The Sleeping Beauty Killer Read online

  “A television producer came to see me, asking about Casey,” Jason explained. “It’s for a show called Under Suspicion. They want to interview me. What do you think?”

  “Sign the papers. Do the show. You might sell more books.”

  “She won’t make me look good.”

  “What else is new? Just sign the papers.”

  Jason felt nauseous as he hung up the phone. He had told the truth to Laurie Moran. He really did love Casey. But then the woman he loved had been arrested for murder, and there was nothing he could do to help her. He could only help himself, and so he had. And now he hated himself for it. He opened the top drawer of his desk, popped one of the dwindling number of painkillers he had stored there, and tried not to think about Casey.

  31

  Tiro A Segno looked nothing like any gun club Laurie had ever seen. Tucked within a series of three nondescript brownstones on MacDougal Street in Greenwich Village, the club seemed more like a private home, noteworthy only for the Italian flag flying proudly at the entrance. Even when she stepped inside, Laurie was greeted by leather furniture, mahogany wood, and a pool table—not a gun in sight. The smells were of garlic and oregano, not gunpowder.

  “Not what you pictured, is it?” her host asked. “I never get tired of seeing the look of surprise on the face of a new guest.”

  “Thank you so much for letting me pop in like this, Mr. Caruso.” She’d called the club after she left Jason Gardner’s office, just a few blocks away. “As I mentioned, my production team learned that your club was one of Hunter Raleigh’s favorite places to target practice.”

  “Please, call me Antonio. And I was happy to help. You tell me, ‘TV show’—my response is ‘aaah, we don’t like cameras so much.’ But then you say you want to know about Hunter Raleigh. He was a good man, a real gentleman. Then to top it off, you are the daughter of Leo Farley. Of course, you are welcome here. Your father is an honorary member for life.”

  With the exception of perhaps the perpetrators he arrested throughout his career, everyone who’d met her father considered him a friend.

  She’d come here with questions about Hunter and Casey, but now that she was here, she understood why Grace had suggested it as an ideal location for footage. “I can see why your club is so beloved, Antonio.”

  “It’s transformed over the years, to be sure. We didn’t used to be quite so elegant. Some of the old-timers still complain about losing the bocce court. These days, it’s more about the food and wine and socializing, but of course we still have the range downstairs. We’re strictly target shooting, as you may know. And no handguns, just rifles.”

  “Did Hunter ever bring his fiancée, Casey Carter, here?” Laurie asked.

  A momentary darkness fell over Antonio’s face. “Yes, of course. What a terrible ending. Of course, he brought many women here before he was engaged,” he added.

  “But being with Casey changed his bachelor ways?”

  “So it seemed. The second time I saw them together, I said to Hunter, You should have the wedding here, and he just smiled. Do you know the saying, Chi ama me, ama il mio cane? It translates to ‘Whoever loves me, loves my dog.’ But what it really means is ‘Whoever loves me, loves me as I am, warts and all.’ That’s how Hunter felt about Casey.”

  “Forgive me if I’m reading too much into this, Antonio, but it sounds like you’re saying Casey had warts.”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, it was a terrible ending.”

  Laurie could already tell that it was going to be impossible to get an unbiased depiction of Casey as a young woman out of anyone. Everyone’s recollections had been permanently transformed by the fact that she’d been convicted of killing Hunter.

  “I heard that Casey was quite skilled at target shooting in her own right,” Laurie said.

  “You heard correctly. Hunter joked that the only reason she tried was because she was the most competitive person he knew. She was an athlete at some point, as I recall.”

  “Tennis,” Laurie clarified. “In college.”

  “That’s right. Hunter said she cleaned the court with him. And not to be bested, she certainly was catching up to him at his own sport. She was a very good shot.”

  “The police found bullet holes in the walls of Hunter’s living room and bedroom, where he was actually killed. Does it strike you as odd that Casey would have missed twice?”

  “That’s hard to say. We only use still targets here. I never saw her shoot skeet or at another moving target. It’s much harder than people realize. That’s why in self-defense classes, they say you’re better off running from a gunman, especially if you run in an unpredictable pattern. Plus, adrenaline and, as I understood it, intoxication, may have affected her skills. So the fact that she missed is not a smoking gun one way or the other,” he added with a smile.

  Laurie thanked Antonio again for his time and promised she’d tell Leo he said hello. As far as her show was concerned, some photographs of this Greenwich Village treasure might be worth a few seconds of local color, but she was no closer to knowing who killed Hunter Raleigh.

  32

  While she was waiting for Gabrielle, Mindy Sampson sat at a table in the back corner of the Rose Bar in the Gramercy Park Hotel. There was a time not many years ago when every person here, from the hostess at the front to the A-list actress at the booth to her right, would have recognized her face. For more than two decades, her photograph had graced the top of “The Chatter,” one of the most read gossip columns in New York City. She’d take a new head shot like clockwork each year, but always wore pale makeup and dark red lipstick and kept her hair naturally jet-black. The look was iconic. Before the Kardashians and the Kanyes and the Gwyneths, Mindy Sampson had understood the value of branding oneself.

