Page 31 of The Six Murders of Daphne St Clair

Chapter Twenty-One

DAPHNE: After David died, Dr. Penney became certain that it had been cancer.

I guess it made it easier for him to cope with the fact that one of his first patients died undiagnosed and untreated.

So, by the time the obituary ran in the paper, ‘cancer’ had become ‘late-stage leukemia.’ Just one of the many sad, ordinary deaths that made up a season in a small town.

RUTH: How long did you stay in Leosville after his death?

DAPHNE: Two months. I hated every minute of it, but I needed to lie low, make sure no one was questioning the death.

Then I sold the house to some out-of-towners and pocketed my inheritance.

David was richer than I could have imagined, the kind of guy who always earned and never spent a penny on himself, socking it all away for me, his rainy day.

He really was the best kind of man. Then I loaded the kids and the dog into the back of the car and left town.

RUTH: The dog came too?

DAPHNE: Oh yeah. Ruffles came too. That damned dog outlived my next two relationships. In the end, he died of old age, a rare occurrence in my house.

RUTH: How did the kids take leaving?

DAPHNE: Oh, they cried and cried, but I knew they’d also been happy in New York. And I felt so excited; the whole world seemed to shine with possibility. Leosville was a dump. Had David lived somewhere with decent shopping and a nightlife, he might have gotten another two years with me.

RUTH: I-I. . . just can’t believe you did that! You killed a man who loved your kids, who loved you, just because you were bored? Because you hated small-town living and wanted to get back to New York?

DAPHNE: It really was the best thing.

RUTH: According to who? Certainly not David! I would have loved to have a parent like him! Doesn’t it bother you? You killed the only proper dad your children ever had! Don’t you think about the fact that the men you’re killing had mothers, sisters, children?

DAPHNE: Who, exactly, are you talking about? David was alone.

RUTH: I’m talking just generally! The people you killed, it affects things.

DAPHNE: Well, it’s certainly affected you.

RUTH (flustered): What do you mean by that? I’m just here to tell your story.

DAPHNE: But this podcast has made your career. You should be glad I killed David, it gives the public what they really want: a villain, someone to make them feel better about all their gross little secrets. ‘Oh at least I’m not as bad as her !’

RUTH: I’m not trying to make you into a villain. Or an angel. I’m just trying to tell the truth about you.

DAPHNE: Yes, well, here it is. David was nice and I killed him. I killed him and I took his money, and I hightailed it back to the big city. And by then, I knew I really had a taste for murder. That I wasn’t just using it as a last resort, I was doing it because it was fun .

When Daphne finished talking, Ruth sat in silence, her throat seized up with emotion.

For the first time, the reality of the situation was truly striking home. I’m sitting across from a killer. She had known it intellectually, but now she truly felt the implications of what Daphne had done. She had robbed people of the only time they would get to spend on earth.

Ruth gazed into Daphne’s eyes, which despite being draped in sagging skin were as cunning as a crow’s.

Before David, the three men Daphne had killed seemed so unlikable that the murders felt almost justified.

But it was David’s death that transformed the story, severing the link between Daphne as a victim and Daphne as a predator.

It proved to her that Daphne was the killer she was looking for, the missing puzzle piece that had eluded her for so long.

Because if Daphne could kill David, then she could kill anyone .

Ruth pulled her water bottle out of her bag and took a gulp, forcing it down into her roiling stomach.

She was stalling for time, trying to quell the panic and horror blotting out her thoughts, telling her to run, run, run .

Ruth finally understood that if the situation was right, Daphne would have no hesitation in killing her.

It didn’t matter that she was a good person, or that Ruth’s mother would miss her, or that Ruth had never done anything to hurt Daphne, she would kill her just the same.

Because her life didn’t matter to Daphne. It was terrifying. It was infuriating.

“Anyway, that’s the whole Leosville story,” Daphne said, leaning back in her chair and clacking her bony hands against her brittle legs with gusto. It sickened Ruth, the way she did everything but smack her lips at the thought of murdering an innocent person.

