Before the press conference, they convened an impromptu team meeting in an NYPD mobile command center, a fancy name for a trailer outfitted with a bunch of communications equipment that the cops kept parked in a gravel lot near the Central Park precinct. It was cramped and hot inside. As the lone female, Melanie was given the only chair, an old swivel number with a ripped seat. Dan, Julian, Butch, and Lieutenant Deaver, not one of them a small man, crowded around her close enough that she smelled coffee on somebody’s breath. By unspoken agreement, Melanie ran the meeting—whether because she’d be doing the talking at the press conference, because she was the prosecutor, or just because she was the one in the chair, she didn’t know.
“I plan on saying very little,” she explained, “but I still want us on the same page before I go out there. As I understand the forensic evidence, there’s a strong possibility this was a random killing. Are we in agreement?”
“Either a robbery gone bad, or some sicko getting his rocks off by hurting women,” Butch said.
“Or both,” Dan put in.
“Nobody’s gonna want to hear that,” Deaver pointed out. “Not the commissioner, not the mayor. It says to the public there’s a psycho on the loose and we ain’t caught him yet. I’m not sayin’ lie. I’m just sayin’ that don’t look good.”
“We do have one piece of evidence indicating the victim knew her attacker,” Melanie said.
“What evidence?” Butch asked. “Nothing I seen. From the way he stunned her, and the way she fought, this wasn’t anybody she trusted.”
“I said somebody she knew, not somebody she trusted,” Melanie replied. “What was she doing in the Ramble on a rainy night, if she didn’t go there on purpose to meet someone?”
“Eight-thirty,” Deaver said, nodding. “Good point. I put my trash out right about then. It’d let up from what it was earlier, but it still raining plenty.”
“Drizzling at most,” Butch said skeptically, shaking his head.
“Whatever. It’s enough to strike the reassuring note,” Deaver said.
“I’ll just say there’s a possibility the victim knew her attacker,” Melanie said.
“Yeah. Why get the whole city up in arms for no reason?” Deaver said. “Let’s do it.”
It turned out that facing the cameras with blinding light shining in her eyes, microphones shoved in her face, and reporters screaming questions at deafening volume was just about the most exhilarating thing that Melanie had ever experienced. Almost exhilarating enough to make her forget her burnout and go crazy for her job again. She’d expected to feel dazed and nervous, but the second she got up there, she felt like she’d come home. Armed with Bernadette’s advice, Melanie knew exactly what to say. She introduced herself and the key law enforcement personnel working the case. She confirmed the bare fact that a murder had taken place and assured the public that the authorities were hot on the killer’s trail. In response to each and every question, she deftly avoided revealing any details while nevertheless managing to satisfy the questioner that he or she was getting an answer. She parried and feinted and explained and even got a few laughs. Melanie could have stood up there jousting with the press all night, but after about twenty minutes, Lieutenant Deaver leaned across her and said they only had time for one more question. He practically had to drag Melanie away from the microphones when that question was done.
“The most dangerous spot in New York—between Vargas and a camera,” Lieutenant Deaver joked once they were away from the reporters. But for the first time that night, he smiled, and before he left, he said, “Nice job, Melanie. That oughta hold those piranhas for a while.”
Dan and Julian couldn’t stop telling her what a natural she’d been, how poised and in control, how articulate. She felt high as a kite on the excitement.
“You’ve got a television career ahead of you,” Julian said.
“Not ahead of her, she’s got it now,” Dan said. “You’re gonna be all over the news.”
“And the papers,” Julian added. “I can see the morning headlines. ‘Melanie Vargas takes on the Central Park Butcher.’”
“See, you’re back on the horse. You’re like me when it comes to this job. You love the glory.”
“I do love it!” she said, and laughed giddily.
Only later would she think, Pride goeth before a fall.