When Day Breaks (27 page)

B
y now B.J. had joined the search.

“Hey, Bob!” he called to the man loading some camera gear into the back of a KEY News car. “Have you seen Eliza?”

“Yeah, I saw her,” said the cameraman. “I just left her and Lauren a little while ago.”

“Where?” asked B.J.

The cameraman pointed. “Up there, where that character wants to build the shrine to Constance.”

L
auren closed in, the syringe in her hand.

“Don’t fight me, Eliza,” she said. “This is working out better than I could have planned. I didn’t know we’d end up here alone together tonight. I’d only brought the syringe with me as a precaution. But now I can use it, then roll you over the cliff. It will be better that way, Eliza. You’ll be dead for certain instead of risking the possibility that you’d survive the fall, paralyzed but still alive. You would have hated that.”

Eliza tried to stay calm. “But if you inject me with that stuff, an autopsy will show what killed me,” she said. “Everyone will know you were up here with me. Everyone will know you are responsible.”

Lauren considered Eliza’s words. “You’re right,” she said. “You’re absolutely right. I guess we’ll just have to take a risk. I’ll risk that the fall from a couple hundred feet onto the rocks won’t kill you, and you’ll risk spending the rest of your life in a wheelchair or worse.”

At that, Eliza took her chance and lunged forward. She aimed for Lauren’s midsection, hoping to knock her down. As she made contact, the syringe went flying out of Lauren’s hand, up into the air, while Lauren stumbled backward.

Eliza cringed, fearful that the needle would land on her. In that instant, Lauren regained her footing and reached out, not wanting Eliza to have the opportunity to get it first, certain she’d be able to catch it. The syringe came down, point first, jabbing Lauren in the palm before bouncing off and tumbling to the ground.

Eliza got up but was pushed down again. Lauren jumped onto her chest. The women wrestled on the grass, rolling over, each time getting closer to the cliff’s edge. Lauren smashed her elbow down as hard as she could into Eliza’s side, causing her to cry out in pain.

Using all her strength, Eliza brought her knee up, jamming it into Lauren’s stomach. Lauren loosened her grasp just enough that Eliza was able to wriggle free. Eliza scrambled to an upright position and began to run. But she was disoriented. Eliza thought she was running toward safety. Instead she was running toward the edge of the cliff.

Lauren struggled to get up and follow, holding her stomach, running clumsily, focused on Eliza and nothing else. Suddenly Eliza stopped and turned to face her attacker. At the last moment, she stepped to the side, dodging Lauren as she lunged at Eliza again. Lauren didn’t know that Eliza had realized they were at the cliff’s edge until she found herself falling through the air, tumbling over and over again, her body battered by boulders, rocks, and vegetation, on the trip to the ground below.

G
ood morning,” Eliza Blake’s voice welcomed the television audience. “It’s Thursday, May twenty-fourth, and this is
KEY to America,
coming to you this morning from the Cloisters in New York City.”

Eliza stood before the camera, still wearing, at Linus’s insistence, the chiffon cocktail dress she’d worn the night before.

“It will be like Jackie Kennedy wearing the pink suit with the dried blood on it from Dallas back to Washington,” he’d said. “It’ll bring the horror home to the audience.”

The fact that Lauren Adams, badly injured, had been taken away by ambulance, the fact that the woman Linus supposedly loved would, if she recovered, be tried for three murders, the fact that the cohost of his broadcast was clearly not the idol he’d been building her up to be for the American public—none of that seemed to be terribly important to him as he barked his orders to the
KTA
staff. For Linus the overriding fact was that virtually every television in the country was tuned to
KTA
this morning. Though the sweeps period, when ratings determined advertising rates, had ended just the day before, this was still a rare opportunity. Linus was determined to give the audience one helluva show and, in the process, steal viewers away from the other morning programs, hopefully forever.

Eliza recapped the events of the night before, voicing over the video of where she and Lauren had confronted one another, the future resting place of Constance Young. Eliza narrated the shots taken of the spot where Lauren had tumbled over the cliff—not a sheer drop, and broken by yards of brush and saplings, but brutally punishing just the same—and pictures of the police cars with flashing lights that had swarmed over the Cloisters’ grounds.

