Catherine Coulter - Split Second

Lucy said, “Tell us about her birthday, Mr. Lansford—you gave her a black Porsche, right?”

Lansford stopped pacing and slowly turned to face her. “How do you know about that?”

Coop said, “Your sister-in-law, Sentra Bolger, told us.”

He looked ready to spit. “Sentra? That idiot woman, you can’t believe a word she says, she’s nuts, and it’s worse because she’s good at it, she’s very convincing.”

Lucy said, “Yes, she is convincing. Surely your wife told you when we interviewed Sentra, we believed her to be Kirsten’s mother and your wife, Elizabeth Mary Lansford?”

“Yes, yes, but she said Sentra refused to tell her anything about her conversation with you, only that Sentra had said she’d kissed you off.” He nodded at Lucy and Coop. “You two were with her on Friday night?”

Lucy said, “Yes, we were, and believe me, Sentra was very up front, very believable at playing both your wife and Kirsten’s mother. About Kirsten’s birthday—Sentra told us Kirsten was charming to you, unusual for her, according to Sentra. She told us Kirsten was very pleased with your gift of the Porsche. Sentra was there, wasn’t she, sir?”

“Yes, she was, not that I wanted her there, but Elizabeth believed it would be a good idea because she is, after all, Kirsten’s aunt, and Elizabeth wanted Kirsten’s family around her. Bruce”—Lansford nodded toward Mr. Buff Tan—“was there as well. Listen, Sentra loves to play roles. She could be Lady Macbeth one minute and then segue easily into Lady Gaga.”

Coop asked, “Why did you buy her such an expensive present, Mr. Lansford?”

Again he ran his tongue over his lips.

One of the lawyers said, “A father’s gift doesn’t have to justify a price tag, Agent.” Almost in the next breath, the lawyer cleared his throat. “Ah, what I meant to say is that even a stepfather, related only by marriage, a man who had nothing at all to do with any of her upbringing, can give a splendid gift, Agent McKnight, as a loving gesture to his wife.”

Lansford said, not looking away from Coop, “Shut up, Cox. Listen, Agents, you want the truth? Here it is—I could barely tolerate Kirsten. She was cold and weird and generally unpleasant, and, as far as I could tell from all the years I knew her, she didn’t have a single friend, didn’t go on a single date with a man, and despised her mother. But then again, I rarely saw her; her mother, either. So was she always like this? A loner? Always creepy? I don’t know, but it sounds right.”

Lucy said, “Then why the Porsche, Mr. Lansford?”

He waved them over to one of the beautiful sofas. “Sit, all of you, sit.”

Cox opened his mouth again, but Lansford waved him to silence. “I gave her the Porsche because her mother—although she didn’t say anything about it to me—wanted desperately to see her daughter. I knew the only way to make Kirsten come over, the only way to make sure she’d be pleasant, was to do something big, like the Porsche. That’s why I gave it to her.

“Now, Elizabeth told me who Kirsten’s father was when I asked her to marry me, when Kirsten was nineteen. Elizabeth didn’t ever want me to question that she’d kept the truth from me on purpose if, somehow, I found out about Kirsten’s parentage. I tell you, I couldn’t believe it at first. I mean, Ted Bundy, that horrific monster—no, I couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe the woman I loved had actually slept with that psychopath. I didn’t want to know any of the particulars, and that was fortunate, since she didn’t want to talk about what had happened between the two of them.

“As I said, Kirsten was nineteen at the time. I’ll tell you, even before I knew who Kirsten’s father was, I didn’t want to be around her. Like I told you, she was always sullen around me, obviously didn’t want me near her mother, although she was just as sullen, just as unpleasant, to her mother. She obeyed her mother only when she felt like it. Then she’d turn on a dime—she’d become the nicest girl you can imagine, all smiles and hugs and charm, like at her birthday party. And yes, this was always connected to something her mother or I did for her. You can be sure I gave marrying Elizabeth a lot of thought after she told me about Kirsten.

