by Laurie Nave
“I’m glad everyone could make it.” A man dressed in an expensive suit stood to address them all. He was vaguely familiar to Celia, though she couldn’t remember his name. “Let’s go ahead and get started.”
“Where’s John?” Julia whispered as she sat next to Celia. Celia looked around and shrugged.
“For those of you I haven’t met yet, I’m William Keller, CEO of Multicorp Media. As of Friday evening at 5:00, we acquired this publication as one of our affiliates, and I’d like to welcome everyone to the Multicorp Media family.”
A few people applauded, and the rest of the room joined them. William smiled, lifted his hands, and continued. “Over the next few weeks, we’ll be speaking with many of you in this room to discuss the direction we are planning to take and get your feedback. We want this transition to be smooth, so, for the most part, things will be business as usual. You will continue to work on your current projects.” The room seemed relieved at the news.
“However...” William looked toward the back of the room. “We do have one promotion to announce. John Talbot has left us to pursue other opportunities, and we are appreciative of his contributions here.”
“I told you!” Julia whispered, elbowing Celia. Celia shushed her and rubbed the rib where she’d just been jabbed.
“Your new editor-in-chief is a seasoned journalist with international experience and a stellar reputation. Everyone, please congratulate your new Editor-in-Chief, Celia Brockwell!”
Celia stood slowly, while Julia cheered loudly beside her. The applause this time was fairly enthusiastic, although Celia noted a couple of sour expressions on the faces of colleagues who had hoped the promotion would someday be theirs.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Julia asked as Celia sat and William continued his speech.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Celia responded.
After the meeting ended, people began to disperse, many of them stopping by to congratulate Celia on her new title. Once the crowd had thinned, William made his way to the back of the room.
“I gather from your expression during the meeting that you had no idea you’d been promoted,” William chuckled.
“I didn’t, sir, but I am very glad to be the new Editor-in-Chief.”
“Yes, I didn’t assume John would follow through and talk to you. I confess the shock on your face was priceless. Either way, we know you are the right person for the job.”
“I appreciate that,” Celia replied.
“I’d like to sit down with you if you have a few minutes. I want to get a feel for what you are working on to see if we need to reassign anything. You’ll be taking on more as the Editor, so I don’t want you too overloaded.”
Celia checked her watch. “I’d like to talk about that as well. Unfortunately, I have a prior appointment at 10:30 off-site. Could we meet after lunch?”
“That sounds fine. 2:00?”
“Perfect,” Celia said. “I’ll make sure my assistant knows.”
William walked away, and Celia walked toward her office. She was the new Editor-in-Chief, just like that! And Multicorp would afford her all sorts of exposure and opportunities. She couldn’t help but speculate what the raise might entail as well. But now wasn’t the time to daydream. She needed to be at the prison by 10:30.
When Celia walked into the familiar small room, she was surprised to see that Natasha had put on makeup and had her hair swept into a chignon. Other than brushing her hair, Celia had never seen her do anything particularly special to her appearance.
“I meet with my attorney today. He has an attractive assistant,” Natasha answered the unspoken question.
Laughing, Celia sat down and turned on her recorder. She slid two new packs of cigarettes to Natasha and wrote the date at the top of her notebook page. “I do like the hair.”
“Thank you. You wouldn’t believe how I had to charm a guard to allow me to have a few bobby pins.”
“I think I don’t want to know.”
Natasha laughed and leaned in for a light. Once she had begun smoking, she sat back again. “So is your admirer still determined as ever?”
“Oh God, yes. I’d never have gone out with him if I had known he would be impossible to get rid of. And there’s nothing that can be done. He plays just barely inside the lines.”
Natasha pointed her cigarette finger and scolded. “You shouldn’t dismiss him. Men like him are bad for all women.”
Celia waved a hand and fiddled with her notebook. She didn’t want to discuss Bart with anyone, even Natasha. Besides, she wasn’t going to let him ruin her day and good news. He was much more than an annoyance, but she’d handle it in her way, once she figured out what that way was. Today Celia didn’t want Bart in her headspace. “I’ve got it under control.”
“You know, I believe you do.” Natasha tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. “So who are we killing today?”
Celia laughed and then caught herself. Murder wasn’t supposed to be funny. “You do have a way of putting things, don’t you?”
“I try to be direct,” Natasha teased.
“We haven’t talked about Julian Hedges.”
“Oh, that we didn’t have to talk about him,” Natasha said dryly.
“There was speculation in some of what I read that your motive for murdering him was connected somehow to organized crime. Of course, the official record states there was a long-standing grudge over misconduct.”
“Julian Hedges should have been disbarred years before he died. He was a seedy little man, a transplant from Michigan. He was crooked, and he used his skills and position to threaten and betray others. The organized crime bit was just a means to ensure his death.”
Natasha was referring to the anonymous note that she had sent to a known criminal who Julian represented. He was rumored to be under investigation by the FBI. According to court records, Natasha had doctored a couple of photos so it looked like Julian and an agent were having a conversation. This man didn’t bother checking the validity of the photos or the note. Julian was found dead in his townhouse a week later.