“What did you do next?” Ruth asked, trying to move the story along until she could find firmer ground, hoping that they might come to a natural stopping point so she could wrap up the interview and leave. So that she didn’t have to look at the woman who’d ruined her life any longer.

“Moved back to New York, of course. I had realized that a normal life, even a comfortable one, wasn’t good enough for me.

I wanted a fabulous life, full of glamour, excitement, and luxury, and I knew New York was where I could get it.

I also decided to use the name Daphne. I knew my kids were getting older and I couldn’t keep changing my name, so I decided to pick one I really liked. ”

“Where did the name come from?” Ruth choked out, trying to keep her water down.

“A TV show,” Daphne said with a shrug.

“Was it. . . Scooby-Doo ?” Ruth asked.

Daphne chuckled. She had a strange laugh, almost as if her throat was cracking and the sound was spilling out.

“No, but it wasn’t much better. It was a soap opera called Confessions that I got hooked on when I was killing time in Leosville. Daphne was this rich bitch with a string of husbands, so I guess sometimes life imitates art.”

“And you’ve been Daphne ever since?”

“Till the day I die,” Daphne said, her voice steady and her face untroubled. It was obvious that death had been a constant companion to this woman for a long time, an old friend that she never tired of seeing.

I’m going to show the world who you are, Ruth thought, as she ended the recording and began to pack up her things. She knew that the first thing she’d do when she got home was start editing these files, to get the next episode out.

But not before she changed the title of her podcast yet again.

The Four Murders of Daphne St Clair.

Ruth hit terrible traffic on the drive back and by the time she pulled into the parking lot next to her apartment, the sun had already set, although the air was still warm and velvety against her skin.

The sky was a royal blue, and the parking lot lamps were few and far between, amber pools of light in a dark landscape.

The staircase was an internal spiral up the building, and it was dank and dark.

As she walked up the stairs, the light above her flickering frantically, Ruth became aware of a presence behind her.

She could sense it was a man, a large one at that, who had emerged from the second-floor landing and was now uncomfortably close.

Her neck prickled and she felt exposed, not liking the feeling of turning her back on a stranger.

Their footsteps echoed in the landing. She was wearing sandals, which slapped against the floor, but she could hear the squeak of his sneakers, and she knew that he was right behind her.

Just pass me , she thought. Just fucking pass me; you’re creeping me out . Maybe it was innocuous. Men didn’t realize how often they inadvertently made women feel unsafe. But a lot did it intentionally too.

His body seemed to grow closer, his feet striking the step just as her foot lifted off from it. They passed the third-floor landing, the stairs looping up above their head into the darkness, like the rafters of an old bell tower.

Should she turn back and glare at him? But what if she saw something dangerous in his face?

An expression that told her he’d been waiting for her to look, to understand what was about to happen?

What if she just started running? But maybe he was waiting for that too?

Besides he was so close that he could easily grab her.

She wondered if someone had sent him. Maybe the Montgomerys had hired a thug to throw her down the stairs and make it look like an accident.

It would certainly make things convenient for Lucy.

As they neared her landing, she moved as quickly as she could.

She pulled the door to the fourth floor open, her heart beating so hard that it felt as if it was bruising her ribs with every thump.

She slipped in and went to push the door shut behind her, but he was already there, his solid body blocking the swinging door.

“Oh, Ruth! What a surprise!”

Officer Rankin. In his police uniform and bulletproof vest, smiling at her. There was a triumphant glint in his eye as if he’d known that he’d spooked her.

“I’m just here on some police business. I forgot that you lived here. Apartment 407, right?” he asked.

She nodded warily, her head spinning. Was she safe? She didn’t feel safe.

“So, I see you’re still doing that podcast huh?” he asked, sounding like a disappointed father. Again she nodded, not meeting his eyes. She was scared to walk to her apartment in case he tried to follow her inside. He shook his head ruefully.

