There was a sudden burst from the reporters at the press conference. This was how it always happened. Most people are followers, staying in check until one of them breaks the fence. Then they all flow in...
“Where’s your evidence?”
“Why would the FBI do this?”
“Are you saying the FBI is intentionally imprisoning innocent people? Why?”
Sadie Fisher held up her hand and waited until everyone was quiet. When order was somewhat restored, she continued. “It is my belief that most of these prosecutors originally tried these cases in good faith. They believed that they had the right perpetrators, and that the convictions would be righteous. Not here in Clark County, however. Here, they were so blinded by the idea of convicting a man who they believed had significant ties to organized crime, that they ran afoul of all rules and ethics. They used Bo Storm to gild the lily, to make sure a strong case was a slam dunk.”
Sadie Fisher raised her hand again, preempting the next explosion of questions.
“But now, as I stand here today, the FBI knows that those incarcerated for these murders are innocent. They are doing nothing about it. They are dragging their heels—”
“Why?” a reporter shouted. “Tell us why.”
There were murmurs of agreement from the press corps. Sadie looked out at the sea of reporters. She had strung them along long enough.
“They are dragging their heels,” she repeated, “for two reasons. One” — she raised her index finger — “overturning and admitting error in those murder convictions will cause tremendous embarrassment and damage careers. Yes, I find this disgusting and so do you, but we all know it’s often the reason for prosecutorial cover-up, but—”
“Any evidence?”
“But two,” she continued, making a peace sign with her fingers now, “the bigger reason for their silence is...”
Sadie paused now, making sure that the world was listening.
“Damn,” Terese said to Myron, “she’s good.”
Myron nodded.
When Sadie was ready, she dropped the bomb: “... is because there is a serial killer on the loose.”
Myron expected yet another outburst from the press; instead, there was dead silence.
“The FBI now knows that a serial killer is responsible for the murders of Jordan Kravat, Walter Stone, Tracy Keating, Cecelia Callister, and Clay Staples — and several more that are still unknown — and that the people in prison or being held for these murders — Joseph Turant, Dan Barry, Robert Lestrano, and Greg Downing — were framed.”
“Wow,” Terese said under her breath. “She’s taking no prisoners.”
Myron’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Win: Watching?
Myron: Yes
Win: PT is not going to be pleased.
Myron gave the message a thumbs-up.
A bubble with dancing dots played for a few seconds.
Win: When you get back, we need to talk.
Myron read the message again. He didn’t like it. Once again, it wasn’t like Win to be coy or cagey — or if you say that enough, do you just have to accept that maybe he is? Before Myron could think of a response, Terese nudged him back to Sadie and the press conference.
“In fact,” Sadie Fisher continued, “we believe that real estate mogul Ronald Prine, who was murdered only two days ago, was also a victim of the Setup Serial Killer—”
“Setup Serial Killer?” Terese repeated.
“Too wordy a nickname,” Myron agreed.
“—and,” Sadie continued, “that the young woman arrested just last night, Jacqueline Newton, is the killer’s latest frame job.”
“I guess she just did our work for us,” Myron said.
Terese nodded, her eyes glued to the screen.
“In closing,” Sadie said, “I would like to address the FBI and its current director, Harry Borque, directly.”
Sadie Fisher turned and faced the camera straight on, adjusted her glasses, and drove hard to the ending salvo.
“If you want to deny what I am saying, please go ahead. Your excuses won’t hold water. Not anymore. The public has the right to know that there is an odious serial killer working across this country who not only kills people but then frames others for his crimes. My guess is, you will claim that you were holding back on the serial killer revelation to prevent public panic or to somehow help facilitate their capture. That’s nonsense.”
Her anger grew now, feeling on the edge.
“I might have been somewhat sympathetic to such a phony PR move if it wasn’t for the fact that you are knowingly — knowingly — keeping innocent people behind bars to mitigate the embarrassment of prosecutorial mistakes. Sorry, that’s criminal conduct and for that, I will not stay silent. I will not let innocent people spend even one more moment behind bars. Free them. Free them now. And shame. Shame on all of you who allowed this. You are the serial killer’s co-conspirators, and I will not rest until the truth comes out and all who are truly guilty are brought to justice.”
On that note, Sadie stormed off stage.
“Wow.” Terese leaned back. “I think I need a cigarette.”
The reporters on hand started shouting questions in her wake. Bo didn’t move at first, looking like the classic “deer in the headlights” before bolting away, to keep within the metaphor, like a deer who finally realizes the headlights signal that a car is indeed heading toward them.
“Will there be much blowback?” Terese asked.
“On me?”
“Yes.”
Myron shrugged. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter.”
“She’s telling the truth, right?”
“As far as we know it.”
“What was Sadie’s goal here?” Terese asked.
“To get her client released.”
“Greg Downing?”
“Yes.”
“Still,” Terese said, “she’s not in the wrong.”
“No,” Myron agreed, “she’s not.”
“Greg will be kicked free,” Terese said.
“Probably.”
“And Jackie Newton too.”
“I hope so, yes.”
“Then it’s over, isn’t it?”
Myron said nothing.
“You got involved in this to help Greg.”
“Yes.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“True.”
“So I repeat: It’s over, isn’t it?”
Myron thought about that. “Would it sound arch if I say, ‘There’s still a serial killer out there’?”
“It would,” Terese said. “The entire FBI is on this now. The public will be on the lookout. It isn’t on you to capture this guy.”
“True.”
“You don’t have the resources they do.”
“True.”
“And it would be dangerous.”
“True again.”
Terese looked at him. “It’s not over for you, is it?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Myron kissed Terese. “I have to head back,” he said.
“And here I got a late checkout at the hotel.”
“Or I can stay a little longer.”
“No, you can’t.”
“No, I can’t.”
“You have to go back to New York and, I don’t know, catch a serial killer or something.”
“Even though you don’t like it.”
Terese put her arms around his neck. “You tilt at windmills, my love. I’ve been the beneficiary of that. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”
“The other being my prowess in the sack?”
“Or your susceptibility to self-delusion.”