“So what did Julian do to you? What happened, and when?”
“Julian came to my father and me early in my career, offering his services. He had quite a few clients who were models, and he handled some of the legal aspects of their finances and taxes. The three of us met frequently, as my career took off rather quickly.”
Natasha nodded for Celia to continue.
“So you were present at the attorney meetings? Weren’t you underage?”
“I was, but I insisted on being present. My father has always been most concerned with himself. I didn’t want the two of them benefitting at my expense. This did not please my father, so Julian was privy to more than a few heated discussions. He probably observed the two of us more than anyone.”
“That makes sense. And he was bound by the attorney-client privilege.”
Natasha chuckled as she flicked ash on the floor. “Regarding our specific business, yes. He seemed to think that the relationship between my father and me was more of a gray area.”
“So he spoke to the press? Someone else?”
“Poor Julian had a gambling problem. He also had two ex-wives. When a magazine came asking for information about me, he was only too happy to accept their generous offer and betray me.”
“Which article was that?”
“One of those rags for celebrity-worshipers. They played up a passionate feud and dysfunctional father-daughter relationship, with hints of more. They never revealed their source, but I knew who it was. It could have only been Julian.”
“Did you confront him at the time?”
“I did. He dismissed me as dramatic and told me he was sure he wasn’t the only one who could describe my relationship with Father. He also let me know his take on attorney-client privilege and how unfortunate a messy lawsuit could be.”
“What a douche,” Celia said before she caught herself.
“Exactly. I wanted to pu
rsue it, but my father insisted I let it go. He was always worried about anything curtailing my fame and the money.”
Celia thought about a couple of incidents in her past. “I don’t think I’d be able to let that go easily. It was an ethical breach at the very least. Not to mention bullying tactics.”
“Yes. As a model, I watched all of the editing and retouching that goes into photographs. Photography began to fascinate me.”
“Yes, I had forgotten. You are somewhat of an amateur photographer. I’ve seen some of your photos; they’re very good.”
“Thank you, yes. I learned to use editing tools as well. It took some work, but I thought the photos of Julian talking with an agent were very convincing, as was the note.”
Linguists and writing experts had examined the note closely. However, there had been no fingerprints on the paper or envelope. If detectives had not found the photos, they would never have known who wrote it.
“Were you at all concerned that the organization might target the agent as well?” Celia asked.
“I did consider that. But it’s much easier to just quietly take care of a civilian. Killing law enforcement brings attention most criminals don’t want.”
“Of course, Julian left behind a wife and two children. Did that bother you?”
Natasha straightened. “I met his wife, a tanned, bleach-blond woman with no will of her own. Do you know why Julian moved? He moved to isolate his wife, to better control her. He wouldn’t even allow her to answer questions for herself in conversation. I am sure that after the grief faded, his family felt freer than they had in years.”
Natasha’s matter-of-factness concerning her crimes still took Celia aback sometimes. However, there was an objective logic to her thinking too. Rather than seeming calculating, sometimes it almost seemed laudable. “So Julian got his due, and no one would think to connect you at all.”
“Not until I was arrested for my father’s murder and they began digging through everything, including my external hard drive.”
“So that is where they found the photos?”
“Yes. I had told my father to get rid of it, but he kept it. He probably thought it would make good blackmail, should he need it.”
This was new information, and Celia leaned forward with interest. “Blackmail?”
“My father is a selfish man, but he is also observant. And he knows me better than anyone. After I killed Roland, he became suspicious and tried to catch me in a slip of the tongue. When Julian was killed, he became even more suspicious. He went through my things while I was away for a premier. Tore the place apart. He found the drive and the photos.”
“That must have been... Were you worried about what he might do? I mean, I know he was your father, but the way you’ve described him...”
“I was not afraid of him, afraid that he would disclose what I had done. After all, he was just as culpable as I was, and just as Machiavellian. Perhaps it was his hypocrisy that killed him. I do know this.” Natasha pushed the ashtray aside and sat very straight in her chair, her gaze boring into Celia. “The writer, James Baldwin was wrong. The only thing more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose is a woman who refuses to lose and who is not afraid to take someone with her if she does.”
Celia sat back in her chair, trying to give Natasha some space. “So is that why you killed your father? Because he knew? Were you afraid he wouldn’t stay quiet? Because you must know that no one would have ever caught you had you not decided to kill him.”
Natasha slowly twirled the butt of her cigarette into the ashtray and looked at the table. Silence had never been unusual during their interviews, but this silence seemed strangely thick and tense. Celia realized she was seeing one of the only glimpses of feeling anyone had likely ever observed in Natasha, and she wanted to lean forward, to watch closely. However, Natasha was so visibly uncomfortable that Celia had to look away out of some strange sense of sympathy.
“I have thought about many things over the years I have been here. You are correct. I would have been undetected had it not been for my father’s murder. Of course, psychologists said that I killed him because I needed the world to know what I had done. That is not true. I had no need for anyone to know.”
