The Perfect Lie

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  Alexandra stared at Elias like she was trying to decide whether to believe him. He smirked. He’d done it—the wheels in her mind were turning, convincing her the man she thought he was wasn’t who he was at all.

  “I’ve never heard anyone say what you just said.”

  “Say what?”

  “Take ownership like you just did. Most killers don’t care about what they’ve done. They’re proud of it. Even when they know they’re going to die. I mean, some of them have a come-to-Jesus moment in the eleventh hour, but they’re usually the desperate ones, those willing to do anything to be saved from execution. It’s ironic, you know? For all the lives they took without hesitation, they’re terrified of losing their own.”

  It was working. She’d separated him from the pack. Or so he thought.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “You killed a lot of people.”

  “I killed when I had to kill. Not out of a lust for it, and not because of a need I had to fill. I was faced with no other choice. I’m not like those other heartless animals. At least, I’d like to think I’m not.”

  “Why talk about it now? Why come clean with me?”

  “Being in here, locked up, alone with my thoughts day after day, I’ve had a lot of time to think about those I’ve hurt. Family members of the people I killed who deserve answers to their questions, deserve to understand it wasn’t personal. I’m hoping your book gives them the solace they need to move on. Closure, I guess. If it’s possible.”

  Boo-hoo. That’s right. Eat it up.

  And she was too. He could tell by the look on her face.

  “What about your other victims? After you killed Henry, you killed several more times. They can’t all be blamed on people catching you in the act.”

  “Why not? You weren’t there. You don’t know.”

  “I suppose I still don’t understand. Including Donald and Dorothy Hamilton, you shot and killed six people. You’re saying all six posed a threat?”

  “I’m saying they all had to die. I wouldn’t have killed anyone if I didn’t have to kill them. You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Why does it matter what I believe?”

  He leaned forward for dramatic effect, stared right into her eyes until she stared back. “Because I care about what you think. I mean it. The only reason I killed those people was to survive. I knew I’d do prison time if I got caught. I know what you’re thinking—I’m weak, a coward. I should have turned myself in. You’re right. I should have.”

  He leaned back, watching her struggle to come up with the words that, up to now, had flowed from her tongue with ease.

  “What ... what, ahh ... what about Donald and Dorothy Hamilton? The police found you on the ground, holding their daughter in your arms when they entered the house. Your mask was still on.”

  “All I can say is it was a different situation than the rest.”

  “Different how?”

  “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Why not? You’ve been open with me so far today.” She paused. “Elias, how are Donald’s and Dorothy’s deaths different from the others?”

  He shrugged. “They just are.”

  She leaned back in the chair, crossed one leg over the other. “I came here initially thinking you would be just like all the other criminals I’ve written about. But you’re not like them. You’re different, Elias. You don’t say what you think I want to hear; you mean what you’re saying. I can tell by the expression on your face. I see something in you I’ve never seen in the others.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Remorse.”

  He bit his lip, stifled the overwhelming urge to laugh.

  “Yeah? You think so.”

  “You regret the murders you committed, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. Every single day.”

  Bingo. He had her right where he wanted her.

  “Help me understand this then. How does a man with genuine remorse rape a woman?”

  When he didn’t respond, she added, “I heard the sworn testimony given by Paula Page. I saw her tears, the way she couldn’t look at you when she was talking. Want to know what else I noticed?”

  Silence lingered between them for a time. When he didn’t respond, she continued. “During Paula’s testimony, she kept looking at Sandra Hamilton. I asked around. Paula and Sandra aren’t friends. They’ve never been friends. Never hung out together. Why does a girl who has no affiliation to the other girl continually stare at her while she’s on the stand?”

  He shrugged. “How should I know?”

  “After you killed Donald and Dorothy Hamilton, you shot Sandra. Instead of leaving, you stayed. Why? You must have known the police were coming. Why risk getting caught? What made her different from everyone else?”

  “It didn’t feel right, shooting her. I ... we ... knew each other.”

  “From school, I know. She said you don’t really know each other well though.”

  “Not personally. I was a few years older.”

  “You shot her parents with precision, and yet you shot Sandra in an area you knew wouldn’t kill her. There were also bullets still left in the chamber of your gun. Why not finish her off when you had the chance and make a run for it?”

  He closed his eyes, shook his head slowly. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

  “You said you wanted to give people closure. Part of that closure comes from telling the truth.”

  He closed his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore today. It’s too much. I just don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Who are you protecting, Elias, and why?”

  “No one. Nothing.”

  “It’s hard admitting the truth, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about Sandra Hamilton. You rushed to her side after you shot her, cradled her in your arms, pressed your hand against her wound to stop the bleeding. Then you waited for the police to arrive, even though you knew what would happen when you got caught. Deny it all you want. I know why you did it, Elias.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  “You didn’t just feel guilty because you shot her. You regretted shooting her because you cared for her.”

  “Who told you that?”