Knowing that she would definitely be a witness in any future legal proceedings, Eliza was careful about describing what had happened between herself and Lauren. As a journalist she wanted to be truthful and thorough, but as part of the story herself Eliza did not want to say anything that could jeopardize a fair trial.

“KEY News reported yesterday that Ursula Bales, who worked for Constance Young and who was also murdered, had left behind a needle-point canvas she was working on,” said Eliza.

The entire needlecraft appeared on screen, while Eliza read the poem aloud.

“Ursula Bales will never be able to testify at any trial, but her testimony, in the form of an acrostic poem, speaks volumes. Take the first letter of each line and read them in sequence—they spell out ‘L. Adams Killed CY.’”

“Here you go, Kimba, my love.”

Boyd put a saucer of fresh milk out for the cat and turned his attention back to the television. He sighed with relief as he listened to Eliza Blake tell the world that he’d been falsely accused.

The telephone rang, and Boyd reached for it, hoping it was his mother. She’d been so worried.

“Hiya, Boyd,” said the male voice. “Congratulations, brother.”

“Who is this?” asked Boyd.

“It’s Jason. Jason Vaughan.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you. You cost me my job, you know.”

“Hold on a minute. I have something that you might be interested in.”

“I doubt that,” said Boyd.

“Just listen to me. I’m writing a new book about Constance Young’s murder, and you were looking like a prime suspect, weren’t you? I’d like to give you the chance to tell your side of the story, and I’ll certainly make it worth your while.”

Boyd didn’t skip a beat. “No way. I’m hoping I might still be able to resurrect what’s left of my career at KEY News.”

At the end of the first half hour, during the break for affiliates to report their local news and traffic conditions, Eliza signaled to a production assistant to bring her a phone.

“Is Janie up yet, Mrs. Garcia?”

Eliza listened to the answer.

“All right,” she said. “That’s good. Don’t wake her. But when she does get up, tell her she doesn’t have to go to school this morning. Tell her that Mommy will be coming home as soon as I finish here, and we’ll spend the rest of the morning together. She can go in to school after lunch for the afternoon session.”

Eliza nodded as she heard the housekeeper’s response.

“Yes, Mrs. Garcia. I’m fine. But whatever you do, keep Janie away from the television this morning. I want to explain things to her myself.”

As she handed the phone back to the production assistant, Eliza wondered just how she was going to do that.

“I’m not answering that,” said Faith aloud to herself. “If one more reporter calls, I’m going to scream.”

She watched in resignation as her son picked up the phone anyway.

“Mom!” he called out. “It’s a man!”

Faith shook her head and took the receiver from Ben. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Hansen, this is Stuart Whitaker. I heard the news on the television and wanted to call you. This must be so distressing for you. I know
I
was hoping it had been an accident, and I am sure you must have been as well.”

“Can you hold a minute, please, Mr. Whitaker?” Faith put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Brendan, you’re going to miss the bus. Hurry up.”

Faith sat at the kitchen table and uncovered the phone. “My sister is dead, Mr. Whitaker,” she said dully. “I guess it doesn’t much matter how it happened. But I do want to thank you again for last night. I appreciate that you want to give Constance such a lovely final resting place.”

“Well, it is I who need to thank you, Mrs. Hansen, for allowing Constance to spend eternity like the queen she was.”

Linus walked over and signaled to Eliza to take off her microphone. She complied.

“I want you to consider coming back to
KTA,
” he said.

Eliza marveled at the machinations of the executive producer’s mind. Constance Young had been dead less than a week, Lauren Adams had been hauled off just hours before, and already Linus was looking ahead, plotting who would be the best replacement.

Though not surprised, Eliza didn’t want to dismiss the offer out of hand. There were lots of reasons that going back to the morning show could be good for her. She would actually be able to be waiting most days when Janie got home after school, have dinner with her daughter, and supervise homework at night. Getting up so painfully early wasn’t any fun, but the rewards of having a routine more conducive to motherhood had their appeal.

