by Laurie Nave
Celia swore happily. “That’s perfect. Great!” She slid the notebook and pen across the table.
“No problem. So where would you like to start?”
“I’ve been thinking about the murder you confessed to after your conviction. It was surprising at the time...”
“And?” Natasha laughed. “You aren’t going to hurt my feelings.”
“Well, now that we’ve had all these conversations, it’s even more surprising. You were very, well, pragmatic about the other murders. Confessing to this one wouldn’t have served you. You had already been sentenced, and confessing wasn’t going to change that. It doesn’t make sense.”
“You’ve gotten to know me well, Celia. And you’re right. There was no personal benefit to confessing.” She put down the pen and sat back. “Would you believe I was just a little bit sentimental?”
“Honestly? Not really.”
Laughing, Natasha picked up the pen again. “Well, maybe not in the way most people are. But an old acquaintance, the man’s daughter, wrote me a letter.”
“A letter. Did you keep it?”
“I didn’t have to,” Natasha shrugged. “I have a good memory. Occupational hazard.”
“You memorized it?”
“You never know when someone is going to go through your things.”
Dear Natasha,
I know you haven’t heard from me in a long time. I’m sorry I lost touch when you were arrested. I didn’t know what to say. It’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth.
I’m also sorry our friendship sort of fell apart after, well, you know. I guess I didn’t know what to say then either. I felt too guilty. I figured you knew I knew, and I wasn’t sure you’d want to be around me.
Tasha, my dad was a bad person. He hurt my mom, he hurt me, but I swear I never thought he would hurt somebody else. He had too much to lose. But I know he tried to hurt you. It’s why I never invited you over again. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was, but I was scared and ashamed.
When he was found dead, I was relieved. I guess that’s terrible, but he couldn’t hurt us anymore. I wondered if maybe it was you, but then they questioned everybody, and they never did anything. My mom fell apart. I thought she’d be relieved too, but she loved him.
We moved, and life changed, and I just never really called you. I kept modeling, but once I turned 21 I quit. Too many bad memories. My mom never really got over it. We haven’t talked in years. I can’t stand the way she romanticizes him.
Anyway, I know they read your mail, so I won’t ask you if you did it. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry. I kind of wonder if part of the reason you did those things was because of him. I hope not.
I just wanted you to know I was sorry for what happened. I hope you win your next appeal.
Sincerely,
Amelia Stratford
It was quiet for a while. “Wow, that’s some letter.”
“Yes,” Natasha turned a page of the notebook. “I was surprised when I received it.”
“So tell me about Amelia. The name isn’t familiar. She was a model?”
“Yes, and she could wear anything. We knew each other fairly well. She wasn’t catty and gossipy like most of the teenagers.”
“So you were good friends. You visited her home?”
“More than once. When your father is like mine, it can be suffocating. I rarely socialized like a typical young girl. Not that it bothered me. But I needed time away from him. He thought Amelia was harmless, and he respected and admired her dad for some reason.”
“Do you know why that was?”
“I’m not sure. Her father wasn’t especially likable. Maybe they had that in common,” Natasha chuckled. “Mr. Stratford was wealthy and had a certain amount of power in the industry behind the scenes.”
“And he was abusive?”
“I never saw it. I knew Amelia’s mother was quiet. But she never hesitated to correct a photographer or assistant who stepped out of line. I heard Mr. Stratford yell at her a few times when I visited. He ruled his house. But then so did my father.”
“What happened?”
“I spent the night with Amelia. It wasn’t the first time. Her parents went out and stayed out late. That wasn’t unusual. They both liked to drink.”
“Were they alcoholics?”
“Who knows. I heard Amelia’s mother come in after midnight. She threw up in the bathroom and took a shower. But it was almost dawn when her father came home. He was loud. Amelia was still sound asleep, but I had a headache, so I went to look for some aspirin.”
“You two drank as well,” Celia smiled.
“We did. They never locked their liquor cabinet. And their wine was much better than my father’s cheap vodka. But Amelia slept like the dead when she drank. It was impossible to wake her.”
“So you went to find the aspirin.”
“Yes, they had a cabinet in the kitchen with all their pills. I was looking for an aspirin when Mr. Stratford walked in. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and he had on these pajama pants.”
“He tried something.”
“At first he just said hello and asked where Amelia was. I was leaning against a corner of the L-shape counter, reaching for the pills. He got closer and told me how beautiful I was. Started stroking himself. It was disgusting to watch. I tried to get around him, but he trapped me, grabbed my shoulder, and shoved my hand down his pants.”
“God!”
“For some reason, I didn’t shout. He told me to keep my mouth shut or he would hurt me. Ruin me. He pressed me against the counter and moved my hand up and down. I stared into his face.”
“You weren’t afraid?”
“At first I was; he caught me off guard. Then I was angry. I knew he’d probably been doing it to Amelia too. She did not deserve abuse.”
“So how did you get away?”
“I didn’t. He came into my hand, groaned, and let go. Before he backed away, he warned me to stay quiet. He said he knew things about my father and that no one would hire me. Also, he said he hoped I came to visit again soon.”
