Christine tried to remember. “You mean Gianni Versace?”
“Right. The FBI got involved because he also killed a caretaker of a park in New Jersey. It turns out that in the middle of the park, there was a one-acre cemetery deeded to the federal government. That gave the Feds their nexus. Cunanan eventually killed himself, so he wasn’t prosecuted.”
Christine listened, interested. When Griff talked law, his words took on an authoritative ring.
“Whether or not the Feds find a nexus in Jeffcoat’s case, their behavioral science people or a profiler will work with all three jurisdictions. The profiler would be assigned to the Philly FBI Office but he could travel anywhere covered by the Philadelphia Division. He’ll meet with both state police departments and the prosecutors from the Chester County D.A.’s office. He might also get input from a unit at Quantico.” Griff rolled his hooded eyes behind his glasses. “Big deal. Jeffcoat’s advocate would have to shield him from the FBI and other jurisdictions. I would sideline the Maryland and Virginia cases. Focus on the Robinbrecht case. Investigate it. Decide whether he pleads out or goes to trial.”
Christine sensed Griff would take the case, though he hadn’t said as much yet.
“This case alone will be difficult enough. They’ve already leaked incriminating information, like the kill bag.”
“He has an answer for that. He’s a medical equipment salesperson at Brigham Instruments.”
“In town? He told you that?” Griff lifted his furry eyebrows.
“Yes.”
Griff didn’t say anything for a moment.
Christine filled the silence. “I heard that not many lawyers in town would take his case. Why would you take it if they won’t?”
“I don’t care what anybody thinks. I only care about the law. I only care about the Constitution. I care about the rights of the individual against an oppressive and corrupt government. No lawyer worth his salt gives a damn what anybody thinks.” Griff stopped playing with the rubber band, eyeing her and Lauren. “Why are you doing this?”
“I got interested in this case for a freelance article or a book, and I wanted to meet Jeffcoat.” Christine stopped herself from calling him Zachary, then wondered when she had started thinking of him as Zachary, not Jeffcoat. “He said he’d give me the exclusive for my book if I found him a private lawyer.”
“So you’ve spoken to him about the facts of his case?”
“Yes.”
“What did he tell you?”
Christine answered truthfully, telling him about Zachary’s date with Gail Robinbrecht and finding her dead in her home, which was when Griff’s mood soured.
“He shouldn’t have said anything about his case. If he hires me, I’m going to advise him not to talk to you. Ever again.”
“You’re putting me in a difficult position,” Christine said without elaborating.
“So?” Griff snorted. “If I take Jeffcoat on, my interest is what’s good for him. Not you.”
“Why shouldn’t he talk to me?”
“Anything he says to you is discoverable. If you’re taking notes, your notes are discoverable. You can be called as a witness at trial by the Commonwealth. You have no privilege to protect that conversation.” Griff pointed to Lauren. “Did she go with you to see him?”
“Yes.”
“Then she can be called, too. That’s true whether I put Jeffcoat on the stand or not. He has nothing to gain by talking to anybody but me, and only my conversations with him are privileged. Or somebody who works for me. By the way, where did you say you were from?”
“Connecticut.”
“How did you hear about the case? You saw it on TV or something?”
“Yes,” Christine answered, because she was tired of lying.
“Don’t be surprised if the FBI comes knocking on your door. Or hers.”
“Why?” Christine couldn’t imagine what Marcus would do if the FBI showed up at home.
“They may want to talk to you as part of their investigation. It’s within their purview.”
“How would they know where I live?” Christine realized the answer as soon as she’d asked the question.
“You signed the visitors’ log at Graterford. You showed your driver’s license. They’re the FBI. Even they can find you if they have the address.” Griff chuckled at his own joke. “So, if you want to write a book after the trial, that’s up to you and Jeffcoat. But for right now, it’s no-go.” Griff hunched over his desk. “So now, decide. I’ll take the case, but if you hire me, you got no book. Do you care about Jeffcoat or do you care about your book? Who are you advocating for?”
Christine thought fast. “I have to see him one more time, tomorrow morning. To tell him about you.”
“One and done?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Griff eyed her behind his bifocals. “You’re putting his interest above your own?”
“I guess so.” Christine could feel Lauren’s eyes on her but didn’t look over.
“Hmph! Can I trust you not to talk to him about the case?” Griff wagged an index finger at her, his knuckle as gnarled as the knot of a tree.
“Yes.”
“You give me your word?”
“Absolutely.”
“That was easy,” Griff said, with a derisive snort. “You sure you’re a real reporter?”
Chapter Twenty-one
The two women walked down the street from Griff’s office, with Christine mulling over the meeting, preoccupied. The sun still burned in the sky, and the air still felt humid. The only shade came from tall trees that lined the sidewalks, which were of red brick. They passed an antique store with a window display of painted cast-iron doorstops and a barber shop with an old-school barber pole mounted on its brick façade. The town seemed busier, with more traffic clogging the narrow streets, couples strolling hand-in-hand to restaurants, and young people bopping around, toting backpacks, icy Dunkin’ Donuts drinks, and smartphones. Christine spotted people wearing white ribbons pinned to their clothes, and more than one shop window had a sign that read GAIL, YOU WILL BE MISSED!
“Mission accomplished,” Christine said, after a moment. “We got Zachary a lawyer.”
“Yes, and I like Griff.”
“You mean Gruff?”
Lauren laughed. They passed a hair salon with a sign that read STUDENT CUTS ONLY TWELVE DOLLARS, since West Chester was home to West Chester University. “He knows what he’s talking about, even if he reminds me of those Muppets in the balcony.”
“Staler and Waldorf?” Lauren laughed. “Exactly. He’s Waldorf.”
“Right.” Christine smiled, but it faded. “So we only have one meeting left with Zachary. I have to ask him tomorrow morning.”
“You can do it. And you need to since you’re too nice to convince anybody you’re a reporter. I bet Waldorf is Googling you right now.”
“He doesn’t have the Internet, remember.” They turned the corner, passing a local bank, and spotted her car down the street.
“You must want to get off your feet. Let’s go to the hotel and check in.”
“Right.” Christine got her car keys from her purse and chirped her car unlocked as they approached since it was on their side of the street. “Did you hear what Griff said, that Zachary hasn’t been linked to the other murders? It was the same thing Zachary said.”
“What’s your point? That he’s not a serial killer?”
“I guess,” Christine answered, but she didn’t know what her point was, truly. Her emotions were bound into a knot that she was too tired to unravel.
“If you kill even one person, that’s too many.”
“I agree.” Christine went around the back fender of her car and waited for traffic to pass until she went to her door. “But what if he’s innocent? What if it’s not him? He seems too emotional to be a sociopath, doesn’t he?”