Page 55 of The Six Murders of Daphne St Clair
Chapter Forty
An hour later, Ruth received another email from Harper, with three more audio files attached. The message said: She said to wait an hour before I sent this email, so you’d have time for it all to sink in. Ruth swallowed and pressed play.
“Hello again. I know, I know, I’m like a bad rash, I keep coming back.
But listen, when you told me about your father, you said to me ‘your life is almost over; you could help.’ And you’re right.
Ruth, we had our moments, but I’m pleased with the work you’ve done, and well, maybe, I see a little bit of myself in you.
Life dealt you a raw hand and I’d like to help tip the scales in your favor.
So, here’s the twist. I’m going to record two audio messages.
One confessing to your father’s murder and one denying it.
You can use whichever one you like, I don’t mind.
It’s simple really, you can go with the truth and that will be fine.
It’s a great podcast regardless. But you’ll still have a target on your back from your sister, her family, and the cops.
Or you can use the confession and give the podcast an explosive finale.
Ruth Robinson: the journalist who solved her own father’s murder?
Think of the books, the articles, your own TV show if you fancied it.
That would set you up for your life. But of course, you’d have a secret.
And you’d have to accept that your sister would never face justice.
So, it’s whatever you decide, Ruth. I made a lot of tough decisions in my life; that’s part of being an adult.
Now it’s time for you to become master of your own fate.
Thanks again for all the laughs. It’s been a hell of a ride. ”
Ruth stared at the other two audio files, not bothering to click on them. She knew what they contained. The truth and a false confession. Was this a final test from Daphne? Or just a gift? With Daphne St Clair, the answer was always: both.
Slowly, mechanically, Ruth pulled on a tank top and cut-offs and stepped into her sandals.
Then she left her apartment and started walking, looking at the world with unseeing eyes as she thought about everything.
The cars rushed by her, leaving trails of hot wind in their wake, but Ruth felt nothing but the cracked sidewalk beneath her feet as she walked.
Daphne had left her with an impossible choice.
Ruth could use the false confession. Daphne was dead now; it wouldn’t affect her either way.
Ruth would be safe from Lucy, who would never know that Ruth believed she was a killer.
And it would bring Ruth fame and a career with limitless possibilities.
There would be money, plenty of it. For herself. For her mother.
Or Ruth could go with the truth. She would have the chance to do it right, to investigate her half-sister and make a case against the real killer.
She might even net an inheritance in the process.
After all, the slayer rule would mean Lucy would be denied the inheritance if she was found guilty.
Sure, it would be hard, maybe even impossible, but Ruth would know that she had stayed true to herself and done right by her father and even by Daphne.
And she would be able to live life in the open, with no secrets to hide, no agendas to protect.
Ruth found herself standing in front of the cemetery where she went to think about Richard.
It seemed like a fitting place to make a decision about which story she would tell about his murder.
Because that’s what all this boiled down to, really: telling stories, making sense of people and the world they lived in.
The lie would set her free. The truth would save her soul. Was it better to have a happy life or a moral one? Ruth realized with a start that these were the very questions Daphne might have asked herself too, if she’d ever paused for a moment of self-reflection.
Ruth sat down on her favorite bench and closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her eyelids. A breeze whispered across her face, and she found herself thinking of Daphne. And Richard. And wishing that she could see them again. Just one more time.
Because that was the other thing Daphne had taught her. Death wasn’t the end of the story.
It was only the beginning .