by Laurie Nave
“Well, I’m sure he was pretty upset,” Celia said the words, but she wasn’t sure she believed them.
“And the weirdest part? She was planning on leaving Bart.”
“How do you know that?”
“Melina told me. She asked me if Judith could stay with us, and she wanted it to be a secret.”
Celia looked at her father. He seemed sincerely worried. And yes, it was sort of nice that he cared about something having to do with right and wrong for a change, she thought bitterly. But what did any of this have to do with her?
“I’m sorry about Judith and all of it. I really am. But I don’t have anything to do with this.”
“Yes, you do. You’re seeing Bart.”
“Not anymore. We broke up. We only dated a few times.” Celia folded her arms. “And anyway, how do you even know that?”
“I was at the event Bart attended. He was there, and he was bragging to someone about dating a big-name reporter. A reporter named Celia Brockwell,” he sighed a little at the changed name.
“Yeah, we were seeing each other then. But we aren’t now.”
“Are you sure? I saw your picture in the news, at the gala. He didn’t look like he was ready to give you up.”
Celia didn’t answer, but her father’s observation caught her off guard. How could he tell from a picture?
“Let me guess, he’s still pursuing you.”
Celia laughed. “I have it under control.”
“I’m not sure you do. The more Judith pulled away from him, the harder he pushed. And it wasn’t love. He was angry.”
She hated to admit it, but her father’s words concerned her. Bart as an annoying pest was one thing. Bart as a man who had a pattern of not letting go was another. And Bart as—what—a murderer? That was laughable. He might have been angry about his wife, but Bart was too much of a coward to do something like that.
“Look,” Celia said, rising and sitting on the desk again, “Bart is a pain in the ass, and he’s been stubborn. But he’s all bark and no bite. I’ve seen his kind before. His ego is bruised, but as soon as some hot paralegal catches his eye, he’ll be on to his next conquest.”
“Celia—”
“No. I’m sorry. I get that you’re worried, and I can tell you feel bad about everything. But you don’t get to try to protect me. You lost that right.”
Stewart closed his eyes. “I know. I know you have every right to feel that way. I was selfish and stupid. I wish I’d never...” He looked at Celia. “I’m just telling you to be careful. And whether you hate me or not, please let me know if you need help. I gave your secretary my number.” He stood and looked around again. “I guess I should go.”
Celia didn’t move as he walked out of the office. She heard him say goodbye to Gladys as he closed her door. “I don’t hate you,” Celia said before she turned back to her work.
Chapter 15
Celia was late for her appointment with Natasha. When she noticed Bart’s car across from her townhouse, she altered her route, crossing and turning until Bart was no longer following. She certainly didn’t want him knowing where she was headed. She was still receiving texts from strange numbers, so she had accepted the fact that changing her number was her next step. Keith could tell something was bothering her as they walked down the hallway, but he didn’t ask.
“I was wondering about you,” Natasha said when Celia walked into Room 4. “I thought maybe I scared you off last time.”
“I’m sorry, I had some traffic issues. I’ll be ready to go in just a moment.”
Natasha watched Celia set up her recorder and turn to a blank page in her notebook. She didn’t comment on Celia’s clumsiness or her obvious tension.
“Okay, I’m ready. How are you?”
“Strangely enough, for a death row inmate, I think I’m better than you are today,” Natasha said, smiling.
“Oh, I just hate being late,” Celia replied.
“Really? I can’t remember a time when there has been a traffic jam of people waiting to visit the prison.” Natasha leaned forward. “So what really happened? Late night with a new suitor?”
“Hell no,” Celia said a little too tersely. “Sorry, but men are the last thing I want to think about.”
“Let me guess,” Natasha said. “Your Bart is not giving up so easily.”
Celia looked up sharply. “Why would you think that?”
“Even in black and white, I could see the... determination in him. People’s body language betrays a lot. It was obvious he was more into you than you were into him.”
“Is this a common skill among actors?”
“Not so much the acting, but my own skill development. You might have deduced that I am not inherently social. I’ve never been given to sappy emotion or sugary sympathy. Learning how to read people and assess situations was necessary for life and acting.”
“I can understand that. I was a weird kid growing up, and I learned how to be like my peers over time. I still can’t stand chatty small talk and effusive displays.”
“Exactly. Which is why a clinger like your Bart would be especially annoying. I’m assuming he’s bothering you.”
Celia hesitated. The purpose of these interviews was to get Natasha’s story, not share details of her own life. Still, Natasha was pragmatic, and she had experience with the persistence of the press. That wasn’t too much different from Bart’s antics. “He’s annoying as hell.”
“I assume you’ve blocked him, avoided taking calls, and made it clear that it’s over.”
“Yes. He’s still finding ways to be a pest, though. Texts from other numbers, new email addresses. I saw his car this morning and took a longer route to the prison. I didn’t intend to be late.”
Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “He’s an ass, and you’re going to have to get tougher. Change your number. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but file a report.”
“A report of what? A bad breakup?”
“You told him to cease. He isn’t ceasing. He is circumventing your attempts to stop contact. And he’s following you. You have plenty to put into a report.”
