A View to a Kill

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “I didn’t take responsibility for it.”

  “You confessed.”

  “To the murders, not the rape.”

  “You didn’t dispute the rape in court. You may as well have taken responsibility. You do understand that, right? By refusing to talk, you look guilty.”

  “If you reveal what Paula did, she could face jail time. Or do you even care?”

  “I’d be lying if I said my book doesn’t matter to me. I care about every book I write. You may be a murderer, but you were wrongly accused of a rape you didn’t commit. The public deserves to know. And they will.”

  “You’ll ruin her,” Elias said. “People will never look at her in the same way.”

  Alexandra leaned back in the chair, studied Elias’s face for a moment. “I don’t understand. Why would you defend Paula? What reason would you possibly have for protecting her right now?”

  “My fate was sealed with the murders. Coming out against Paula may add a dash of spice to the story, but it won’t change anything. Just ... think about it before you ruin her life for no reason.”

  Alexandra crossed one leg over the other, looked at Elias the same way she had during their last visit, when she thought she saw the humanity in him. “You surprise me every time I’m here, Elias.”

  “Why, because you think I’m a decent human being? I’m not.”

  She leaned forward. “See, I didn’t think so at first, but you are. Despite what you’ve done, I believe you’re a good person at heart.”

  He bowed his head and closed his eyes, making sure to appear humble. “Maybe now. Maybe prison has changed me.”

  “You know something? I like you. And I’ve never said that to anyone I’ve interviewed before.”

  “If you like me so much, leave what you learned about Paula out of the book.” He lifted his head, stared in her eyes. “Please, Alexandra. I’m begging you.”

  She leaned forward, smiled. “If I do, what could you possibly offer me in exchange?”

  “What do you want?”

  “For starters, I want the whole story between the two of you, all of it.” She stood. “For now, I’ll go. Leave you to think about it. Let me know what you decide.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Elias Pratt

  January 24, 1986

  The move Elias was about to make was a risky one. He was about to give Alexandra a sliver of truth, hoping she’d keep her word, even though he didn’t believe she would. Additional measures needed to be in place. A plan.

  His execution had been stayed again.

  He had time.

  He also had the perfect plan.

  Alexandra’s book wouldn’t be published until after he was dead. She’d said to do so any earlier would be like telling a story and leaving out the ending. Unsure of how long the process would take, she’d met with subjects for other projects in the interim.

  “Why leave the truth about Paula out of the book?” Alexandra asked. “Why is it so important to you?”

  “Paula was my girlfriend,” Elias replied.

  Alexandra’s eyes widened. “Excuse me? When? For how long?”

  “We started seeing each other about six months before I was arrested.”

  “Why hasn’t anyone mentioned this before? Who else knows?”

  “No one else knows except Paula, her parents, and now you.”

  “Why not? Why hide it?”

  “Paula’s father didn’t approve of our relationship. He thought I was too old for her. I guess the four years’ difference seems bigger when you’re young. He found out, demanded I stop seeing her.”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course not. You think I’d let some ignorant ass keep me from what I want?”

  “So you snuck around.”

  “For a while,” he said.

  “And then?”

  “He caught us one night in her bed.” Elias laughed, winked at Alexandra. “Guess we weren’t being as quiet as we thought we were. You know how it goes.”

  “What did her father do?”

  “The man was mad as hell. I thought he was going to drive a knife right through me. He tossed my clothes at my face, told me to get out, and said if I ever saw his daughter again, he’d have me arrested for sex with a minor.”

  “Did you end it then?”

  “Are you kidding? That girl was like a juicy slice of forbidden fruit. The more her father tried to keep me away, the more I wanted her.”

  Elias smiled as he watched Alexandra writhe in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, uncrossing them, and then crossing them back on the other side. It was awkward tension. Sexual tension. He lived life by his own rules, according to what suited him, and Alexandra, with her tight clothes and defiant nature, breathed it in like a window being cracked open in a stuffy room that hadn’t been open in ages.

  “Did Paula know about your criminal activity?”

  He shook his head. “She’s a sweet girl. I didn’t want to trouble her with such things. She wouldn’t have understood my need for ... well, a more exciting life.”

  “When did you stop seeing her?”

  “A couple months before I was arrested, her father found a note I’d left Paula in her room. He knew then we’d never stopped seeing each other, and he decided to try a different approach.”

  “Which was?”

  “He invited me over for dinner, told Paula he may have misjudged me, and wanted to give me another chance.”

  “You must have been thrilled.”

  “At first. The family dinners, the ‘welcoming me with open arms’ attitude, it worked for Paula. It just didn’t work for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Once I was accepted by her parents, the relationship lost its shine. It wasn’t risky and forbidden anymore. I became bored, and Paula’s father got his daughter back, which I expect is what he’d hoped would happen all along. I broke it off, and she hated me for it.”

  “You’re saying she hated you so much she decided to tell the police you raped her?”

  He nodded. “I figured it was her way of getting back at me for breaking her heart. Not long after I was incarcerated, she wrote me a letter, apologizing. She offered to confess what she’d done, make things right.”