While she got tremendous satisfaction from anchoring the
Evening Headlines,
and while the position arguably carried more prestige, Eliza had loved her previous stint on
KTA
and the wide range of stories and interviews she’d been able to do.
Evening Headlines
was so grave all the time, while
KEY to America
provided a balance of fun sprinkled among the serious news stories.

“Is that something you would consider?” Linus asked.

“I’ll think about it at least,” said Eliza. “But even if I decided that I did want to switch, my contract isn’t up for a while.”

“Look,” said Linus, “I’m sure something could be worked out with the powers that be—
if
you decide you actually want to make the change.”

“I don’t know, Linus. I really like the people I work with on the
Evening Headlines.
They would be tough to leave.”

“Well, bring ’em with you,” said Linus. “I’ll do everything possible to get Range to release the ones you want.”

“Starting with Annabelle and B.J.?” asked Eliza.

Linus shrugged. “If that’s what you want. I didn’t want to fire them anyway. Lauren insisted.”

Eliza smiled wryly as she noticed the stage manager gesturing frantically for her to reattach her microphone. “I’ve known you long enough to know that you don’t do anything you don’t want to do, Linus.”

“To get you, believe me, I’d hire them back.”

At the end of the program, Eliza interviewed Dr. Margo Gonzalez about the kind of person who could commit such crimes, speaking in generalities, careful not to mention Lauren by name. When the interview was done, Margo reached over to Eliza.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I think so.” Eliza nodded. “I just want to go home, hug my child, and take a hot bath.”

B.J. stood out of camera range with Annabelle Murphy, who had come up to the Cloisters the minute her husband got home from his night shift at the firehouse. As soon as the program went off the air, they joined Eliza and Margo.

“If only we’d figured things out earlier, Eliza, you would never have had to go through that nightmare with that monster,” said Annabelle. “I should have done research on Lauren sooner.”

“Well, I certainly should have taken note of the look in Ursula’s eyes the first time I saw that video, back on Saturday,” said Margo. I should have realized she was scared to death because Constance’s killer was right there, interviewing her.

“Yeah, and any six-year-old could have figured out that poem,” said B.J. “But I was looking for something much more complicated.”

Eliza shook her head. “We were all looking for something more complicated. Don’t you dare beat up on yourselves,” she said. “We figured this out together. You all are the best, and there’s nobody I’d rather have on my team.” She glanced around to see where Linus was. Not finding him, she whispered, “Linus just suggested that I come back to
KTA.
”

“That man has no shame,” said Annabelle. “He’s jettisoned Lauren like yesterday’s trash.”

“Well?” said B.J. “Are you tempted?”

“Maybe,” said Eliza. “But if I do decide to go back to
KTA,
I’d want you guys to come with me.”

“That would go over real well with Linus,” said Annabelle sarcastically.

“He already agreed,” Eliza said with a smirk. “So with you two doing the investigative legwork and Margo here to help us understand how the human mind ticks, we should be able to handle anything that comes our way in the early-morning hours.”

Annabelle laughed. “Our own little Sunrise Suspense Society.”

The blue sedan sped over the George Washington Bridge. Eliza leaned back against the leather seat and closed her eyes. She was dozing when she felt her cell phone vibrate.

“I just heard. Are you all right?”

“Yes, Mack. I’m fine. Really fine.”

“God, Eliza. If anything ever happened to you…”

“It’s over now, Mack, and everything is all right.”

“I never liked Lauren, but I can’t believe that she killed Constance—and the others,” said Mack. “I don’t get it.”

“She said she killed Constance because she was the competition. That everyone would watch Constance on
Daybreak
and no one would watch her. The other murders were committed to cover the first.”

“Sick.”

Eliza was tired, and she ached to stop thinking for a while about all the ugliness of the past week. But she didn’t want to get off the phone with Mack.

“How’s the weather over there?” she asked.

“Glorious,” he answered. “Perfect Rome weather.”

Eliza looked out the window. The sun was shining, a few wispy clouds punctuating the bright blue sky.

“It’s beautiful here, too,” she said.

“Great,” he said, “because I’m coming back to New York next weekend.”