“So why kill him?”
“Because he lied.”
Chapter 18
When Celia returned from lunch, Gladys was sitting at her desk, and she looked up and grinned. “You’re late!”
“What? Late for what? My meeting with the CEO isn’t until 3:00.”
“Well, your 1:00 was been waiting for almost fifteen minutes,” Gladys countered.
Celia stopped at her door. “I don’t have a 1:00.” She looked through the oblong glass window on the door. “Oh, god, no.”
“He said he had an appointment. He showed me a text...” Gladys said meekly.
“It’s okay,” Celia replied. “Just don’t go anywhere. If he isn’t gone in five minutes, call me for a meeting somewhere.”
Gladys nodded, and Celia walked into her office, keeping her door open. “Bart, why are you here, and why did you lie to my assistant?”
“I had to see you. You won’t talk to me or answer my messages, so I had no choice. You shut me out.”
“I didn’t shut you out. I told you how it is. I also told you not to contact me.”
“You don’t control me, Celia. You don’t make decisions for me.”
“No, I make decisions for me,” Celia responded. “And I have decided I do not want you in my life. At all.”
Bart stood and walked toward her. Celia refused to move. “Celia, we have to talk. We can make this work if you’d stop being so stubborn.”
Celia stepped forward, thankful she wore heels. They put her eye to eye with Bart. “There is no ‘this.’ There never will be. But you need to understand something. I have every communication, every message. Including your little note.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bart sneered.
“You can walk out of my office right now, or I can call security. And my next call will be to your boss.”
“This isn’t done,” Bart said. “And by the way, I know about your little meeting at the coffee shop.”
“Good for you. Worried I might have learned something?”
“I’m not worried. But Stewart should be.”
“I said this is over. Get out.”
“And I said this isn’t done. Not by a long shot.”
“It’s done, or the police will be visiting you. I have plenty to give them.”
Bart smiled and stepped back. “Fine, Celia, I’ll leave.” He walked to the door and stopped. “Have a great afternoon,” he said before taking something out of his pocket and tossing it into the trash.
Once he left, Celia closed her door and leaned against it. What an ass. She looked down and noticed a crumpled envelope in her wastebasket. She fished it out and smoothed it on her desk. It was the note Bart had sent her, the one she had ripped and thrown away at her house. It was taped together. Celia held her breath as she reread it. Bart had been in her house.
Celia sat at her desk and scrolled through her contact list until she came to the number she needed. As it began to ring, she sighed heavily.
“Good afternoon, City police department front desk. How may I help you?”
“Yes, my name is Celia Brockwell. I’d like to speak to Detective Wilson please.” Frank Wilson was one of her contacts at the station, and they had developed a rapport. If he couldn’t help her directly, he would know who could.
“Wilson speaking,” Frank answered.
“Frank, it’s Celia from the Post.”
“How are you? What can I do for you? Got a new story brewing?”
“Actually, I have a personal favor to ask. What do I need to do to file a report of stalking? Maybe get a restraining order?”
“Is someone bothering you?”
“Yes, there is. I thought I could diffuse it myself, but it’s getting out of hand.�
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“Tell you what, come on down to the station. I’ll call one of our best guys. He can take your statement, and I’ll fill you in on the rest of the process.”
“Thanks, Frank. I’ll be there soon.”
Celia arrived at the station fifteen minutes later and knocked on Frank’s door. He was talking to a colleague, and when he stood, Celia secretly hoped he was the “best guy” Frank had mentioned. The man was probably in his late thirties, and he was at least 6’3” tall. It was obvious he spent a lot of time at the gym too. His presence was intimidating, to say the least.
“I’m Walter. Walter Robinson.” The man extended his hand and Celia shook it. “Have a seat.”
Celia took the remaining chair, and Walter sat down as well. “I appreciate both of you seeing me.”
“No problem, Celia,” Frank replied. “You’ve given the department a hand on more than one occasion. Tell us what’s going on.”
Celia told them about her brief pseudo-relationship with Bart, the calls and messages, the repeated attempts to see her. She showed Frank and Bart the screenshots and messages. She also showed them the handwritten note.
“You sure he wrote this?” Walter asked, scrutinizing the note.
“I am. I have something to compare. Here.” Celia handed him one of the cards he’d written, attached to one of the many flower arrangements he sent. “He signed this, and the writing looks the same.”
Walter looked at both notes and nodded. “This is good. The anonymous note ups the threat level, and this card is a good handwriting match. Have you filed for a restraining order?”
“I haven’t yet. I was hoping it wouldn’t get that far. But when he lied his way into my office today, I got rattled. I think it’s time.”
“You think your assistant will corroborate his lie?” Frank asked.
“Oh, I’m sure she will. She was upset that he fooled her.”
“So here’s what you need to do,” Walter said. “You need to go to the courthouse and fill out the paperwork. Get your secretary to file an affidavit too. Hang on to all this documentation and anything else that might happen. You’ll need it for the hearing.”