Chapter 43
Catherine sat across from Clara Dolan in the federal detention center. She had been denied bail this morning, and was now
in a sour mood. Her lawyer sat next to her, a young private practice junior partner who worked for a big Florida firm. Catherine
suspected they would stay with Clara as long as she could pay them; she had plenty of money, but may go through her entire
trust. Already, she’d put her properties on the market. One of the LLCs—the one that had multiple men paying into it after
Clara blackmailed them—had been frozen because of the extortion, but the AUSA couldn’t make the case for the other LLCs because
Clara’s trust fund had been lawful.
“I don’t have to talk to you,” Clara snapped, the chains at her wrists rattling.
Clara did not look good in orange. Somehow, that pleased Catherine.
“No, you don’t,” Catherine agreed. “But I’m the forensic psychiatrist who will be an expert witness for the prosecution at your trial. The more I know about you, the more I can determine if you’re mentally diminished or fully responsible for your crimes.”
“I’m not stupid,” Clara said.
“No, you’re not.”
Catherine waited.
Her lawyer said, “You can go back to your cell if you wish. You don’t have to speak with her.”
Clara blanched at the mention of her cell. Catherine had suspected that taking away her freedom would be a devastating blow
to the woman. She expected to always do what she wanted, when she wanted.
Catherine really wanted to know why. What was the trigger? The cons, the honey traps, even killing Becca McCarthy, Catherine
understood. But why Emily Masters and the others?
But to get her to talk, Catherine needed to be sneaky. She needed to appeal to Clara’s vanity and her deep need to be seen
as intelligent—then tell her that she wasn’t.
“For more than seven years you held a grudge against Emily Masters. You must have planned this for a long time. And if you’d
ended with her and her husband, walked away, I don’t think we would have ever caught you. Another unsolved murder. But then
you targeted the Blairs. The Avilas. And the FBI is really good at catching serial killers who are so obvious with their victim
choices.”
Clara snorted, didn’t speak.
“Taking two federal agents was really not very smart,” Catherine said.
Clara reddened, remained silent.
“Do you want to go?” the lawyer asked. The firm should have sent a senior partner, someone who would have shut this down and
walked Clara out of the interview room.
“No,” she said, then turned to Catherine. “Hypothetically, because I’m not admitting to anything.”
“Hypothetically,” Catherine agreed.
“Emily had always been a stuck-up snob who thought she was better than me—I mean, better than everyone. Is it any surprise
that when she bragged about bagging some rich dufus and moving to Florida that someone might take offense?”
“So you stalked her, found out where she was going on her honeymoon, and set up the factory just for her.”
“Nope,” Clara said, gloating. “Not going there.”
“No, it wasn’t the factory, not at first,” Catherine said. She’d read Matt and Kara’s reports multiple times. “You brought
her to the farmhouse. Which I bet you bought because of that cage in the basement.”
Clara grinned, but didn’t speak.
“We found her wedding ring outside the house,” Catherine said. “Tying Emily to the farmhouse.”
Clara shrugged.
“So you convinced Garrett to set up the factory. Because we both know you didn’t have the brains to set up those elaborate
traps and pitfalls.”
“I’m smart enough to do anything!” she snapped. “Garrett had no imagination, he just—” She stopped talking.
“He had fun with it,” Catherine said. “Maybe got into it because you convinced him that Emily had hurt you, that she was your
arch enemy. And when they died, you thought oh, maybe someone will know that you knew her, so you targeted another, similar
couple. I don’t even think you knew you were targeting women who looked like Becca McCarthy.” The realization hit Catherine
just then. Each woman looked more and more like Becca, until Kara, who could have been her sister. They had thought “blonde,
blue” but it was more than that.
Clara hated the women because she thought they might remind Garrett of Becca, so she wanted to not only kill them, but have Garrett participate in their murders as a form of subtle manipulation.
If Garrett killed women who looked like Becca, she could imagine that he was with her when she killed Becca all those years ago.
She could convince herself that he would have killed her.
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about,” Clara said. She tried to cross her arms in front of her, but her wrists were
chained to the ring on the table.
“Ventura County Sheriff’s Department found Becca McCarthy’s body near Sespe Creek. They’re running tests, but so far everything
matches Becca.”
Clara’s lips twitched into a smile, but she didn’t say a word.
She was pleased with herself. No remorse for her actions.
“Lily and her son will make a full recovery,” Catherine said. “You’re really lucky there. My team was skeptical about my analysis.
Some of them thought Franklin had slept with you and you blackmailed him to help Garrett, but no. You’d always planned on
killing him and his family for the crime of rejecting you.”
Clara suddenly slammed her fists down on the table. “No one has ever rejected me.”
“That’s not true. Your mother. Your father. They didn’t know what to do with you because you were so different from them.”
“Arrogant jerks. Both of them. Mother’s probably hiding in her big house not wanting to face anyone. Oh, your daughter was arrested! Oh, you poor dear.” Clara laughed. Then she couldn’t stop.
The lawyer looked worried.
When Clara’s laughter turned to giggles, Catherine said, “If you make a full confession, from Becca McCarthy to the present,
I’ll talk to the AUSA about not charging the death penalty. You’ll get life in prison.”
“I’m not going to prison,” Clara said with a smirk. “Garrett did everything. I was forced to help.”
“No jury will believe that.”
Suddenly, Clara looked panicked, her eyes wide, and the tears came, almost on cue. “He, he would hurt me. I loved him—I just wanted to make him happy! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I would never have done anything like this. It’s awful!”
Then, as quickly as the tears came, they were gone.
Now Catherine laughed. “We have evidence, Clara. Your games won’t work here. You have federal charges. If you slip away? Florida.
Then multiple states will get a shot at prosecuting you for nearly two dozen criminal blackmail schemes. A wrongful death
charge in Scottsdale—yeah, you think you got away scot-free there? Think again. And there are a few other suspicious deaths
at resorts while you worked there. DNA was collected, and we now have yours.” Catherine rose. “And then you’ll face the case
of killing Becca McCarthy. So even if you get off on all these cases, it’ll take years. So don’t be so smug, because my guess?
The federal jury is going to convict you on all counts.”
She walked out. She’d had enough. She wished she never had to see Clara Dolan again. At least, not until her trial.
She could rot in prison for all Catherine cared.