“What a... He was a monster.”
“True. I went back to the bedroom. I lay there seething for a while and then dozed off. When I woke up, Amelia was crying.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t say anything and neither did she. We had a late breakfast, and then I went home. I never got invited over again.”
“Do you think she knew? Could she have woken up and seen something?”
“Her letter implies she knew somehow. I didn’t care to go back, so it never bothered me when she avoided me.”
Celia stood and walked to the small barred window. “And then you killed him.”
“Even though I never visited, he was still at shoots and events. He’d corner me to remind me of his threats or try to touch me somehow. I knew he would be a thorn in my side. So I started to plan and wait to get him alone.”
“And no one suspected?”
“I guess not. They questioned all of us, but I told them I was home with my father. They believed it.”
“He was bigger than you,” Celia said. “How did you overpower him?”
“I knew if I waited long enough, I could let him catch me alone. And when he did, I would trick him.”
“But what about other people?”
Natasha shrugged. “I was young but not stupid. And I was patient. Sure enough, he came after hours to a site. I was there to escape my father. By then I was driving, though I was underage. He came to pick up something Amelia had left, or so he said.”
“But still...no one else was there?”
“It was just us. He tried to flirt, and I let him. He tried to kiss me, and I let him. He pulled me close—“
“And you let him?”
“Yes. It was easy to stab him in the neck while he was distracted.”
“Damn,” Celia whispered.
“I ran off after taking off my shoes and smearing my footprints with
socks. I snuck into my house and bathed, washed the clothes. I went to bed.”
“What if your father had heard you?”
Natasha finished writing and put down the pen. “I hoped he wouldn’t. He drank every night. Even if he wasn’t asleep, I didn’t think he would betray me. He knew I would be successful. And his ego wouldn’t let him shame himself.”
“So no one ever knew.” Celia sat down again. “How old were you?”
“I was sixteen.”
“You kept a murder quiet for almost 20 years. Then you confessed because of a letter.”
Natasha smiled and shrugged again. “Amelia was a sincere person. She didn’t even ask in the letter. I knew she wouldn’t press for a trial, and I didn’t think the state would go through all of that when I was already here. Now she knows the truth.”
“It was very kind of you.”
“Anyone can learn to be kind, Celia. You should know that.”
Keith and Celia walked down the hallway in silence. Celia was still pondering the unexpected kindness Natasha had shown someone she hadn’t seen for 20 years. Experts had proclaimed Natasha a sociopath, someone without empathy. So what made her confess to something she could have kept hidden forever? Was it truly just kindness without agenda? Then again, was anyone ever truly kind without an agenda. Celia had to admit, there were times when her interviews with Natasha left her unsettled, questioning herself.
“Must have been a deep interview,” Keith remarked as he swiped his badge and input the code.
“It was a bit. I heard some things I didn’t expect.”
“Yeah, she can take you by surprise like that. Want me to walk you to your car?”
Celia was about to protest, but she thought about all the extra turns and stops she’d made on her trip to the prison. “Sure, thanks.”
Keith walked with her across the lot. “So has this Bart guy done anything threatening?”
“Not really. Just a pest. He’s the reason I was late today.”
“What do you mean?”
“I noticed he was following me, and I didn’t want him to know what I was doing, so I led him around until he gave up following.”
Keith stopped and grabbed her arm to stop her as well. “He followed you?”
“I lost him. He’s just trying to intimidate me.”
“Celia, that’s not normal. I’d consider that threatening.”
“Come on, he’s harmless.”
Keith sighed. “You need to watch things. If he’s following you, that means he’s at least a little obsessed. Trust me, normal guys don’t follow a woman around town just because she dumped them.”
“I didn’t dump him.” Celia was defensive. “We only went out a few times.”
“I could tell at the gala he was really into you. He didn’t like us talking at all.”
Celia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s part of what turned me off. We were just talking.”
“I know that. I’m just saying don’t dismiss the idea that he could be trouble.”
“I won’t. I’m not. But I’m not going to hide. He doesn’t get to bully me.”
Keith smiled and shook his head. “I can see why Natasha likes you.”
“She likes you too.”
“I’m not sure how to feel about that. But hey, two good-looking women like me.”
Celia laughed. “Here’s my car. Thanks for walking me.”
“No problem. Take care. I’ll be glad to walk you every time if you’ll make me more of that cake.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Celia got into her car and locked the doors. She noticed as she drove away that Keith was watching her from the curb, making sure she made it out of the lot without any problem. He was a good guy. She could use a friend who could take Bart in a fight, she thought, chuckling.
Celia checked her rear-view mirror regularly on her way home, but there was no Bart following her this time. She’d lost him before she left the city, so he couldn’t possibly know where she went. Still, she was glad when she returned to her office without a tail. Keith was right about one thing; it wouldn’t hurt to be careful.
The deadbolt was unlocked. Celia always locked both the knob and the deadbolt. Part of her wanted to call someone before entering her house, but who would she call? Instead, she placed her keys in between her fingers and opened the door slowly.
