“Why is she our number five? Why isn’t she New Jersey’s victim number one?”
“She was taken from Jersey, but the information on where she was hiding may well have come from New York City.”
“And not just from the city,” Kylie added, “but possibly from a city official connected to the case. Detective Jordan and I were just on our way into Manhattan to talk to the chief of corrections and the DA’s office to get a list of everyone who knew exactly where Rachael would be. The sooner we can get those names, the better.”
To the mayor, I’m sure she sounded like a dedicated cop whose sole purpose was to get to Manhattan so she could track down the wrongdoer. To me, she sounded more like Mrs. Spence Harrington determined to get the hell out of Silvercup as fast as possible. It didn’t matter. She was right on both counts.
“Is the word out yet that O’Keefe has been kidnapped?” Diamond asked.
Cates held up a hand to let us know she would take the question.
“Irwin, we’re working way outside our jurisdiction,” she said. “We’re bending the boundaries because this kidnapping seems to be tied to the Hazmat case. Our people went in and got out under the radar, but the Jersey cops and the Feds will be on it in no time. And if you think Rachael O’Keefe dominated the airwaves during the trial, just wait till this breaks. The twenty-four-hour news cycle will be all Rachael, all the time.”
“Understood,” Diamond said. “But it’s still under wraps?”
“For now,” Cates said.
“Good,” he said, “because Muriel Sykes is holding a press conference in two minutes, and at least she won’t have this shit to fling at the fan.”
Chapter 54
“She’s coming on,” Shelley Trager called out. He had drifted away from the group and was standing in front of a large TV monitor that had been rolled in on a metal stand.
The rest of us gathered around, and the picture cut away from two NY1 news anchors to Muriel Sykes standing at a podium. There was a backdrop with her campaign logo behind her and two flags positioned strategically over her left shoulder—one, the Stars and Stripes; the other, the orange, white, and blue flag of New York City.
She was the picture of confidence—standing tall, smartly dressed, seemingly at ease despite the difficult road ahead. Hello, Central Casting, send me a strong woman who looks like she could be mayor.
I stole a glance at Spellman. He was stoop-shouldered and world-weary. He looked more like the guy Central Casting would send over to play a bus driver at the end of a long day.
“Good afternoon,” Sykes said directly to the camera. “For the past nine months you’ve all seen me aggressively campaigning for mayor. But this press conference is not about politics. It’s about a sad personal loss, and I have asked my dear friend Damon Parker to make an opening statement. He is not here in his capacity as an internationally respected journalist, but as the grieving brother of my brutally tortured and murdered campaign manager, Evelyn Parker-Steele.”
“What a crock of shit,” Diamond said as Muriel moved to the side and Parker stepped up to the podium. “Evelyn hated that phony blowhard asshole.”
“The murder of my sister, Evelyn, has shattered our family,” Parker said in a somber voice. Gone were the histrionics and shouts of The People Want to Know. In keeping with his intro, the man put on his best internationally respected journalist facade.
“But even more devastating than her death,” he said, “is this blatantly coerced video confession. It is nothing more than a fabricated atrocity created to tarnish our family name and to undermine the progressive reforms of U.S. Attorney Muriel Sykes’s mayoral campaign. This is a personal and political attack that wounds my heart as her brother and aggrieves my spirit as a citizen of the greatest city in the world.”
“I’m glad Muriel made it clear that this is not about politics,” Irwin said.
Parker continued, “The tragic death of Cynthia Pritchard weighed heavily on my sister’s heart every day of her life, and for a sadistic torturer…” He paused and choked up convincingly.
“And for a sadistic torturer to force my sister to spout these pre-scripted lies is almost too much to bear. Our family has received thousands of emails, letters, and phone calls denouncing this staged confession, and no words have been more heartfelt or more comforting than those that came from the woman for whom my sister gave her last ounce of energy and devotion—Muriel Sykes.”
He placed his hand to his chest and turned reverentially to Sykes. They exchanged a brief hug, and she took his place at the podium.