Nancy Grace - The Eleventh Victim
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- Book:The Eleventh Victim
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- Publisher:Hyperion
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- Year:2009
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To Prince Dragonfly and Princess Lyric
aka My Parents
Mac and Elizabeth Grace
A LITTLE SOMETHING. WHAT WAS IT? SOMETHINGSOME DETAIL WAS...
Atlanta, Georgia
Atlanta, Georgia
Atlanta, Georgia
Atlanta, Georgia
Atlanta, Georgia
Reidsville State Penitentiary, Georgia
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT? CRUISE SPIT THE WORDS
Atlanta, Georgia
St. Simons Island, Georgia
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
St. Simons Island, Georgia
Back Roads One Hundred Miles Southeast of Atlanta, Georgia
New York City
St. Simons Island, Georgia
Atlanta, Georgia
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
St. Simons Island, Georgia
Atlanta, Georgia
Atlanta, Georgia
St. Simons Island, Georgia
Reidsville State Penitentiary, Georgia
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
St. Simons Island, Georgia
New York City
North Georgia
New York City
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
New York City
St. Simons Island, Georgia
New York City
St. Simons Island, Georgia
New York City
New York City
St. Simons Island, Georgia
St. Simons Island, Georgia
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
New York City
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
St. Simons Island, Georgia
New York City
St. Simons Island, Georgia
New York City
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
Atlanta, Georgia
New York City
St. Simons Island, Georgia
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
New York City
St. Simons Island, Georgia
New York City
St. Simons Island, Georgia
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
New York City
St. Simons Island, Georgia
New York City
New York City
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
Atlanta, Georgia
St. Simons Island, Georgia
Dooley County, Georgia
St. Simons Island, Georgia
New York City
New York City
Atlanta, Georgia
New York City
A LITTLE SOMETHING. WHAT WAS IT? SOMETHINGSOME DETAIL WAS wrong.
He couldnt just leave the body lying there like that. There was something missing. It was biting at him. Hed tried to go, walking back to his car in the dark twice now, but the nagging in his brain wouldnt let him leave until she was absolutely perfect.
He looked at her lying there in the moonlight. Her dead body was absolutely stunning. Before, when she had been alive, sitting in the passenger seat of his car, talking and talking about her life and herself and her journey from Anniston, Alabama, to Atlanta to break into acting, he thought his head would blow up like a bomb. She just wouldnt shut up.
What did she think it wasa date? She was a hooker. He spotted her climbing the steep steps out of the MARTA subway station downtown. She got straight into his car with a big smile when he offered her a ride.
Once inside, driving, he kept looking away from the road, stealing glances at her neck. Something about it drew him. Maybe the shape, the curveor maybe it was the soft hollow spot at the bottom. It was the only thing about her he could stomach.
He lowered the automatic windows so her conversation would fly out into the night and he wouldnt have to hear it. Her teeth and lips revolted him. The shiny pink lip gloss she was wearing had thickened in spots across her lips and some had smeared onto her front teeth. Looking over at her as she talked, Cruise thought it was the most disgusting thing he had ever seen.
Back to the task at hand. What was it? It was maddeninghe couldnt bring himself to leave until everything was just rightperfect, in fact.
Every detail mattered. Like a delicate souffl or performing his specialty, decorating with boiling-hot spun sugar, perfection was achieved only by acute attention to detail.
There, in the dark of the clearing, it hit him. Turning, he walked to his car and reached through the open window into the glove compartment and got it. The bakers twine. It was his favorite brandit was actually the only twine he would ever consider usingjust shipped in from France.
He had posed her on her back. The four bright-red puncture marks torn into her mid-back didnt bother him at all. In fact, the dark red against the white skin created a vivid contrast that was somehow pleasing to him. Walking back to her body, which he had spread carefully on a bed of soft grass to more suitably frame her pale limbs in a night lit only by the moon, he paused again.
He needed the perfect spot. He couldnt rush this or he wouldnt sleep all night. The wrist? Like a bracelet? No. She was wearing a tacky, gold-tone watch. That would ruin the whole thing for him. And he couldnt bring himself to actually touch the timepiece she wore there on her right wrist. It looked cheap; he was sure the gold-tone finish was turning dark at the edges of the band.
The neck? No. It was much too close to the lip gloss. The gloss had a faint, fruity odor, foul as gasoline fumes to Cruise, and that alone made him want to retch. It would totally destroy the twines effect.
Sometime during their date, fresh, damp dirt and a little grass had smeared horizontally across her mouth and worked its way up into her nose. He left it there. That was a beautiful and poetic touch of nature, but the lip glossdisgusting.
As he stood there at the foot of her body, staring into her face, her own eyes stared away from him and straight up into the sky, her lips still slightly parted just as they had been in lifejust as they had been at the zenith, that incredibly beautiful and intimate moment when she exhaled her last breath into the night. And as he relived that moment, it came to him in an epiphany.
He decidedthe left ring finger. Perfect.
He squatted down and gently picked up her left hand. The wrist was still limp.
He tied a single, perfect bow around her ring finger just before rigor set inbefore the body went stiff and cold and hard. He placed the hand back gently across her stomach.
Backing away a few feet to take in the whole picture, finally, he could relax. Every detail was exquisite. Finally, he could get some sleep.
The bow was perfectly symmetrical, and there, in the moonlight, it was just gorgeous. Almost like a wedding band.
T HE PIERCING ERUPTION OF A TELEPHONE STARTLED SPECIAL Prosecutor Hailey Dean, still at her desk late on a Friday night preparing for a Monday-morning trial.
It was probably Fincher, her longtime investigator and sometime bodyguard. Together, they worked felony investigations from inner-city housing projects to this latest, which involved one of North Atlantas elite country clubs.
District Attorneys Office, Hailey Dean speaking, she said absently into the receiver.
The silence that greeted Hailey on the other end of the telephone line caught her attention.
Hello?
Still nothing.
Realizing what was likely coming next, Hailey quickly reached for a notepad.
Hello? she repeated and waited for the recorded announcement that the call was from the prison. After she accepted the call, which she always did, an inmate would come on the line to offer information in exchange for a full dismissal of his own charges or, at the least, a lighter sentence or a transfer to a better facility.
As if a dismissal would ever happen.
No way would Hailey go to hell to get witnesses to put a devil in jailshe said so up front to each and every snitch.
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