  Alexandra leaned forward, curving her lips into a wicked grin. “It’s a shame she didn’t care about you in return. But then, how could she when you’d killed her parents?”

  CHAPTER 28

  Alexandra Weston

  December 20, 1985

  Alexandra had gone into her visit with Elias Pratt expecting the interview to be no different from all the other interviews she’d had with criminals in the past. When it wasn’t, it confused and titillated her at the same time.

  Unchartered territory.

  A killer who made her feel something she never had before.

  A killer who seemed to actually give a damn.

  A killer whose secrets she was determined to discover. If not from Elias’s own mouth, she’d find another way. And she knew just where to begin. After being shot the night her parents died, Sandra Hamilton had recovered quickly. As an outpouring of love and attention flooded in from people who’d heard her story, she slid with ease into her newfound role of the grieving victim, weeping during interviews and even feigning a panic attack or two on air. She played the part well. So well, in fact, it was Sandra’s label of Elias as a “Devil in Disguise” that took hold, sticking to him like gum beneath his feet.

  One day after visiting Elias, Alexandra stood in front of the door to Sandra Hamilton’s modest house. She knocked. No answer. She waited almost a full minute. Knocked again. This time, the door opened. Sandra poked her head out. Her hair was a matted disaster, her attire a short cotton nightie. This, coupled with the dark circles under her eyes, and it appeared she’d been sleeping all day.

  “Who are you?” Sandra asked. “And what do you want?”

  “My
name is Alexandra Weston. I’m working on a book about Elias Pratt.”

  “So?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “No.”

  “I tried calling several times yesterday. I even left messages on your answering machine. You never called me back.”

  Sandra moved a hand to her hip. “What do you think that means?”

  “You don’t want to talk to me.”

  “Good. You’re smarter than you look.”

  Sandra turned and walked away, leaving the door ajar. Alexandra took it as a sign she’d been offered a full-access pass and stepped inside. Sandra stopped at the kitchen, reached for a pack of cigarettes on the counter. She cupped a hand around her lips, lit up, took a long drag, and blew smoke into the air, allowing the smell of tobacco to waft through the room.

  From the back of a long hallway, a man emerged from a bedroom. He was dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and looked like he exceeded Sandra’s age by at least fifteen years. He scratched at his family jewels, gave Alexandra a quick head nod, smiled, and continued to scratch away until he, too, reached the kitchen.

  He looked at Sandra. “Who’s your friend?”

  Sandra whipped around, glared at Alexandra. “You need to go. I don’t have time for this.”

  “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  Sandra glanced at a clock on the wall, tensed. “You have to go, Ben. Now.”

  “Already?” he asked. “Feels like I just got here, baby. Can I see you again?”

  “Maybe. I’ll call you.”

  “What about tomorrow? I can come over after work. Five thirty be okay?”

  “I said I’d call you.”

  The man hung his head, returned to the bedroom. Alexandra assumed, and hoped, it was to get his clothes and be on his way. Seconds later, the doorbell rang.

  A different man, this time a bit closer to Sandra in age, entered the house. “It’s Roger,” he hollered into the house. “The door’s open. I’m coming in.”

  Sandra flicked the cigarette into an ashtray and marched over to him. “You’re early, Roger. Fifteen minutes early. We talked about this. I give you a time. You stick to it, or there won’t be a next time. Understand?”

  Roger produced a handful of red roses, offered them to Sandra. She smacked them away. “No, no, no. Roger. I told you. It isn’t like that. Now leave.”

  “But what about—”

  “Come back in fifteen minutes.”

  Sandra slammed the door, yelled, “Ben, I told you to get out!”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he yelled back.

  He shuffled down the hall, leaned toward Sandra on his way out like he wanted to give her a kiss. She jerked her face in the opposite direction, and his kiss landed on her hair.

  Once he’d left, Alexandra said, “What the hell is going on here? Why are men coming in and out of your house today?”

  Sandra shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

  “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

  “Does it look like your business? Because it isn’t.”

  “I have a few questions about Elias,” Alexandra said. “Answer them and I’ll leave you to get back to whatever the ‘nothing’ is you have going here.”

  “I’m not interested in talking about Elias. It’s been almost three years. I don’t think about it anymore. Are we done?”

  “Are you aware Elias was just granted another stay of execution?”

  “Do you think I care? Do I look like I care? I don’t keep up on any of it anymore. Not since the trial ended.”

  “Your parents are dead because of him. That doesn’t matter to you?”

  “He got what he deserved. I’ve moved on. Everyone else should too.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Still, must have been hard after what he did to you.”

  Sandra turned, coughed. “What he did ... it doesn’t ... I’m not ... I’m fine.”

  “I talked to your neighbor.”

  “So?”

  “The one who called the police the night Elias broke in. She saw you come home that night. Knew the exact time too.”

  “Your point?”

  “When she heard the gunshot, the one after you arrived home, the one that hit you, it was at least ten minutes before police arrived. A lot of time, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “You do though, don’t you, Sandra? You know exactly what I mean. He could have left if he wanted to. He didn’t. He stayed. And the only reason I can think of is that he stayed for you.”