Celia shook her head. “This is ridiculous. He’s just a guy with a hurt ego.”
“Look, Celia,” Natasha said. “I am not an empathetic person by nature, and I don’t worry about things. But I was in the public eye long enough to know that stalking is not something to ignore. I know actresses whose lives were made hell, and these people need to be eliminated. Your space is your space, just like mine was mine at that diner.”
Celia wanted to change the subject. “I already planned to change my number. I’ll give the report definite thought. But I’ve already wasted part of the hour we have. If you’re ready, I’d like to talk about the next murder.”
“Fine. I’ve given my opinion. Just don’t be late next time.” Natasha smiled. “We can talk about Roland.”
“Were you concerned about killing a police officer?”
“He was retired. He took early retirement, in fact, and based on the way he had treated me, I suspected he’d been caught more than once being unethical. Men with his temper and God complex usually break the rules.”
“What did he do to make you so angry?”
“Not long after I began driving, I was stupid and young and liked to speed. One night I was driving home from a party, and since the road was deserted, I thought I’d open up my little sports car and see what she could do, as they say. Roland was lying in wait behind some trees and pulled me over.”
“A pain in the ass, but understandable I guess.”
“Getting pulled over was irritating, but it was his manner that truly infuriated me.” Natasha reached for another cigarette. “He made me get out of the car, asked about my citizenship, asked where I was going so late at night. I admit I was a bit of a smart aleck. He didn’t want to give me back my license right away, and when I grabbed his hand to reach for it, he told me I was assaulting an officer.”
“Good grief!”<
br />
“Yes, my father had to come to the station, and my car was impounded. Our attorney took care of it, but my father checked into Roland. Let’s just say he wasn’t squeaky clean. He had complaints against him for being overly rough and other infractions.”
“Was he reprimanded?”
“A slap on the wrist at most. But it was enough to make him vengeful. I can’t count the number of times I saw him follow me, the number of questions he asked every time there was an issue on a set or at a bar or restraint where I happened to be dining. I was glad when he retired.”
“How did you get into his house?”
“That was quite easy. He was too arrogant to have a fancy alarm system. All he needed was a gun, you see. I visited his house more than once while he was out partying or with a lady friend. That was how I found the gun.”
“Wait, so the gun was his? Why wasn’t it traced back to him?”
“I could tell by the way it was hidden and its appearance that he’d lifted it from some crime scene. It wasn’t stored the way his other weapons were, and it was dirty. A man like him would keep his legal weapons clean. I left it where it was and waited for the right time.”
“So what happened?”
Natasha smiled. “I have to say, the first murder I committed was out of necessity. This one? This one I enjoyed.”
Celia could tell by the way Natasha sat back and looked to be reliving it that she was telling the truth. “Do I need popcorn for this scene?”
“You might,” Natasha laughed. “Too bad there’s no spotlight...” She closed her eyes, and Celia smiled at the theatrics.
Roland sat up in bed, not sure what woke him. Had it been noise or just a sense that something was wrong? He tried chiding himself, but his heart continued to pound, and his dog whimpered in her sleep. It was quiet enough in his bedroom to hear the whirring of his laptop on the desk across from his bed. But the quiet didn’t reassure him; it made him more skittish. Swearing to himself, Roland left the bed and went to his closet to retrieve the 9mm.
His mouth went dry when he discovered the empty box; it was missing. The gun was missing—not his issued weapon. That one was locked in its case beside his bed. This was the unregistered gun he had confiscated from a crime scene years before. He thought he might need it someday. And now it was gone. He was going to have to find the gun. Swearing, he headed to the bathroom. He rubbed his eyes as he stood at the toilet.
“Tsk, tsk officer. Doesn’t this gun belong in an evidence locker somewhere?”
He turned, Natasha stood there. He watched her hands around the gun for some hint of shaking; shaking would indicate uncertainty. Her hands were as steady as his had been trained to be.
“I thought it might come in handy one day,” he replied, not moving.
“And so it has. Did you bend the rules and beat the drug dealer or rapist you confiscated this from?”
Roland nodded quietly. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “He did do something wrong. That means it was okay for you to do something wrong, correct?”
“Natasha...”
“Shut up. Nobody wants to hear you moralize. Turn around.”
He didn’t move except to move his gaze from her hands to her face.
“Turn around, former detective, and put your hands in front of you.” She cocked the gun. “Or don’t.”
Roland shakily turned and did as she asked, bile burning his tongue.
“Good boy. Don’t worry. I know you were blinded by your ego, so I’ll be quicker. And you don’t claim to believe in God, so I can’t hold you accountable for breaking the very morals you claim to believe. Besides, you aren’t very smart. You probably didn’t have a choice.”
Roland flinched at that last part. He heard her footsteps, and then the end of the barrel pressed coldly against the base of his neck, where his brain stem felt as if it was pulsing. “Please...” He heard himself whisper.
“I’m not sorry,” she whispered back.
A loud, smoky explosion filled the room. Then it was silent.