  And Mindy’s brand was associated with taste making. Who wore it better? Which celebrity couples were to be cheered for, and which scorned? Was the billionaire playboy guilty, or the victim of a reckless accusation? Mindy always had the answers.

  Those were the days when papers still left ink on your fingers.

  Then came the day when her managing editor told her to “hold off” on her annual tradition of getting a new photograph for her ­column. They might be making “changes,” he warned.

  Mindy was famous by then for gossip, but she still had a journalist’s instincts. She’d seen what was happening in the newsroom. Advertising dollars were down. The paper got thinner each month. So did the workforce. The long-timers, seen in the past as the backbone of the paper, were too expensive to keep on the payroll. College interns were willing to work for free, and recent graduates didn’t cost much more.

  A month later, she was told “the news.” They were turning her column, the one she had built and nurtured and branded, to “staff.” No byline. No iconic photograph. She knew “staff” was shorthand for tidbits pulled from the wires.

  She did not go easily. She threatened to sue for gender discrimination. For ageism. She even threw in a potential disability claim for chronic pain syndrome. The paper thought they were looking at years of litigation and a public scandal. But then she told her lawyer that she only wanted two things: six months’ severance pay and the name. They could call their watered-down column whatever they pleased, but she would be taking the “Chatter” brand with her.

  They may have written her off as an over-the-hill old-timer, but it wasn’t the first time Mindy had been underestimated. She knew before they did that the new media was online. She used her severance pay to launch a website, and she became the one to hire unpaid interns. Now, instead of a salary, she earned money for ads that were sold, readers who clicked on those ads, and product placements. And instead of sifting her words through layers of editors, she could publish to the world with the click of a button.

  She hit send on her phone. A new story was filed, just like that, all while she was waiting for Gabrielle
Lawson. Of all the personalities Mindy had known over the years, Gabrielle was among the most dramatic. She carried herself like an old-fashioned Hollywood dame. She lived like one, too, thanks to a trust fund from a wealthy uncle who’d never had children of his own, not to mention her settlements from three divorces. She was lucid and functional, but seemed to live in a parallel reality in which her inflated sense of self played a starring role.

  For example, when she had something to tell Mindy, she couldn’t just say it over the phone or by email. She liked to meet in the back corners of a bar. In her alternative universe, Mindy was Bob Woodward to Gabrielle’s Deep Throat. What news would she have today?

  When Gabrielle arrived, they spent the first few minutes sipping champagne and engaging in small talk. As always, Mindy assured Gabrielle she would run a flattering photograph of her. It was an easy promise to make. Gabrielle had been a good source for her over the years, so she wanted to keep her happy.

  On this particular occasion, however, the clandestine meeting was a waste of time. Gabrielle didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know. When it came to Casey Carter, Mindy had never been lacking information.

  33

  That night at dinner, the smell of butter, thyme, and a perfectly roasted chicken filled Laurie’s apartment. “This was such a treat, Dad.”

  Leo was supposed to have had a mini-reunion with some of his police pals at Gallagher’s Steakhouse. To Laurie’s surprise, he had dinner warming in the oven when she came home. The men’s night had been canceled when two of Leo’s friends, still on the job, had been called to Times Square on reports of an unattended van containing a suspicious package. Two hours later, the NYPD confirmed that the panic was a false alarm. The van’s driver had inadvertently left the engine running while he ran upstairs to his sister’s apartment to give a toy to his niece, and then stayed to visit with his family. The city was safe, and Laurie had enjoyed a delicious home-cooked meal.

  Timmy was breathlessly replaying the reports that had come to Leo’s phone earlier in the evening. “Mom, they evacuated three blocks—in the middle of Times Square! They had swat trucks and bomb-sniffing dogs. And Grandpa knew it all, before the news even reported it.”

  Leo reached over and patted Timmy on the shoulder, but looked melancholy.

  After Timmy asked to be excused, Laurie asked her father, “Do you miss it? The job? Being in the middle of the action?”

  She had probably asked him that same question a hundred times in the last six years. His answer was always some variation of saying that the best job he ever had was helping to raise his grandson. But tonight, he was absolutely honest. “Sometimes, yes. I remember that awful day in 2001. We all knew the world was changing in unimaginable ways, but I felt like I was helping. Tonight, I made a chicken. It’s a quieter life.”

  She didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent, kissing him on the cheek before clearing the dishes.

  • • •

  She was not surprised when Leo followed her into the kitchen and asked how the show was coming along. She had a hard time explaining her mixed feelings. On the one hand, she’d been lucky to get so many pieces connected quickly.

  In theory, Gabrielle and Jason were both credible alternative suspects. She knew from the original police reports that both of them had said they went home alone after the gala, meaning either one of them could have gone up to Connecticut and killed Hunter. But she still lacked strong evidence pointing to a killer other than Casey.

  “I don’t know, Dad, maybe you were right. I may not have more to add to the original investigation after all.”

  He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms. In her eyes, she remembered him at the head of a squad room before roll call on Take Your Daughter to Work Day. She couldn’t believe that since then a quarter of a century had passed.

