Page 48 of The Six Murders of Daphne St Clair

Chapter Thirty-Four

Did Daphne really think Ruth would buy this bullshit?

After hours and hours of interviews spent together, did she really think so little of Ruth?

Daphne had definitely killed Gabrielle. It wasn’t just that Daphne had hated her.

It was the way she told the story, slowly unwinding her case against her stepdaughter before dropping the thread abruptly at the end, a long line of truths finished off with a lie.

An ice cream sundae garnished with a cigarette.

Fucking Daphne St Clair. She had confessed to a set of murders, sure, but how many others had she detoured around when leading Ruth through her life?

“You said it was convenient that Gabrielle died, but a lot of people would say it’s a little too convenient to be accidental,” Ruth began.

“Life’s funny huh?” Daphne responded smoothly. Ruth glanced away, repulsed by Daphne’s satisfied smile.

“Come on. Gabrielle would have inherited her father’s money if he died. She was making your daughters’ lives miserable. You killed her,” Ruth urged.

“A boy was hit by lightning when I was living in Leosville. Maybe you think I’m responsible for that too?

” Daphne said, raising her eyebrows so high that her wrinkles advanced into her thinning hair line.

“I admit that I poisoned my husbands, and that I pushed a couple of abusive men to their deaths. But I never killed a kid.” She seemed so adamant that doubt began to creep into Ruth’s brain but she shook it off.

“You’re already spending the rest of your life in prison, you might as well be honest now,” Ruth said, surprised at how resentful she sounded.

Something had changed between them. The air crackled with electricity as a new tension emerged.

It was clear that Daphne was surprised that Ruth wasn’t entirely on her side.

Maybe she felt that she was giving Ruth the story of a lifetime and that Ruth should sit down and shut up. But Ruth was done being quiet.

“I’ve always been honest. Do remember, the only reason anyone knows about these crimes at all, is because I confessed to them. It takes a lot of courage to do that,” Daphne said, her voice stiff and haughty.

“Do you really think listeners will be applauding you for your courage?” Ruth asked skeptically.

“Sure, why not? At least I took some action. Most women just sit around and take whatever’s given to ’em.

Look at you! You grew up in the best time in America to be a woman and what have you done?

What’s so special about you ? You’re too afraid to leave goddamned Florida!

If you were me, you’d never have gotten out of Lucan.

” Daphne’s voice was dripping with disdain.

She looked so proud of herself, a frail old woman with bile on her lips, that all Ruth felt was disgust.

“So, what? People are supposed to find your story inspirational? You got ahead by lying and killing! You cheated your way into everything!”

“I’m sorry, I missed the part of life where people are fair. They rig the system against you and then they expect you to play by the rules? That’s just stupid,” Daphne said, her voice prickly with sarcasm.

Ruth could certainly relate to feeling cheated out of what was rightfully hers, but Daphne had never stopped at what belonged to her, or even what she deserved; Daphne always wanted more.

“I suppose I’ll never understand it,” Ruth said.

“What?” Daphne snapped.

“How you could do those things, how you could hurt those people.”

“And yet you don’t wonder how those men could hurt me .

Everyone seems to just rush through that part of the story, like it explains everything but means nothing,” Daphne replied, her shrewd eyes glittering like a crow’s in the lamplight.

“At least I gave my husbands some happy memories. The men who hurt me never gave me that.”

“Yes, but you didn’t just kill violent men, you killed innocent people. You fixate on the people who hurt you but you’re also a victimizer,” Ruth said coolly, staring directly at Daphne.

“What’s your point? That I’m a bad person? I’m a serial killer! What did you expect?” Daphne scoffed.

I expected to understand, Ruth thought. I really believed that if I stared at this long enough it would make sense in my head. But the violence you did, and the violence that was done to you, none of it makes sense. My life was completely derailed by a passing impulse.

“Why did you confess then? You say you’re a bad person, but doesn’t that show some sort of remorse?” Ruth asked. It was one of the many unanswered questions about Daphne but it seemed like one of the most essential.

“No, that’s not it,” Daphne said. “I liked the idea of showing everyone what I’d gotten away with.”

Ruth narrowed her eyes. She’d heard that answer already. Daphne had said it multiple times, the words tumbling out of her mouth as smooth and polished as river pebbles. Whatever her reason for confessing, it wasn’t that.

“You just wanted people to know how smart you are?” Ruth asked, incredulous.

“Sure,” Daphne said. “People only pay attention to women when they want to fuck them or murder them. And no one pays attention to old women at all. I was proud of getting away with it, but it’s no fun if no one knows that you’ve won.”

“People will hate you for that,” Ruth said. “If there really is no larger reason, no way for them to understand.”

Daphne huffed, her mouth flattened into a thin line.

“Well, let’s talk turkey, Ruth. You’re not interviewing me because you think I’m Mother Teresa. You’re here because you know that people can’t get enough of murder. They want all the gory details, and they want it straight from the monster’s mouth.”

“People care about true crime because it’s gripping and they learn about investigations and. . . society,” Ruth finished lamely.

“They like it for the same reason people rubberneck at car accidents. Because misery excites people. And you know that every terrible thing I tell you is going to get you more listeners, more fame, and more money. But it will never be enough. People out there are listening to this podcast, wishing I’d killed more people in worse ways.

Because even murder bores them now. You’re here to make a buck off of people’s worst impulses, just like I made a buck off my own. ”

Ruth felt a searing fury, an anger so deep and elemental that she had to stop herself from slamming her fist through Daphne’s glass coffee table. She couldn’t take this a second longer.

“Actually, Daphne, I’m here because you killed my father.”