Celia wrote in silence, absorbing Natasha’s account of the murder. She could weave quite a story, and she didn’t seem at all ruffled about killing a retired officer. And yet Celia found herself empathizing a bit with the actress. Roland had used his position to try to bully her and exact some kind of favor, probably the seedy kind. He was the type of officer who gave good ones a bad name. Celia wasn’t sure murder was the best way to deal with a man like Roland, but she understood why Natasha held a grudge. Keith knocked on the door, breaking the silence, and Celia began putting away her things.
“I meant what I said about your problem,” Natasha said as she stood to leave with the other officer.
“I appreciate the concern. I’ll see you next week,” Celia replied as she followed Keith out the door.
“So is everything okay?” Keith asked as they walked down the hall.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“The guy from the gala?” Keith chuckled when Celia looked at him. “It was obvious he wasn’t thrilled I said hello to you.”
“He’s just a little persistent.”
“It must be more than a little if you’re getting advice from Natasha.”
Celia laughed. “Oh, she just volunteered her input. She’s not the most objective when it comes to dealing with stress.”
“That’s an understatement.” Keith looked a bit concerned. “Still, if you need anything, let me know. I know there’s a lot of disturbing gray between a persistent guy and what qualifies somebody for a restraining order.”
“I’m sure it won’t come to that. He just needs to meet someone else, and he’ll forget all about me.”
“Tell you what, just in case, I’d be glad to take a look around your place, see if I can offer some security device. You at least need to set up a folder to document all his contact. A paper file and a digital one.”
Celia sighed. “Sure, that would be great. But like I said, he’ll eventually forget about me.”
“You may not be that easy to forget.” Keith smiled.
“Thanks for the compliment, but I’ll be fine. See you next week.” Celia waved at the woman behind the desk, walked to her car, and drove home still thinking about what Natasha had said. She hadn’t told Natasha or Keith about her conversation with her father. That would have led to a whole other series of probing questions that Celia didn’t want to answer. And it would have given the actress more reason for concern about Bart.
Celia opened her mailbox and groaned. It was apparent from the packed box that she hadn’t checked her mail for almost a week; she sometimes forgot when she was busy. After unlocking her door and dropping her briefcase and purse in the entryway, she began sorting through the thick stack.
Bills...bills...coupons...
Then Celia stopped. There was an envelope with no stamp and Celia’s name printed on the front. She opened it, read it, and then dropped into a kitchen chair.
Celia:
You can’t betray me. I will know. I love you. We belong together. I’m not giving up. Be careful how you reject me.
Celia’s first impulse was to rip the note into tiny pieces. However, instead, she put it back in the envelope and placed it in the top drawer – her junk drawer. It was from Bart, and it bothered her more than the calls and emails. In those, he just begged to see her or tried to convince her they should be together. Sure, he was manipulative, but weren’t most people that way when they wanted something? Celia had pulled more than a few strings in her own career, and Natasha certainly knew how to manipulate. Even John seemed to know which buttons to push.
But the threat in Bart’s handwritten note was clear. And he didn’t sign it. In all his somewhat pathetic attempts at romantic pleadings, he never hid who he was. Celia knew he was trying to scare her, but mostly she felt pissed. Bart wasn’t going away quietly, and nothing she said or did seemed to deter him. It was late, Celia was t
ired, and she hadn’t eaten since the prior evening. Bart wasn’t going to ruin a quiet night home with takeout. She took the note out of the drawer and tore it in half before tossing it into the trash can. Taking the menu from Marlene’s restaurant off of the refrigerator, Celia dialed the number to order her dinner.
Chapter 16
“So how are you?” Keith asked Celia as they started down the hallway toward Room 4.
“I’m doing pretty well. Ready for the weekend.”
“Yeah, me too, I’m off this weekend, so I can finally enjoy some free time.”
“Do you work many weekends?”
“Every other one,” Keith replied. “I get time-and-a-half then.”
“Nice.” Celia smiled.
“That Bart guy giving you any trouble?”
“Keith, you don’t have to worry about me. It’s all good.”
Keith shrugged and opened the door. “Enjoy your interview.”
Celia smiled and nodded as Keith closed the door. Natasha was already sitting in her place.
“You look terrible,” Natasha said. “You look the way I do when the noise in here prevents me from sleeping.”
Celia tossed the notebook on the table in front of her. “Gee, thanks.”
“No offense intended. I’m worried about you.” She raised a hand when Celia raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I’m curious. Are you not sleeping?”
“Not really,” Celia sighed.
“Why not? Your job? Your admirer?”
“I appreciate this, but I’d rather not talk about it.” Celia realized she didn’t have her recorder. “Well, crap.”
Natasha sat back and watched Celia quietly. Celia considered knocking on the door and having the guard walk her back to get it, but that would take at least ten minutes from the interview time.
“Screw it,” Celia laughed. “You may have to talk slowly today. We’re going old school.”
Natasha shrugged. “Or I could do the note-taking?”
“You write fast?”
“I know shorthand.” Natasha chuckled at Celia’s expression. “I learned it for the secretary turned agent role. I try to immerse myself into a character’s skills.”