“No comment.”

“That's what I thought. You'll be talking to the vics now? The three women?”

“No comment.”

“Maybe they'll hold a press conference. That would be nice. Over the last year we've certainly scored some serious ratings off those three and their little club.” Maureen bit her lower lip. “I wonder if there's a way I could get them to do an exclusive this time…”

“The rape vics like to hold press conferences?” Griffin looked at Waters in confusion.

Maureen, however, did the honors. “Jesus Christ, Griffin, where have you been? Right after the death of Trisha Hayes those women practically owned the five o'clock news. The sister, Jillian, got them united in some sort of group. The Survivors Club, they call it. Then they started sending out the press releases. Worked like a charm. Before they went public, people knew about the attacks, but weren't losing a lot of sleep over it. You know how people are-violent crimes happen to someone else. Especially rape. That definitely happens to other women-you know, poor women, minority women, women living in high-risk areas or leading high-risk lives. Except one day, the general public turned on the TV and there were the three victims-beautiful, white, well-educated and well-to-do. Two aren't even sweet young things but respectable, middle-aged women, leading respectable, middle-class lives.

“People went nuts,” Maureen said bluntly. “‘Look at these poor women, so tragically victimized in their own homes. Arrest someone, arrest anyone, but by God, get us justice before that becomes my daughter, my sister, my mother, my wife. What the hell have the police been doing anyway?' I understand after their first appearance, the AG's phone didn't stop ringing for a week.”

“They gave the crimes a face,” Griffin filled in.

“The Survivors Club gave the crimes three extremely attractive faces. Ever take Psych 101? People really do judge a book by its cover. Ugly people get what they deserve. Pretty people, on the other hand…”

Griffin nodded. He understood. “They hold a lot of press conferences?” he asked curiously.

“I don't know. Five or six.”

“Always all three women?”

“Always all three women. No individual interviews, they made that clear in the beginning.”

“What about their families?”

Maureen shrugged. “Sometimes you saw Carol Rosen's husband or Meg Pesaturo's mother in the background, but the press conferences were very clearly the women's show. After all, they were the ones viciously attacked while the Providence cops sat on their asses for six weeks.”

“They're bitter?”

“My words, not theirs.”

“Emotional?”

“Sometimes. Not often. More like… focused. For each venue, the Survivors Club had clear demands. For example, when they held a press conference in front of the PPD, they were asking for more foot patrols in College Hill. When they were in front of the mayor's office, they launched an appeal for community policing. In front of the AG's office, they wanted a more aggressive investigation, get a suspect and get him off the streets, now, now, now. We're talking a serial rapist, after all, and we all know serial rapists don't magically stop on their own.”

“In other words, they whipped the public into a frenzy,” Griffin mused. Oh yeah, he could see that. The Providence detectives had to love those afternoons. Nothing like a public flogging by the very people you were trying to help, to make you feel good about the job. Of course, if it had been the state's case, they would've nailed the guy day one. That went without saying.

“Eddie Como attacked four women in six weeks,” Maureen said firmly. “He killed one of them. How do you think it must feel to be Jillian Hayes right now, knowing that if the Providence detectives had been paying more attention after the second attack, maybe the third attack never would've happened? Maybe her sister would still be alive.”

“She say that?”

“She never had to. Just by standing up there, she reminded the public of what happened to her sister and in turn, what could happen to one of their sisters as long as the rapist remained at large. The public responded to that. Hell, the public ate it up. I'll bet you the women could hold a press conference this afternoon announcing that they'd shot Eddie Como, and no one would bat an eye.”

“They're that attractive?” Griffin asked dryly.

“No!” Maureen rolled her eyes. “They're that… compelling. Think about it. You got Jillian Hayes, the hardworking older sister who runs her own business while taking care of her invalid mother. She's polished, she's poised, plus she's always holding a bright, smiling photo of her younger sister, who was only nineteen when Eddie Como killed her. Then, you have Meg Pesaturo, looking like Bambi, with her big brown eyes and trembling shoulders. Trust me, there's not a man in this city who can look at her and not want to kill Eddie Como himself. And finally, we have Carol Rosen, a blue-eyed blonde, the socialite wife who on the one hand lives in a mansion, but on the other hand spends her time doing work for local charities. You couldn't cast a better group if you tried.”

“A business woman, a college coed and an upper-crust wife. In other words, a little something for everyone.”

“Exactly.”

“Each taking turns on the mike,” Griffin murmured.

“Oh no. Jillian Hayes serves as the spokesperson for the group. She does all the talking.”

“All the time?”

“All the time. I'm guessing they have an agreement. Plus, she has a marketing background, and the other two never appeared very comfortable on camera.”

“So they never made demands,” Griffin said slowly. “Jillian Hayes made demands.”

“She was speaking for all of them. For God's sake, Carol and Meg were standing right there.”

“But Jillian's the ringleader of this so-called Survivors Club?”

“Why, Griffin, you make it sound like she's plotting something.”

“Just thinking out loud.”

Maureen was quiet for a moment. Her blue eyes had taken on that feral look again. “We have some footage you might like to see.”

Griffin and Waters exchanged glances. “Sounds like everyone has footage,” Griffin said neutrally. “That's the nature of a press conference.”

“We have better footage.”

“More gazing up at rooftops, Maureen?”

“Something like that.”

“Come on.” Griffin was growing tired of this conversation. He made a waggling motion with his fingertips. “Spill it, Maureen. You've already aired whatever you got, that makes it public property. So let's just cut to the chase and your cooperation will be duly noted.”

“How duly noted?”

“Next time we meet, I promise not to growl at you as much as I'm going to growl at you now.”

“Funny, I would've thought that vacation would have improved your temper, Sergeant Griffin.”

“And I would've thought that covering three women who had been brutally attacked would've taught you some compassion. Guess we're both wrong.”

Maureen thinned her lips. Behind her, Jimmy turned away before she could glimpse his smile.

“We have this footage of Carol Rosen,” Maureen said abruptly.

“The socialite wife.”

“Yeah, it's the third or fourth press conference. I don't even remember for what. But Jillian's talking away at the mike, and Carol and Meg are doing what they do best, standing beside her, when Carol's husband appears. He walks up behind his wife, and I guess she never heard him coming, because the next moment he puts his hand on her shoulder and she about jumps out of her skin. Jimmy happened to have the camera on her when it happened, and the look on her face… You could just tell-even in broad daylight, even surrounded by a roomful of people, that woman was terrified. She didn't feel safe. And that's what it means to be a rape survivor. It's a powerful TV moment. And, for the record, we're the only ones who got it on tape.”