Chosen by a Killer by Laurie Nave (read e book txt) 📗

father wanted the money they would bring. We argued, and he would tell me, ‘You are stubborn and crazy like your mother! You will go crazy and we will lose everything!’

“I decided to research. At first, it was difficult, but money talks and money silences. I managed to determine that she never left the country. I thought perhaps my father lied about where she went to spare me from looking for her as a girl. If she was an entire country away, it would be impossible. I realized once I discovered this that I would have to confront him to find out the truth. I knew he had lied, but I couldn’t find more answers on my own.

“Did you think your father would give you the answers?”

“I wasn’t sure, but I also had leverage. By this time he was dependent on me, and he was aging. If he lied or refused to give me answers, I could cut him off completely. He would be homeless with no resources.”

“And were you prepared to do that?”

Natasha crushed the cigarette she was smoking and pulled out another. “Of course,” she said, leaning forward for a light. “Even though my mother had problems, she was still my mother. Telling me she had fled to England benefited him. If that was a lie, she might have remained in my life. He removed my choice. And so I confronted him with what I knew and demanded the truth.”

Celia leaned forward slightly. However, Natasha crushed her cigarette without taking a drag and sat back in her chair. Celia was used to dramatic pauses or thoughtful silence, but this was different. For the first time since the interviews had begun, the actress looked troubled. It was strange considering sharing the details of four murders didn’t seem to trouble her at all. Celia sat back as well, trying not to speculate. She was determined not to push.

Finally, Natasha took another cigarette and leaned forward again for a light. She pointed it at Celia. “You told me last week that I had somehow gotten you to talk too much during our interviews. You have done the same to me. This is not something I prefer to discuss. It is no one’s business. I want no one’s pity.”

Celia took a calculated risk. “Natasha, I will not pressure you to continue; however, you should know that I do not pity you.”

It was quiet, and Natasha studied the reporter carefully. After a few minutes, she smiled and placed the burning cigarette in her mouth. “I know,” she said, blowing a slow stream of smoke. “I knew you wouldn’t. That is why I approached you. I saw our similarities.” She held up her hand before Celia could interrupt. “So I will continue. But I ask that you not record this. We can record my account of my father’s murder. But not the information about my mother.”

In any other situation, Celia would have tried to negotiate. She would have pushed her subject to allow her to record. She might have even pretended to put away the recorder, leaving it on secretly, or just made a special note to remember so that she could put it in the story anyway. In this case, she turned off the recorder and put away her notebook. Celia wouldn’t be taking notes, and this would not be part of her story.

“I wondered at times if my father had been unfaithful. I have learned that certain men need admiration and need a challenge. My mother provided neither. We had a variety of housekeepers and other staff in our home, and they were usually attractive.

“My father was unfaithful, it turns out, but not just with these women. He visited prostitutes as well. High-class ones at first I think, then the dirtier ones you see on the streets.

“When my mother became erratic and her behavior became volatile, he took her to a doctor.” Natasha looked out the small window. “She had syphilis. The doctor prescribed medication for both of them, but my mother’s brain was already damaged. Instead of taking responsibility for her health and sanity, my father put her in an institution across the country. Or rather, he had one of his shady friends do so.”

“Oh my God.” Celia could barely speak. “Did he tell you where? Did you—“

“She died when I was twenty. She spent nine years alone in an institution and then slit her wrists.”

Celia sat back in her chair and watched Natasha. She was angry at her father’s deceit. Anyone would have been angry. To discover her mother had been in the country, in an institution, and had committed suicide... It would devastatingly shake a person. Celia’s eyes were narrow, but she was calm.

“How did you find out all of this? I know you researched, but... Did you have help?”

“I did. I got help from someone I learned I could trust. I realize now that I allowed my anger at my father to make me foolish.”

“What do you mean?” Celia could tell Natasha didn’t want to betray her source.

“There were several ways I could have responded to his lies. I could have cut him out of my life. I could have made him suffer financially. Killing him was irrational and stupid, and I am rarely stupid.”

The familiar knock and the guard’s presence signaled that the interview was over. Celia inwardly cursed, but Natasha just stood calmly and tossed her cigarette onto the floor before stepping on it. As always, a guard removed her from the room, and Keith escorted Celia back down the hallway.

Celia was distracted as she walked to her car. She didn’t see the note on her windshield until she had already fastened her seatbelt. Annoyed, she got out of the car and retrieved it, cursing when she saw the handwriting. Bart had left her a note at the prison. It was infuriating. He had written the time at the top: 1:32. He’d left it right in the middle of her interview, and because she was deep