It was quiet, and nothing looked disturbed. No disarray, no creepy gifts, and no notes. She set down her purse, turned on the entryway lamp, and walked through the kitchen and living area still holding the keys. The hallways were quiet as well. But she could see a glow coming from her bedroom. Her fist closed tightly around the keys as she inched forward. If you’re there, you’re dead. I’m sick of this.
No one was in her bedroom, but the bedside lamp was on, and there was something on her pillow. A flower. No leaves, no stem, just the bud. After looking in the closet and under the bed, Celia swore and grabbed the blossom. She tossed it in the toilet and flushed. Then she checked to make sure her windows were locked. Turning off the lamp, she left the bedroom and headed back to her purse.
Her father’s card was in her wallet. She hadn’t planned to call him, but now she wondered if he might know more about Bart. Was it worth connecting with the man she spent years hating to find out? She closed her eyes and pictured the tiny bud swirling around the bowl before disappearing. Yes, it was. If she was going to get Bart off her back, she’d have to play dirty. And that meant she needed to know more about his past. Celia dialed her father’s number on her cell.
“Hello, um, Dad? It’s Celia. I have some questions. Can we meet?”
Chapter 17
STEWART WAS ALREADY sitting at a small table when Celia arrived at the coffee shop. He was sipping something, and he waved when he saw Celia. She headed to the table without waving back.
“I’m glad you called. I wasn’t sure you would. Would you like something?”
“No, it’s too late for caffeine for me.”
“So,” he started to reach across the table, but hesitated. “What’s going on?”
“I want to know more about Bart.”
Her father frowned and leaned forward. “Has he done something? Has he threatened you?”
“Relax. He’s just being a pest. Trying to intimidate me a bit.”
“I told you he was dangerous. You don’t need to underestimate him.”
“I don’t,” Celia replied. “But I suspect he underestimates me. I can handle him, but I need to know more about his past. More about his possible secrets.”
“Well, it was no secret he was an arrogant ass,” Stewart said. “Judith’s parents liked him well enough, but Melina never trusted him. She said he gave her a creepy vibe. I didn’t know Judith that well, but Melina swore he was changing her. And not by choice.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, apparently Judith was the spunky one, the rebel. She had strong opinions and kind of went her own way. But she was fiercely devoted to her family.”
“And that changed?”
“Over time it did. She went from speaking her mind to being more timid. Eventually, it was almost like she had to look to Bart for permission to say anything. And we saw less and less of her. She told us it was Bart’s career, but she didn’t come to visit by herself either. Melina wondered if he wouldn’t let her.”
“Was he abusive physically? Did you ever see bruises?”
“I never did. Melina never said if she did. But, as I said, We seldom saw her by the end.”
“What about when she did visit? Was she quiet? Nervous? Did she wear long sleeves even when it was warm?”
Stewart nodded. “Now that you say that, yes she did. We had a cookout once, and everyone wore shorts except Judith. She wore pants and a button-down. I remember Judith commenting about it.”
“I wonder if there were any trips to the ER,” Celia said more to herself than her father.
“We’d have no way of knowing.”
“I doubt
it. He wouldn’t leave marks you could see or hurt her bad enough to need medical attention. He’d stay under the radar.”
“You’re probably right.” Stewart reached for Celia’s hand. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”
Celia put her hands in her lap. “No, never. If he’d done that, he’d be in jail. I’d know how to ruin him if it was that overt.”
“I really think you need to get a restraining order. Do something.”
“I wasn’t going to, but now that he’s been in my house—”
“Wait, what the hell? He was in your house? Tonight?”
“Not when I got home. But he had been there. I could tell. I’ll have to get new locks I guess.”
“I’ve got a suite,” Stewart said. “Why don’t you stay with me tonight? Stay there until you get the locks changed.”
Celia shook her head. “No, I’m not running away. He doesn’t get that. Besides, I have a meeting first thing in the morning.”
“I could go with you, wait while you pack a bag. You don’t need to be there if he can get inside.”
“I’ll use the chain, and I’ll put a chair against the door if I need to. I’m not sleeping anywhere but my own bed tonight.”
Stewart sighed. “I know where you got that stubbornness.”
Celia smiled without thinking. “From you.”
“You’re right. Dammit.” He smiled. “You’re sure I can’t change your mind?”
“Thanks, but no. You’ve helped though. I know where to dig now. If he’s worried about being exposed as an abuser, he’ll back off.”
They said their goodbyes, and her father left the coffee shop. Celia decided to get a tall latte after all. It’s not like I’ll sleep tonight anyway.
AT 9:00 ON THURSDAY morning, every staff member, reporter, and assistant were crammed into the bullpen waiting for the meeting to begin. The email firmly requesting everyone’s presence was cryptic, and the office had been filled with speculation all week. John was either in the dark about the meeting announcement, or he was using his office to hide from probing questions. He’d canceled all his meetings. On Wednesday evening when Celia locked her own office long after business hours, she’d noticed the light still coming from under John’s door.