“But you see, I loved Elizabeth, loved her to my bones, and she loved me. However, she put me off for another two years until Kirsten was twenty-one, out of the house, and on her own, and I wouldn’t have to be around her. Then we finally married.

“I will be honest. I knew that if Kirsten’s parentage ever came out, my businesses would suffer and we would be hounded by the media, but I didn’t see how it ever would come out. Elizabeth told me Bundy never knew about the child, so who would tell?”

Lucy said, “Sentra told us you didn’t know about Kirsten’s parentage.”

He snorted, a curiously charming sound. “I repeat, Sentra’s nuts. She’s a liar. She likes to cause problems, to give her sister grief. What if Elizabeth hadn’t come in before you left? You’d still believe you’d spoken to Elizabeth, wouldn’t you?”

“Very likely,” Coop said.

Lucy asked, “Do you know who told Kirsten her father’s identity?”

Lansford sighed. “It had to be Sentra. But why?” He snorted, waved a hand. “Am I an idiot, or what? It’s Sentra we’re talking about here, and that crazy witch would do anything, and for no good reason. I think it’s only because they’re twins that Elizabeth can’t seem to distance herself from Sentra, once and for all.

“I know Elizabeth certainly never told Kirsten who her father was, though she told me Kirsten asked her often enough when she was a little girl. Elizabeth simply told her that her father was dead, and that came true, soon enough, in that Florida electric chair.

“Elizabeth said when Kirsten was twenty-five she became even more secretive from one day to the next, even more unpleasant to her—in fact, she simply cut her out of her life. Elizabeth wanted desperately to believe it was simply another phase, but she said she knew in her heart Kirsten had found out about Bundy.

“And then Elizabeth found the book on Ted Bundy, right on top of Kirsten’s dresser, where she’d left it so her mother would know. As I said, we didn’t see her again, until her birthday party, which was fine with me, but I know Elizabeth worried.

“Do you know, in that book on Bundy, Kirsten had drawn circles around her father’s photos, yellow circles? And little hearts. I’m wondering now if she recognized herself.”

Little hearts. Savich could only imagine what Mrs. Lansford had thought when she’d seen that.

Mr. Lansford said, “When Elizabeth told me about Bundy being Kirsten’s father, she admitted she hadn’t had a clue what or who Kirsten was from the time Kirsten reached puberty. She didn’t know what she would do or say or think about any particular subject from one minute to the next. She also admitted to me that Kirsten’s strangeness had always frightened her, given who her father was. Elizabeth read every book she could find on whether psychopathic behavior could be inherited, but she simply couldn’t be certain about Kirsten. She said she was afraid to even think about it; it was simply too upsetting.

“Because Kirsten hadn’t been arrested by the age of twenty-one, Elizabeth told me she began to breathe more easily, finally admitted that was why she’d waited another two years to marry me. She hadn’t wanted me near someone who could possibly harm me. I remember before she was twenty-five, Kirsten occasionally slept over, but let me tell you, I’d forget her for months at a time.

“That black Porsche.” He dashed his fingers through his beautifully styled hair. It fell right back into place. “Do you know, I always liked black until Kirsten. But black was the only color I ever saw her wear. Fricking black. And so I bought her the black Porsche. I wanted to tie a black bow around the Porsche, but her mother said it wouldn’t go over well, Kirsten would think I was making fun of her, and I confess, when she said that, I felt a chill run over me. So the bow was huge and red, and Kirsten smiled and patted me, told me thank you, and she kissed me maybe a dozen times. She even asked questions about my upcoming campaign. She was all interest, all sweetness—that day—and I’ll confess, I wanted to believe she was simply a bit on the exotic side, that her weird behavior was mainly affectation. I never dreamed she was indeed a copy of her father. I mean, who could dream of such a thing? We never saw her again after that day.”