  Sandra shrugged. “So.”

  “The first officer on the scene said that when he walked into the house Elias was cradling you, saying, ‘It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right now. I’m not going to leave you.’ Interesting choice of words, don’t you think?”

  “The guy’s a freaking weirdo. Why does it matter what he said?”

  “When Paula Page was on the stand during Elias’s trial, she kept looking at you. Do you have any idea why?”

  “I don’t know her. Who knows?” Sandra pointed to the door. “You need to leave.”

  Alexandra walked to the door, turning back before she stepped outside. “There’s a reason Elias saved you. I think you know why, and I won’t stop digging until I figure it all out.”

  Sandra curved her lips into a wry grin and leaned forward. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Alexandra Weston

  March 3, 1985

  5:30 p.m.

  If Alexandra couldn’t get Sandra Hamilton to talk, she knew the perfect alternative: Paula Page. Aside from the fact both women went to the same school and were the same age during Elias’s crime spree, Paula was Sandra’s opposite in every way. Reticent. Shy. The kind of girl no one noticed in school because, most of the time, no one knew she was there. She was a lurker, always in the shadows, watching from the sidelines, not one to engage.

  Less than a year after she graduated, Paula married James Keller, a pastor seven years her senior whom she’d only dated for three months. Staring at the two of them now, sitting a foot apart from each another on the couch, Alexandra couldn’t imagine a more boring, mundane couple.

  While James appeared confident in his cheap church suit and paisley tie, a dirty-blond, curly-haired Paula, in a simple, understated dress, acted anxious and uncomfortable. Hands pressed together between her legs, her breathing was abnormal, heavy, like she knew what was coming.

  “You say you’re writing a book about Elias Pratt?” James asked.

  “I am,” Alexandra responded. “And I was hoping to speak with Paula alone.”

  “You think I’m going to leave you alone with my wife?”

  “I was hoping for a few minutes with her on my own, yes.”

  He laughed. “We’re a team. What we do, we do together. The only way I’ll allow you to talk to her at all is if I’m present. I also want to look over and approve anything you want to put in the book you’re writing, pertaining to my wife. Deal?”

  Alexandra smiled the way she always did in these situations. A smile she’d perfected. A smile that said Trust me, everything’s going to be okay. Her artificial smile was accompanied by the perfect tone of voice. Low. Pleasant. Reassuring. “Of course, Mr. Keller. I completely understand. How lucky Paula is to have a caring husband like you! Truly. She’s a lucky woman.”

  Before that moment, James’s back had been arched, his head held forward and high, like an eagle protecting his nest. Now he leaned back, crossed one leg over the other. Smiled. “Thank you. You’re very observant. I can see how you would be in your line of work.”

  No, thank YOU, Alexandra thought.

  “The women who read my book will be inspired by your story, Paula.”

  Her cheeks turned bright pink in color. “You really think so?”

  “I do.” Alexandra switched gears. “I’d like to go over the statement you gave to the police, Paula, and what you said on
the stand during Elias’s trial.”

  “Why? I said everything I needed to say back then. You can take my statement and use that in your book, right?”

  “I could. It’s not the same thing though. Talking to you in person allows me to get a sense of what you endured on a personal level so I can accurately express it to my readers. I want everyone to see Elias as the sinner he is, and you as the innocent victim.”

  James’s profuse nod of agreement was the approval Paula needed to respond.

  “I don’t remember much about it anymore,” she said. “I’ve blocked it out. I try not to think about that night.”

  What an interesting statement, and oddly similar to the one Sandra had given.

  “I’m sure it’s hard to talk about, even now. I’ll be brief, okay?”

  “It’s just, you’re asking me to live through it all again. I don’t think I want to—”

  James grabbed Paula’s hand. “Be brave, honey. Think about what she said. Think about the lives you’ll touch with your story, the women out there suffering through the same thing you suffered through. Look at where you are now. You’ll give them hope.”

  She nodded like the lifeless, subservient housewife Alexandra saw her to be.

  James looked at Alexandra. “Ask your questions.”

  “I want to talk about the timeline of the night Elias broke into your parents’ house. Can you take me through it?”

  “All of it?” Paula asked.

  Alexandra nodded. “Just once. Once is all I need, and then I have just a few more questions, and we’ll be done. Sound good?”

  “I was asleep in bed,” Paula said. “I, umm, heard a noise downstairs. At first I thought it was my parents. I looked at my watch. It was almost two in the morning, and they never stayed up later than ten.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I thought if it wasn’t my parents, it might be Amanda, and maybe the noise was coming from outside, not inside.”

  “Who’s Amanda?”

  “My next-door neighbor at the time. Sometimes she snuck out late at night to see the guy she was dating. If the door to her house was locked when she got back home, she’d climb the tree in between our two houses and go through her bedroom window. I thought maybe she was outside talking to her boyfriend, but when I looked outside, no one was there.”