“How about that, you interviewing Daphne St Clair. But I suppose it makes sense—you two have a lot in common,” Officer Rankin said with a laugh tinged with menace.

“Although I sure wish you’d take a leaf out of her book and confess.

The boys down at the station are still scratching their heads, wondering why she came forward, but I’m just glad some criminals have a little backbone. ”

Ruth stood frozen to the spot.

“Well goodbye, Ruth. The Montgomerys send their regards. See you again soon,” he said, before turning back into the stairwell.

Ruth watched him go down the stairs and then ran to her apartment.

From her window she saw him get into a police car and drive away.

Officer Rankin had no reason to come to the fourth floor; he had been following her.

He was probably being paid a handsome salary by the Montgomerys to do it too.

But to what end? To frighten her off the podcast or to get her thrown behind bars? There was no way to know.

Ruth had always felt safe when Jenn was living here, the apartment filled with the comforting noises of MasterChef reruns and Jenn shuffling around in her slippers.

But now the apartment was silent, and every noise reverberated through her body like a gunshot.

At night she would lie in bed, adrenaline coursing through her veins, certain that this time, someone had really found her.

It happened. People got murdered in their apartments every day. Ruth knew that better than anyone.

That night, once she had finished packing, Ruth saw a call from her mom light up her phone. She couldn’t avoid talking to her any longer.

“Ruth? I’ve been calling for ages!”

“I know, Mom. I listened to your messages and read the texts. But like I said, I know Daphne killed him, I’m just trying to find proof.”

“Ruth, it doesn’t matter what you think this woman did. She is dangerous. This whole thing is dangerous! Just take any evidence you’ve found and—”

“And what? Turn it over to the cops? The only murder they’ve managed to solve in ages is one where the killer literally had to call them up! They won’t give us any justice.”

“Ruth, to hell with justice. To hell with the truth and solving mysteries. You think I give a rat’s ass?” Louise shouted. “I just want you safe.”

“Mom, it’s not going to happen,” Ruth snapped. “I’m doing this, whether you like it or not. But look, I’m going out of town, on a research trip to Vermont. So, stop worrying about me. Nobody gets hurt in Vermont!” Well, except for David, but Ruth didn’t need to mention that right now.

“I’m not giving up, Ruth. I’m not giving up on you,” her mom replied.

“It might be better if you did,” Ruth responded, but her mom had already hung up.

Ruth sighed and pressed her phone against her cheek, feeling the warm screen stick on her skin.

She took a deep breath and stared at the shadows beyond the streetlamp outside.

Was that a flicker of movement? It was hard to tell.

One thing was certain. No matter what her mom wanted, Ruth knew that she wasn’t safe, not anymore.

BurntheBookBurnerz:

Okay, that last episode was fucking hard. I need some self-care after that.

StopDropAndTroll:

Snowflake. Crying those widdle baby tears.

CapoteParty:

Imagine having to live through that. Poor David. Poor kids. I hope people leave Diane and Rose alone now that Daphne’s confessed; they’ve already been through so much.

StopDropAndTroll:

Those twins are total Karens. Fuck ’em. And I doubt the kids even remember David.

ShockAndBlah:

Don’t be ridiculous, of course they would. He was their only real father figure.

StopDropAndTroll:

Ruth has some real daddy issues doesn’t she? But then again, all the best girls do. . .

BurntheBookBurnerz:

U r gross.

CapoteParty:

Hey, has anyone looked into murders in Abrams, New York? Any Daphne connections there?

StopDropAndTroll:

[This comment has been removed by a moderator.]

PreyAllDay:

I’m too focused on the Tylenol murders right now. I think there’s a good chance Daphne did them.

StopDropAndTroll:

Daphne commits murders for MONEY. Nobody made any money off the Tylenol murders so fucking drop it.

ShockAndBlah:

Stop trying to make fetch happen .