  “Look,” he said, “I happen to think the system works 99.9 percent of the time, which means—yeah—I think the odds are slim this woman is innocent. But I’m also your father, so in the end, I’m on your side. With every production, you find yourself overwhelmed by the number of stories floating around. You manage to turn it into a riveting show, and you’ve delivered an impressive amount of justice in the meantime. Just remember that your main goal is to put out a fair and fine piece of television. Let the viewers decide what they think about Casey.”

  It was good advice, but her own desire for the truth always had a way of taking over. “Maybe I should have been a cop instead.”

  “Too rebellious,” he said with a wink. “Besides, Timmy’s going to be the next family member with a badge. Just you watch. Have you run any of these characters past Alex? He’s always a good sounding board for you.”

  “He has been in the past,” she said, involuntarily emphasizing the last word. “Now that he’s not working for the studio, I’m not sure how much to burden him with work talk.”

  Leo shook his head. “When are you going to accept that nothing you ask of him is a burden? Alex cares about you. If you let him in, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to lend you an ear.”

  Alex cares about you, she thought. If you let him in . . . The words were echoing in her head and then, out of nowhere, she was crying.

  Her father immediately grabbed her shoulders. “Laurie, sweetie, what is wrong?”

  “I’ve been trying, Dad. You have no idea how much I’ve been trying to let him in.” Her father was cradling her, telling her that everything would be okay, but a wave of emotion overcame her. The night Alex told her he was leaving the show. The moment Brett said he was hiring his best friend’s nephew. The exhaustion of the last several days, working morning until night. And, finally, that unavoidable feeling in her stomach that Alex had lied to her.

  “When I tried to talk to Alex at his apartment about the case, he seemed uncomfortable. I thought my complaints about Ryan were making him feel guilty. But then it turns out that he knew Casey’s cousin, Angela.” The words were spilling out of her. “And he met Hunter and his family at a law firm picnic. Then when I asked him about it on Monday, he was . . . evasive. I could tell he was hiding something from me.”

  “Do you want me to call him? Talk to him man-to-man?”

  She laughed and wiped the tears from her face. “How many times do I have to tell you that grown women can’t have their fathers handle all their problems?”

  “But this shouldn’t be a problem, Laurie. We know Alex. He’s a good, honest man.”

  “I know. But you’re the one who has taught me always to trust my instincts. And I’m telling you, there’s a reason Alex doesn’t want me talking to him about this case. He’s hiding something.”

  Her father was about to launch another defense of Alex when Timmy came running into the room. His iPad was outstretched in hands that were still small enough that both were required to hold his tablet. “Hey, Mom, I have something for you.”

  The last time he handed her his iPad, he’d gotten her hooked on a game in which plants battled against zombies. She couldn’t afford that kind of distraction right now.

  “I don’t think I’ve earned enough free time for a new game, Timmy.”

  “It’s not a game,” he insisted. “I set up a Google alert on your name, and there’s a new hit. Some blogger named Mindy Sampson wrote all about your next show.”

  34

  Is Crazy Casey Playing with Fire?

  Hello, fellow Chatterers. Have you been following the antics of Katherine “Casey” Carter since she flew the coop? Well, I have, and Casey has been awfully busy. It’s not your everyday ex-con who goes directly from the prison exit to the closest fashion mall for a daylong shopping spree. Where was she planning to wear her new wardrobe? We all wondered.

  But instead of making a comeback on the social scene, Casey seems to be on yet another shopping spree. This time, she’s shopping for someone who might believe the same f
limsy claims of innocence she’s been spinning since the night she was found with Hunter Raleigh’s blood on her hands.

  At first, it appeared she might have found a sucker in Laurie Moran, the producer of Under Suspicion. The series, which reinvestigates cold cases, has been on a roll, solving cases that had long been written off as unsolvable. The Chatter is able to report that Casey has met with Moran three times in person since her release from prison, once at her home and twice in Moran’s offices at Rockefeller Center. For Casey to land under such a respected brand would have been a coup indeed.

  But, wait, not so fast! Moran might be making nice to Casey’s face, but she appears to have other tricks up her sleeve.

  Laurie could feel her father’s eyes reading over her shoulder. “The mixed metaphors alone should be criminal,” she muttered.

  “Sshh,” Leo urged. “Keep reading.”

  Casey may have thought that the television producer plans to present her side of the story, but she might want to think again. Turns out, her new pal Moran has been meeting with the likes of renowned anti-Casey types like Gabrielle Lawson and Jason Gardner. Savvy chatterers will recall that these insiders provided damning statements during Casey’s trial.

  Lawson was the luxurious lady who was ready to take Casey’s place next to Hunter at the altar. Jaded Jason was Casey’s ex-boyfriend who spilled the beans about her anger management problem.

  With friends like these, who needs enemies? Twelve jurors unanimously agreed that Casey killed Hunter in a rage after he called off their engagement. Without a defense attorney at Casey’s side, a successful journalist like Laurie Moran might convince the rest of the country that Casey is a cold-blooded murderer who got off easy.