Andie wanted to return fire, but she couldn’t see well enough to take a shot at a moving target. Staring into the spotlight, she was more likely to miss Merselus and hit the police at the other end of the alley with a stray bullet.
Merselus was approaching hard and fast, so close now that Andie could hear the pounding of his footfalls on the pavement. The alley was ablaze with the high-powered spotlight, and Andie was within twenty feet of an armed serial killer, unable to see her target. In another moment he’d be on her, and if Andie didn’t act fast she knew she’d be his hostage or dead. Two more of his bullets grazed the wooden pole she was hiding behind. When a third round cracked the brick wall beside her, Andie dived from behind her cover and logrolled to the center of the alley, coming to a stop on her stomach. In one continuous motion, she raised her Sig Sauer and took aim from a worm’s-eye view-a completely different angle that took the blinding spotlight out of her line of sight-and squeezed off a single round. She heard one last gunshot, followed by an unmistakable thud on the pavement.
She was eye to eye with Merselus as the alley went eerily silent.
Chapter Sixty-One
Jack’s front lawn was aglow with the flash and swirl of blue and amber beacons. An MDPD squad car was behind Jack’s car in the driveway. An assistant deputy sheriff opened the rear door, and Ellen Bennett climbed into the backseat without resistance, her head down and her hands cuffed behind her back.
Parked on the street in front of Jack’s house was an ambulance, though it wasn’t needed. This was a job for the medical examiner’s office, and the ME’s team was already on the scene. A white sheet covered Geoffrey Bennett’s body on the lawn, and the ME’s gurney was on the walkway, ready to receive the so-called victim.
Jack avoided using that word-victim-in his witness statement to the police. He was standing on his front porch with the first officer on the scene, recounting the worst night of his life. Or at least one of them.
“Just to be clear,” said the officer, “you’re not Mrs. Bennett’s attorney, are you?”
“No. Definitely not.”
Jack’s cell rang. It was from Sydney’s iPhone-the same number that had started his run from Bayfront Park to the Metromover, and that had transmitted that final text message: Check the bench. Jack stepped away from the officer and took the call, bracing himself to hear Merselus’ voice. It was Sydney.
“Jack, where are you?” she asked, her voice filled with urgency.
“At home. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I’m with the FBI.”
“Is Andie with you?”
“No. She went-”
Sydney stopped in midsentence, which alarmed Jack. “Sydney, answer me. She went where?”
“She went chasing after Merselus,” said Sydney.
Jack’s heart sank. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
“But I think I see her coming now,” said Sydney. “Yeah, that’s her. She’s-”
“See if she can come to the phone,” said Jack.
There was silence in Jack’s ear, but Jack could tell that the line was still active. A moment later he heard Andie’s voice.
“Jack?”
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God. Anyone hurt?”
“One officer from Miami-Dade was shot, but I’m told he’ll make it. A poor old man who lived in the same apartment complex as Merselus was not so lucky.”
Jack took a moment to absorb the bad news. “What about Merselus?”
“One bullet to the heart. Dead.”
“Sniper?”
“Uh-uh,” said Andie, “no sniper.”
Jack could hear it in her voice, so he didn’t need to ask the follow-up. But after a deep breath that crackled over the line, she told him anyway.
“It was someone you love.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
BNN and the Faith Corso Show crammed a month’s worth of sensationalism into the next two days. The most surprising thing to Jack was how much of it they managed to get right. The least surprising-and most troubling-was what BNN refused to acknowledge: that the demise of Merselus and his Internet buddy Geoffrey Bennett was of no help to Celeste Laramore and her family.
Jack flew to New York to do something about that. Hannah went with him. The trip was in some ways deja vu, reminiscent of Jack’s disastrous settlement conference with BNN’s lawyers on the eve of filing Celeste’s lawsuit against BNN. This time, however, Jack brought Sydney Bennett along.
For five days, the media had been hounding Sydney and her lawyer. They all wanted the same thing: the exclusive interview that would finally reveal the truth about Emma’s death, and even better, expose the darkest secrets of the Bennett family. On Jack’s advice, Sydney refused to speak to any of the TV talk-show hosts, with one exception: Faith Corso.
“Thank you so much for coming,” said Corso.
They were in the main conference room on the thirty-third floor, just like Jack and Hannah’s previous meeting with BNN. This time, however, there were far fewer lawyers in the room-most notably, no Ted Gaines. Corso sat with hands folded atop the polished walnut conference table, her back to a floor-to-ceiling window and the panoramic view of Midtown. To her left was Kay Dollinger, the energetic producer of the Faith Corso Show. To Corso’s right was the gray-haired Stanley Mills, BNN’s general counsel and vice president of legal affairs. Jack sat directly across the table from Corso, flanked by Hannah and Sydney.
“What a pleasure it is to finally meet you,” said Jack. Hannah shot a quick glance in his direction, as if to see if his nose was growing.
“Let me tell you what we have in mind,” said Corso, quickly shifting from we to me. “I see this as a two-part interview. Part one will be live in the BNN studio, just Sydney and me. We’ll talk about her arrest, the trial, her release from prison, her short stay with Merselus, her escape from him and recapture, and then her rescue by the FBI. The live segment will end with her telling us where she was when her daughter drowned, how long she knew the truth about Mrs. Bennett’s role in Emma’s death, and why Sydney kept silent about it. We may bring in a psychiatrist at this point-an objective professional to talk about how common it is for children who are the victims of sexual abuse to refuse to name their abusers, how victims are silenced by their own sense of guilt and shame even after they reach adulthood, how this is especially true when the abuser is a parent, and doubly so when the mother is compliant in the abuse of a daughter.”
“No psychiatrists,” said Sydney.
Jack touched her arm, reminding her not to talk.
“The psychiatrist is optional,” said Corso. “Part two will be taped. We’ll visit the Bennett house, where Sydney can walk me through her life under the same roof with a monster like Geoffrey Bennett. We’ll go to the runway at Opa-locka Airport where Sydney met Merselus, the hotel where he attacked her, and the places where she went into hiding before he caught up with her at Bayfront Park. The final segment will be shot outdoors at the Bennett swimming pool.”
“No pool,” said Sydney.
Jack tugged her elbow, another reminder.
“The pool is not optional,” said Corso. “It’s the centerpiece of the story.”
“Here’s a possible solution,” said Jack. “No pool. Instead, we visit the exact spot outside the women’s detention center where Celeste Laramore was attacked.”
Corso made a face. “How is that a solution?”
“It gets us focused on the real story.”
The general counsel spoke up. “Excuse me, Mr. Swyteck. But we are not going to turn this television interview or this meeting into a showcase for your other client’s lawsuit against BNN.”
“I don’t see the two as separate,” said Jack.