“We're not at liberty to discuss the case-” Fitz began.

“I want every detail!”

The other patrons turned to stare again. Griffin didn't blame them. Carol was definitely wound a wee bit tight. Not enough blood in the world to satiate her lust. And probably not enough justice to right her wrong.

“It was quick,” Griffin said.

“Fuck!” Carol cried.

Okay, maybe Maureen had a point about her. Griffin amused himself by waiting to see who would do what next. Jillian Hayes simply raised her mug and took a sip of chai, her expression carefully blank. Meg Pesaturo still had her head cocked, listening to something only she could hear. Only Carol appeared agitated. She remained breathing too hard, her hands gripping the edge of the table while she waited for something, anything, to make her feel better about things. Maybe Griffin should've lied and told her that Eddie Como had been shot to pieces one limb at a time. She would probably sleep better at night.

And maybe pay the shooter a bonus? Oh wait, he'd already received one.

Jillian or Meg must have kicked Carol under the table, because she finally sat back and seemed to work on regaining some measure of control.

Fitz cleared his throat. “We think it would be best if you all came with us,” he told them.

“Why should we go with you?” Jillian set down her mug. She gestured with her hand to include her fellow Survivors Club members. “We've been here all morning. If Eddie Como's dead, we obviously didn't do it.”

“There are a few things we'd like to discuss with you-” Fitz tried again.

“I don't understand,” Carol interrupted. “He's dead. It's over. We don't need to talk to you anymore. The case, the trial, everything, it's done.”

“The detective is fishing,” Jillian told her calmly. “While we didn't shoot Eddie Como, he's thinking we might have arranged for whoever did.”

“How did you know he was shot?” Fitz asked sharply. “I didn't say he was shot.”

“Detective, haven't you seen the morning news?” Jillian paraphrased softly: “‘Shortly after eight-thirty this morning, shots broke out at the Providence County Courthouse. According to initial reports, it is believed that the alleged College Hill Rapist, Eddie Como, was gunned down as he was being unloaded from the prison van. Sources close to the investigation believe an unidentified man fired the fatal shot from the rooftop of the courthouse. Also, an explosion in a nearby parking lot has left one dead.' Isn't that about right? I think that's about right.”

She smiled, cool and undaunted, while Fitz muttered something harsh under his breath. Griffin could only shrug. Of course the press had gone ahead with the story even without confirmation of Eddie Como's identity. The College Hill Rapist was big news. Real big news. And why act responsibly when you could further fuck up a murder investigation?

Maureen, Maureen, Maureen, he thought again, and suddenly had a bad feeling about that tape.

“All right,” Fitz said grudgingly. “Eddie Como was shot. He's dead. But I don't think this is the place to have a discussion about that. I think it would be best if all of you accompanied us down to the station.”

“No,” Jillian said firmly. “But thanks for asking.”

“Now, ladies-”

“We don't have to go with them,” Jillian cut in. She turned her gaze to Meg and Carol, and once more Griffin was impressed by her composure. “We don't have to answer any questions. Without probable cause, Detective Fitzpatrick and Sergeant Griffin can't make us do or say anything. I would keep this in mind, because Detective Fitzpatrick didn't come here to pay us a friendly visit. This is a big day for us, ladies. Eddie Como was shot, and we've just graduated from rape victims to murder suspects.”

“She's right, you know,” Griffin spoke up.

“What?” Jillian Hayes zoomed in on him with narrow eyes. Fitz was scowling at him.

“Well, aren't you going to tell them the rest of it?” he asked innocently.

“The rest of it?”

“Absolutely. The rest of it. These women are your friends, right? Surely you want them to understand everything. For example, if you ladies don't want to speak with us, then we'll just have to move on down the list. Contact your friends, your family. Husbands, fathers, uncles, mothers, sisters, aunts. Coworkers. Subject them all to police scrutiny. Oh, and we'll subpoena your financial records, of course.” All three women sat up straighter. Griffin shrugged. “You have motive and opportunity, that gives us probable cause. We'll pull your bank records, the bank records of every member of your family. Maybe even your uncle's business.” He gazed serenely at Meg. “Or maybe a husband's law practice.” He gazed at Carol. “Any recent payments that can't be accounted for…” He gave another helpless shrug. “A murder is a murder, ladies. Cooperate now, and maybe we can work out a deal where you don't serve life.”

Meg and Carol didn't look as certain anymore. Jillian, on the other hand… Jillian was looking at him as if she'd just noticed an unpleasantly buzzing fly in the room, and was now about to squash the bug with her bare hand.

“Diminished capacity,” she challenged.

“Not for a hired gun. Requires premeditation. If you were going for a plea, you should've showed up in the courthouse and shot Como yourself.”

“Not necessarily. Diminished capacity simply means outside influences made you commit an act you otherwise wouldn't have done-that you were not operating in your proper mind, so to speak. You could argue the trauma of being raped, the fear of being attacked again, drove you to employ a hired gun.”

“Sounds like you've been thinking this over.”

“You never know what you'll need to know until you need to know it.”

“Do you have a legal background, Mrs. Hayes?”

“Ms. Hayes. I have a marketing background. But I know how to read.”

“Defense statutes?”

“You're not asking the right question yet, Sergeant.”

“And what question is that?”

Jillian Hayes leaned forward. “Did we have reason to be afraid? Did we have probable cause to fear for our lives?”

“I don't know. Did you?”

“He called us, Sergeant. Did Detective Fitzpatrick tell you about that? For the last year, Eddie Como has been phoning and mailing us constantly. Do you know what it's like to get a shiver down your spine every time the phone rings?”

“I've suffered through my fair share of telemarketers,” Griffin said. But he was looking at Fitz questioningly.

“He shouldn't have been able to call them,” Fitz supplied. “In theory, inmates have to enter a pin number into the pay phones to get a dial tone, and each pin number has only so many numbers approved for calling. Trust me, none of the women were ever approved, but then again, this is prison. For every rule the officials impose, the inmates find a way around the rule. Probably with outside help.”

“You can ask to censor outgoing mail,” Griffin said with a frown. “Impose a no-contact order.”

“If an inmate is threatening. Eddie never threatened them, so we couldn't deny access. Basically, they changed their phone numbers, he went to mail. They put a hold on prison mail, he got someone to mail his letters from a different location. Eddie was persistent, I'll give him that.”

“And what was he so persistently trying to say?”

“That he was innocent,” Jillian said dryly. “That we had made a huge mistake. He never meant to hurt anyone. This was all some big misunderstanding. And then, toward the end, of course, he was demanding to know why we were ruining his life, why we were taking him away from his child. He murdered my sister, Sergeant, and then he's asking me how come I'm denying him access to a child?”

“He wouldn't leave us alone,” Carol interjected vehemently. “For God's sake, he even contacted my husband at work! He asked him for a list of recommended attorneys! My rapist, consulting my husband for a good legal defense! And when that didn't yield results, he started mailing us countless letters with all the free stamps available to inmates. Think about that. My rapist, harassing me, with stamps I provide as a taxpayer. The man was a fucking monster!”