Cassie had had dinner with her mother at their home on Tuesday, June 20, before going back to campus in preparation for summer school the following Monday. They never heard from her again. The fact that Wednesday through Saturday had passed without a word from Cassie had been the reason for Harland’s call to County Attorney Mullaney the day before the bodies were found.
“Especially Cassie,” Riley added. “She’s a real question mark.”
“The timing, you mean.” Mullaney was a big-picture guy, but he had kept close tabs on Cassie Bentley’s case. He’d recently told Riley that Harland Bentley called him twice a day.
The problem was, it appeared that Burgos had killed the girls on consecutive days, beginning with Ellie on Sunday, through Maureen, on Thursday. If the pattern followed suit, Cassie should have been murdered on Friday, June 23, the day after Maureen Hollis. But that hadn’t matched with the medical examiner’s estimate. The M.E. calculated Cassie’s death had most likely been Sunday, June 25-the day before all the girls were discovered.
Which meant Burgos had skipped two days before killing Cassie.
“Serial killers usually escalate their pace,” Riley said. “Not slow it down.”
Mullaney nodded with concern.
And then there was Burgos’s comment to Lightner about Cassie during the interrogation: “Cassie saved me.” What did that mean? How did Cassie “save” Terry Burgos? Was he referring to some salvation for completing his murder spree?
Mullaney was nodding with too much enthusiasm. He wagged a finger at Paul. “Cassie’s a problem,” he said. “She could muck this whole thing up.”
Riley rolled his neck. Exhaustion swept over him. He needed to get out of this chair and back into the office. “Oh, we’ll figure it out, boss. We’re not there yet but we will be.”
“No, I’m concerned. I’m very concerned about this, Paul.”
“Now that he’s pleading insanity,” Riley said, “he’s conceding he did it. We’ll be fine.”
Mullaney shook his head and eased his large frame out of his chair. “We still have to prove the elements on every one of these girls. And who knows what Larrabee will try to do with that time frame. This is a problem.”
Riley watched his boss. Mullaney wasn’t a worrier. Not for this kind of stuff. He hired people like Riley to do the worrying.
When Mullaney had summoned him, Riley had assumed it was a periodic update-almost daily since the murders. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
“Something on your mind?” Riley asked.
Clearly, something was. Mullaney yanked up his pants and sighed heavily, moving toward the window. “Paul,” he said, “I gave Harland my word that his daughter wouldn’t be dragged through the mud.”
The slow, compliant nod of Paul’s head became a shake, no. “The victims’ personal lives are going to be front and center, boss. Burgos had a specific reason for each of them. Each of them committed a sin, in his eyes-at least, that’s what he’s going to say. I don’t know how well he knew Cassie from that class that he sat in on, but whatever he’s going to say about her, he’s going to say. She was a whore, she was a lesbian-”
“Oh, yes.” Mullaney waved a hand. “I had to ask Harland, you know. I had to ask this grieving man if his daughter was a dyke. I don’t think he can handle that kind of thing in the public eye.”
Riley nodded like a good soldier, trying to read between the lines.
“The Bentleys aren’t just any family, you know. You say something about one of them, it’s in every newspaper in the country. Word gets out that Cassie may have been gay, or these other things we’re hearing-missing class, not eating, turning away her friends-these things, when you’re talking about someone famous, Paul-they get magnified. The media will turn Cassie into some kind of a crazy, suicidal freak:”
Riley didn’t speak.
“Hell, Paul, look at the coverage on Harland and Natalia’s separation last week.”
Riley had read it, too. Reports were that the Bentleys were divorcing. The skinny was, their daughter Cassie had been the only thing holding them together.
Mullaney turned to Paul and leaned on the windowsill. “Paul, another thing that concerns me here is putting all our eggs in one basket.”
Riley watched his boss without responding. The thought had crossed his mind as well. In a multiple-murder case, one school of thought was to hold back one of the victims. In the unlikely event that something went south and the defendant beat the charges, you could always charge him again with the other, remaining victim. Two bites at the apple.
“What are you saying to me, boss?” Riley asked.
Mullaney opened his hands. “This is going to be a circus, as it is. Subtract the Bentleys-”
“And it’s still a circus.”
The county attorney smiled politely, but his eyes went cold. After an appropriate pause, he said, delicately, “The family of one of the victims, recognizing that their daughter is going to be dragged through the mud, and recognizing that the other five murders will be prosecuted, has requested that her murder be prosecuted at a later time. And we wouldn’t agree to this, of course, unless we also felt that it was a sound legal strategy. In this particular case, it clearly is good strategy.”
Riley suppressed a smile, a sour one. Mullaney’s words could have been plucked directly from a press release. But the words brought ice to his chest.
The county attorney was telling Riley to drop Cassie’s murder from the charges.
“You said yourself, Paul, her case was the toughest.”
“I did.”
“Answer me this,” said Mullaney. “Does dropping the charges on Cassie prejudice your ability to convict this animal? Does it hinder you in the slightest?”
“No,” Riley conceded.
“And, in fact, doesn’t it give us a second chance at him if he somehow gets off on insanity with the other five girls?”
“Also true.”
“All right, then.” Mullaney nodded, like the deal was sealed. “Can I trust that the look on your face will be gone when you walk out of this office?”
That surprised Riley. He always prided himself on playing it straight. And he didn’t have a big problem with the maneuver. It made sense. He just didn’t like the fact that a wealthy political contributor was making decisions for the prosecution.
“I don’t like it,” Riley said.
“I didn’t ask you if you liked it.” Mullaney turned back to him. “I asked you if you were going to be a team player on this.”
Paul felt the room shrink. He was new to a political office, but he wasn’t stupid. The coach was telling him that he could change quarterbacks anytime. The play had already been called, to move the analogy. It was just a question of who would take the snap.
“I appointed you as my top deputy, over a number of deserving people already in this office,” Mullaney said, carefully, “because you’re the best trial lawyer in the city. And I want the best trial lawyer in the city prosecuting this animal.”
Riley didn’t answer. He was being snowed. Riley had been brought in precisely because he was an outsider-a federal prosecutor, above the tarnish of local politics. There had been a scandal that had exploded only a few months ago, a few county prosecutors found to be on the take, in concert with some dirty defense lawyers and cops-and Mullaney had brought in a consummate outsider to show his commitment to an overhaul. It was political cover, and it was insulting for Mullaney to pretend otherwise.
“I’m going to need an answer right now,” Mullaney said.
Riley cleared his throat, his eyes moving from the floor to the county attorney, who stood at the window.
“Grow up, Paul,” he said earnestly. “You said yourself, this is good trial strategy. If a victim declined to press charges, we’d drop a case, right? This is basically the same thing, except the victim can’t ask. Her family can. They don’t want her bloodied any more. Don’t let your imagination-or your pride-get in the way here.”