  “Why didn’t she?”

  “I told her not to. I didn’t need her to do that for me. It wouldn’t change anything.”

  Alexandra leaned in. “I appreciate you trusting me with this story, but we’re just getting started.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Present Day

  The next morning, my cell phone buzzed. The number was local. I leaned over, tried to grab the phone, but my fine motor skills hadn’t kicked in yet. The phone slid off the nightstand onto the floor. I bent over the bed, reached down, tried again. “Hello?”

  Porter Wells’s voice boomed through the phone. “Have you seen Chelsea? Is she with you?”

  “Of course not,” I replied. “It’s seven in the morning. Why would she be here?”

  “You’re not lying to me to protect her, right?”

  “I’m hanging up now,” I said.

  “Wait.”

  “Why? I’m obviously a liar. She’s been here all night. We had a slumber party.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just ... I can’t find her. She’s not here. She’s not picking up. I’m worried.”

  I wasn’t. I knew she had an officer assigned to watch her. Still, why did my stomach feel queasy? “The last time I saw her was yesterday at Alexandra’s funeral. Why did you think she was with me?”

  “I overheard her last night on the phone, talking to her fiancé. She said she was going to call you. She needed to talk to you about something.”

  “Did she say what she wanted to tell me?”

  “No.”

  Now who was lying?

  “We got into another argument last night,” he continued. “It was bad. Worse than the others.”

  “What was the fight over?”

  “She said she didn�
��t want to be part of my life anymore. I was angry. I left, went to a hotel. I returned to the house this morning. She was gone, and the house was destroyed.”

  “When you say destroyed—”

  “I mean the place has been torn apart. Drawers pulled out, dumped over, shelves emptied. Chelsea’s been pissed at me for weeks, but this ... this is ridiculous. To desecrate her mother’s house just because she’s angry, or grieving, or whatever the hell she’s going through right now is—”

  “How do you know it was Chelsea who trashed the house?” I asked.

  “Who else could have done it?”

  “Porter, I’m going to give Murphy a call. I’ll call you back.”

  I hung up the phone and dialed Murphy. He answered on the second ring.

  “The officer you assigned to Chelsea,” I started. “When did you hear from him last?”

  “I’m not sure,” Murphy said. “I’m headed into work now. Why? What’s happened?”

  I relayed my conversation with Porter.

  When I finished, he said, “Huh, hang on a second. I’ll get an answer for you.” I waited for him to return to the line. “You’re sure you haven’t seen Chelsea?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” I said. “Why?”

  “Open your door.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it, Miss Jax.”

  I walked to the door, opened it, and found Chelsea standing on the other side dressed in jeans and a puffy pink coat. Her fist was clenched like she was about to knock. In her hand she held a thin, black planner. Standing next to her was her fiancé and the officer assigned to keep an eye on her. The officer held a phone to his ear.

  I looked at Chelsea. “Your father just called me. He’s really worried about you.”

  “He doesn’t need to worry. I can take care of myself.” She thumbed to her left. “Plus, I have this guy.”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  She paused. “We need to talk. Can I come in?”

  CHAPTER 33

  Chelsea’s fiancé held his hand out to me. “It’s nice to meet you, Joss. I’m Bradley. Chelsea has told me so much about you.”

  It seemed strange for a boy of his age to show this kind of respect, given the loose, relaxed nature of most millennials his age. But everything about Bradley was different, from his perfectly combed hair to his tight, white slacks and fitted, gray wool jacket. He oozed money and good breeding.

  I accepted his soft, never worked a day in his privileged life hand in mine, and we shook. “Nice to meet you too. I hear you and Chelsea are getting married in a few weeks.”

  “We were,” he clarified. “With the death of her mother, my family decided it would be best to put it off for a few months at least.”

  I found his comment revealing. He and Chelsea hadn’t decided together. His family had decided for them. “Who are your parents?”

  He beamed. “Hollis and Dorothy Claiborne.”

  I drew a blank, which he happily filled in for me. “Governor Hollis Claiborne.”

  Impressive.

  “We’ve never met.”

  He gave me a snarky look like, Why would you?

  Chelsea fanned herself with a hand. “Man, it’s like a million degrees in here.” She removed her coat, adjusted the sleeve of her shirt that had slid off her shoulder, and we all sat down. Chelsea tapped the top of the table with her fingers like it was a piano. Whatever she’d come to say, she still seemed unsure about saying it. Not one for awkward silence, I helped things along. “What do you need to talk to me about?”

  “I, umm, lied to you the other day,” she said.

  I knew this already, of course. “Okay. What about?”

  “When we first met, you asked me if I knew about the book my mother was writing before she died. I said I didn’t. Truth is ... I do know something about it.”

  “I know.”

  Her eyes widened. “How could you?”

  “Before we got on the subject of your mother’s book, you didn’t have a problem looking me in the eye. Afterward, you did. Why did you feel like you couldn’t tell me what you knew?”

