Page 18 of The Six Murders of Daphne St Clair
A week later I saw Sylvia Flanagan and her children putting their meagre collection of boxes in the hall.
I watched as she carried her possessions down the stairs, her children trailing after her like ducklings.
When she came up for the final load, I slid out into the hall and said hello. She wiped her brow and smiled tiredly.
“Funny to properly meet on the day we move out,” she said. I nodded, studying her carefully. There was no indication that her son had told her what he saw me do.
“So, where are you off to?” I asked.
“Back to Virginia. My parents own a horse farm and riding school there. We’ll stay with them.
They’ve always wanted to see the kids, but Frankie wouldn’t allow it.
I think the kids will love it there. I always did,” she replied.
There was a strange expression on her face, both wistful and positive.
She knew she was getting a second chance at her life.
“Well, best of luck,” I said, stepping inside my door. I wanted to add ‘and you’re welcome’ but knew that killers who gloated ended up behind bars.
Sylvia locked up the apartment and headed downstairs with the kids trailing behind. The last to leave was the oldest son, the boy who saw me on the train platform. He paused at the top of the stairs and glanced back at me, our eyes meeting.
And then he smiled.
RUTH (Voiceover): I had a phone call with Brendan Flanagan, the eldest son of Frankie Flanagan.
Brendan was the boy who saw Daphne push his father in front of the train.
Brendan is now seventy-eight and lives in rural Virginia.
He was surprised to hear from me and shocked to find out that not only had Daphne confessed to killing his father but also that she was actually a serial killer.
brENDAN: I can’t believe it. Of course, I’ve seen the news but she obviously looked very different when I saw her seventy years ago and she had a different name.
RUTH: So, what do you remember about that day?
brENDAN: You don’t forget the day you see your father die.
He was taking me along to work with him.
He did that a lot, even on school days, because they’d usually throw him a couple extra bucks for my work.
I hated it. So, there we were in the station.
I’d caught a glimpse of the woman who lived next to us.
She had black hair, pale skin, and these dark green eyes.
And she always had red lipstick on. You noticed her because she looked a little more glamorous than the other women in our building, even though she would have been poor like the rest of us. Liz Taylor!
RUTH: I’m sorry, what?
brENDAN: I always thought she looked like Liz Taylor. Every time I saw Liz Taylor in a movie, for years after, I’d think about her.
RUTH: So, what happened next?
brENDAN: Well, I’d stepped away from my dad on the platform, because he was real angry that day. I saw him turn around and say something to her, and then she just shoved him. The train hit him, and that was the last time I ever saw him. The police took me home before they got the body out.
RUTH: How did you feel?
brENDAN: Well, shocked, obviously, but also.
. . glad. We were trapped in that place.
My mother had no job, no money of her own, and I really believe he would have killed us if we tried to leave.
If it wasn’t Liz—Daphne—it probably would have been me someday, it was that bad.
My mother was Frankie’s second wife. The first had killed herself, likely to escape all the abuse.
Their kids ended up in an orphanage because he didn’t want ’em.
It bothers me, knowing I’ve got a brother and sister out there that I never met.
But they were probably better off in that orphanage than with my dad.
RUTH: It’s certainly possible. Why do you think Daphne did it?
brENDAN: Well, I always assumed she did it to save us. She would have heard everything through those walls, I’m sure.
RUTH: So, after your father died, you left New York for Virginia?
brENDAN: Yep, we moved in with my grandparents.
They were really good to us, my grandfather became like a real dad to me.
He taught me everything about horses. And that’s where I am right now.
When they retired, I took over the farm and riding school.
My mother remarried when I was in my twenties and moved a mile away so we saw her every day.
Now my daughter and granddaughter run the business and I’m free to sit back on the porch with a sweet tea and watch it all happen.
RUTH: Sounds like a nice life.
brENDAN: There’s no place I’d rather be. I had eight bad years followed by seventy great ones. Hey, did she say why she confessed? She killed my dad so long ago, why not take it to her grave?
RUTH: That’s what everyone’s wondering. I really couldn’t tell you why Daphne St Clair did the things she did. But if I figure it out, I’ll let you know.
BurntheBookBurnerz:
I see this as female solidarity. Daphne saved this woman and her children.
ShockAndBlah:
Yeah but at the same time, Daphne isn’t GOD. She doesn’t get to decide who lives and dies. Like, maybe that guy was shitty but maybe he was going to change his life at some point, be a better person. Daphne doesn’t get to decide who gets that chance.
BurntheBookBurnerz:
So, we should all sit around and let bad people hurt as many people as they like just on the off-chance that someday they’ll reform? Because like Daphne said, the cops weren’t gonna help you in 1952. The term ‘domestic violence’ didn’t even appear in official law until 1973.
StopDropAndTroll:
Oh boo fucking hoo. Stop defending a serial killer.
PreyAllDay:
I think the vigilante shit is cool. Pushing a guy in front of a train and just smiling while he gets pulverized? That could be a plot on Dexter . I like it.
BurntheBookBurnerz:
So. . . what is it? Parental divorce? Childhood bullying? Anxiety issues? What broke you?
PreyAllDay:
I think you’d be more disturbed by how normal I am .