was the free-spirited young woman I always wished I could be, and I loved her more than I ever loved anyone in my life. I didn't mean to kill her, but I did. I'm sorry. I know what's going to happen to me next. No trial, no judge, no jury. By the time you see this-”
The counter on the video read 4:17, and the screen went dark.
n.o.body said a word. Even the mayor was silent. The Xanax had kicked in.
Chapter 8.
Nice turnout, Gideon thought as a steady stream of voyeurs blew off their Monday morning plans and made a beeline for the carousel.
That's the thing about New Yorkers. They have five hundred homicides a year to choose from. Shoot an old lady getting out of a taxi on Madison Avenue, and people will step over the body to grab the cab. But put a dead rich b.i.t.c.h in a Hazmat suit on a painted horse in the middle of Central Park, and they'll call in late to work and crane their necks to get a better view.
He smiled. Give the people what they want, and they will flock to your door. You're welcome, people.
A hand tapped him on the shoulder. ”So are you pro-Hazmat or anti-Hazmat?” asked a female voice behind him.
Gideon froze. The park was lousy with reporters shoving cameras and microphones in front of the gawkers, hoping to catch sound bites for the next newsbreak. Returning to the scene was crazy enough, but doing an on-camera interview would be insane.
He turned around slowly. Definitely not a reporter. Reporters don't usually wear black sports bras on the job.
”I'm sorry,” Gideon said. ”Were you talking to me?”
”Only if you feel like talking,” she said. ”I'm Andie.”
She was at least five years older than him, brown eyes, brown hair scrunched up and tucked through the back of an FDNY baseball cap. She was just shy of being pretty, but she knew her best a.s.set, which was why she had nothing on over the sports bra this late in October.
He pointed at her hat. ”You a firefighter, Andie?”
”It belonged to my ex,” she said, rolling her eyes to let him know she was glad the creep was out of her life. ”Me? I'm much better at starting fires than putting them out.”
Gideon was six two, with thick dark hair, full lips, and a hint of a bad-boy smile. He was used to getting hit on. And Andie was a pro. She positioned herself in front of him so he couldn't talk to her without looking down at her world-cla.s.s rack.
d.a.m.n it, honey, your timing sucks. As much as I would love to take your hot, sweaty body home and drill you senseless, this morning the only aphrodisiac I need is this crowd.
”Can you repeat the question?” Gideon asked.
”I asked how you felt about the Hazmat Killer. From the way you were smiling, I figured you for a big fan.”
I was smiling? Dumb. Thanks for the heads-up, Andie.
”You think this guy has fans?” Gideon said.
”Thousands, and I'm at the top of the list. You might think a nice Jewish girl from Queens would be a bleeding heart liberal, but you'd be wrong.”
”Doesn't it bother you that he's a vigilante?” Gideon said.
”No. What this city needs is a couple of hundred more just like him.”
”Wow,” Gideon said. ”What happened to the nice Jewish girl?”
”Date raped in college. Rich kid. Daddy bought off the cops, the judge, and the school. That's when I changed my politics. Y'know, sometimes a staunch conservative is just another schmuck liberal who's been mugged.”
She held up her cell phone. ”Did you see the video-the one Hazmat posted?”
”Not yet,” Gideon said.
”Get on it, man. It's got like fifty thousand hits already.”
Eighty-nine thousand last time I looked.
”The victim's name is Eleanor something,” Andie said. ”She killed her girlfriend in cold blood, but she got away with it because she's rich and her family knew how to play the system. But Hazmat gave her exactly what she deserved. I only wish I could shake his hand.”
Gideon was breathing hard. Shake his hand? h.e.l.l-this girl wouldn't be satisfied with a handshake. Any other time, Andie. Any other place...
”It's nice talking to you,” Gideon said, ”but I have to run.”
Andie wet her lips and lowered them into a pout. ”Too bad you're not running my way,” she said. ”What's your name, anyway?”
”Brian,” Gideon said.
She held out her hand. ”Nice to meet you, Brian.”
He took her hand and shook it.
There you go, Andie. You got your wish.
Chapter 9.