  Chelsea rolled an elastic band off her wrist, fastening it around her hair into a ponytail. “My mom had just died. I didn’t know you. Not really. I didn’t see the point in talking about it. After I was run off the road yesterday, I feel differently. I’m willing to say anything just to feel safe again.”

  “What can you tell me about the book your mom was writing?”

  “It was going to be her last. This was one reason why she didn’t tell anyone she was writing it. And it’s just ... I’ve had time to think about it the last few days. I’m worried she was killed because someone found out what she wrote in it.”

  “Who else knew about the book?”

  “No one, except me, and my dad probably knows now too. That’s why we were fighting last night. He has her laptop, and he won’t give it to me.”

  “How do you know he has it?” I asked. “Did he admit it to you?”

  She shook her head. “It was in the top drawer of my mom’s desk. A drawer she always kept locked. I was walking by the desk last night and noticed the metal hole the key goes into looked funny. It was bent, like someone jammed a knife inside the hole and broke it. I ran my finger over the hole, and the drawer pulled right open. The laptop wasn’t there.”

  “Did you ask your dad if he had it?”

  She nodded. “He swore he didn’t have it. He’s lying. I know he does.”

  “Is that why you trashed your mom’s house after he left, to find the laptop?”

  She jerked her head back. “Trashed the house? What are you talking about?”

  “Your father said when he returned home this morning, it was a disaster. Someone broke in last night. Your father has been trying to find you. He seems genuinely worried.”

  Chelsea sprung from the chair. “Are you kidding? Someone broke into my mother’s house?! When? Did they take anything? Do the police know about it?!”

  “I’m not sure. If it wasn’t you and it wasn’t your father—”

  “How could it be me? I wasn’t there.” She looked at the officer. “Ask the police guy. He’ll tell you.”

  The officer nodded.

  “When did you leave the house?” I asked.

  “Last night. I thought after my dad cooled off, he’d come back, try to talk to me again. I couldn’t go another round with him. So I left, went to Bradley’s parents’ house. I didn’t leave there until this morning, and I came straight here to see you. I haven’t been home since I left last night.”

  “It’s true,” Bradley said. “She got to my house around eight.”

  Chelsea grabbed Bradley’s hand, walked to the door. “I ... I can’t be here right now. I have to go.”

  “Hang on, Chelsea,” I said. “Give me one minute, okay? I understand you’re shook up, but maybe if you give me more information, the two of us can figure out who broke into your house and why.”

  She fidgeted with the key in her hand, sliding her thumb up and down like a nervous tic. “It’s just ... the thought of someone in my mother’s house ... all of this ... it’s so hard. I’m not even safe in my own house anymore.”

  Sensing she was about to cry, Bradley squeezed her hand. “It’s all right, babe. We’ll go back to the house, pack some bags, and you can stay with me until we’re married. My mom has already offered for you to stay with us as long as you want. Say what you came here to say.”

  Chelsea sighed, looked at me. “Okay, fine. Just ... let’s hurry.”

  I picked the black planner off the table, held it out to her. “You left this on the table.”

  “Oh, right. I meant to leave it. I brought it here to give to you. Well, loan to you.”

  I opened the planner, flipped through it.

  “That’s my mom’s planner,” Chelsea said.

  “Where did you get it?” I asked.

  “It was in my mom’s desk.”

  “Wouldn’t
the police have taken it when they searched the house?”

  She nodded. “After what happened to my mom, I wanted to look through it first. I gave it to Bradley, and he kept it at his house until now.”

  “You should have turned it in,” I said.

  “I am kinda, now. I’m giving it to you.”

  “I’m not the police. Have you looked through it?”

  She nodded. “I went through her appointments last night, but I can’t make heads or tails of anything. I was hoping you could take a look. Maybe you’ll see something different.”

  “Absolutely, but I need to be honest. After I look at it, I want to hand it over to the police so they can look at it as well.”

  “I brought it to you because I don’t want it given to them. They still have the purse she was carrying the night she died. They also took other things from her car. I have no idea when I’ll get any of it back. My dad asked, and they told him they didn’t know either.”

  “Trust me, giving them the planner is the right thing to do, Chelsea. We’re all trying to accomplish the same thing here.”

  She frowned. “Whatever. I guess.”

  “I’ll go through it first just to see if anything stands out.”

  She opened the hotel room door, looked back. “Thank you. Will you tell me if you find anything?”

  I nodded. “One last question before you leave. You never said whether you know the subject of your mother’s last book. Do you know? Did she tell you?”

  “She didn’t, but I was in her office one day when she was writing. I was at her desk talking to her, and I recognized a name she’d typed.”

  “What name?”

  Her answer was shocking and unexpected, spinning me in a whole new direction.

  Elias Pratt.

  CHAPTER 34

  I spent the next hour poring over the appointment book, piecing together whether or not Elias Pratt and Alexandra Weston’s murder could somehow be connected. Several things didn’t add up in my mind. For one, Elias was dead. For another, Alexandra had just released a book about him. Still, it was odd Chelsea had seen her mother typing Elias’s name.