Phillip Margolin - Sleeping Beauty

“No, I didn’t, but I spoke in twenty-six cities and it would be strange if there were no murders.”

“These were pretty similar, though. Do you think you were stalked by a copy cat?”

“I hope not.” Miles smiled and held up his hands in an attitude of prayer. “Please don’t make me feel like Jessica Fletcher on the old Murder, She Wrote TV show. Did you ever notice how a murder occurred every place she went? I always wondered why the cops didn’t suspect her of being a serial killer.”

The audience laughed and Miles grinned.

“We’ll take one more question,” Jill Lane said.

A woman stepped out from behind a stack of books in the rear of the store and raised her hand.

“Miles,” she said as she walked toward the speaker. Van Meter looked puzzled for a moment before breaking into a smile.

“I don’t believe this,” he told the audience. “We have a special guest, Ashley Spencer. Ashley, what in the world are you doing in Seattle?”

There had been a buzz in the audience when Ashley appeared. Some people recognized her from photographs in the book or from seeing her on television. As soon as Ashley’s identity was confirmed the crowd broke into applause.

Ashley stopped several rows from Miles and held up his book. “I finally read the copy of Sleeping Beauty you signed for me. It was really good.”

“That’s high praise, coming from you.”

“I did have a question,” Ashley said.

“Ask away.”

“You were very considerate of my feelings and never asked me what happened in my house on the evening my father and Tanya were killed.”

“I knew it would have been tough for you to go over that.”

“So you got all of your information about that night from the police reports and the court testimony?”

“Right. I think someone already asked me about that.”

Ashley opened her copy of Sleeping Beauty. “Here’s my question. In the first chapter, you wrote, ‘Ashley lay on her bed waiting to die. Then the door to the guest bedroom closed and Maxfield, dressed in black and wearing a ski mask and gloves, was standing in Ashley’s doorway. She believed that he had come to rape and murder her. Instead, after watching her for a few seconds, he whispered, “See you later,” and went downstairs. Moments later, Ashley heard the refrigerator door open.’ ”

Ashley closed the book and looked at Miles. “How did you know that the man who broke into my house said, ‘See you later,’ before he went downstairs?”

Miles shrugged. “I think it was in a police report or you might have testified about it.”

Ashley had been smiling. Now the smile disappeared and was replaced by a look of cold hatred.

“No, Miles. I never told anyone that the man who killed my father spoke to me before he went to the kitchen. I was so traumatized by the attack that I blocked it out. In fact, I didn’t remember that it had happened until I read your book for the first time, this week.”

Miles kept smiling. “Well, you must have told someone.”

“That’s what I thought at first-that I told somebody but had forgotten-so I read every police report that mentioned me and I read the transcripts of my preliminary hearing and my trial testimony. Then I talked to Delilah Wallace and Larry Birch. Neither one remembers me telling them that the killer spoke to me.”

Ashley paused and glared at Miles. “Only me and the man who broke into my house knew what was said in my bedroom.”

A murmur began in the audience as Miles’s fans turned to each other. Miles held up a hand.

“Whoa, Ashley, calm down. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but Joshua Maxfield murdered your father and Tanya Jones. A jury determined that.”

“Does the name Ken Philips ring a bell?”

Miles looked puzzled by the question. “No, should it?” he answered.

“He’s the lawyer who arranged my adoption. He’s also another of your victims. You killed him shortly before you broke into my house.”

There were several gasps in the crowd.

“Why are you making these wild accusations?” Miles asked.

“Why did you go to the Elite Storage warehouse shortly before Ken Philips was murdered?”

Miles looked perplexed. “That was years ago, Ashley. How can I remember that? I’m not even sure I did go to Elite.”

“The storage company records show that you checked out a file shortly after your father consulted an attorney at your firm about making me a beneficiary in his will. That was only a few weeks before Ken Philips’s murder and the break-in at my house.”

Miles flashed Ashley a patronizing grin. “If you say so,” he said, “but I’m not following you, and I doubt anyone else is.”

He turned toward the crowd for support but was greeted by confused and hostile stares.

“You learned that your father was changing his will,” Ashley said. “I’m guessing that you looked in the file of the partner who was preparing the new will-probably after everyone had left for the day. You learned that ‘Ashley Spencer’ was going to get part of Henry’s fortune. You had no idea who ‘Ashley Spencer’ was, so you went through all of Henry’s personal files at the firm. When you couldn’t find anything there you went to the storage company on the pretext of getting an old file.

“You knew that my father had made your sister pregnant and that she’d given birth in Europe, but you were never told what happened to her child. My adoption file was stored at the warehouse. You went there on the pretext of getting another file for a case. It must have come as a shock to learn that my father had adopted me and that I was living in Portland. But you also learned that my adoption was kept secret and that only a few people knew about it. Anton Brucher was dead, but my father, Terri, and Ken Philips were alive.

“Henry was cruel and dictatorial when he was younger, but his personality changed after his near-fatal stroke. You were afraid that he would go through with his plan to make me an heir or that I would try to assert a claim to his estate once I learned that I was Casey’s daughter. Or maybe the hatred you bore my father for making love to your sister was rekindled. Whatever the reason, you decided to kill me and everyone who knew I was Henry’s granddaughter. You tried to kill me at my house and in the Academy dorm after Maxfield escaped. You knew everyone would blame him.”

“This is insane, Ashley. Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re a cold-blooded murderer.”

“You’re forgetting Joshua Maxfield’s book. If I’m the man who broke into your house, how did he know that the killer ate some food in your kitchen after raping Tanya Jones?”

“That’s an easy question to answer. Sleeping Beauty is your first published work but you’ve been writing for a while. You were proud of the murders you’d been committing. You wanted to brag about them but that would have sent you to death row, so you did the next best thing-you wrote a novel about your crimes and you sent it to Joshua Maxfield for editorial help. You didn’t put your name on the manuscript for obvious reasons. There was a post office box as a return address. What you didn’t know was that Maxfield had writer’s block and was desperate for a story idea. He plagiarized your novel and planned to sell a rewritten version as his own.”

“Ashley, I know you’ve been through a lot. I hoped that Maxfield’s conviction would bring closure to your tragedy. But this just shows that you still need professional help to work through your problems.”

“You mean, you think I’m nuts?” Ashley asked.

Miles shook his head. He looked sad. “I know exactly what you’re going through. Remember, I almost lost Casey. Experiencing that type of loss does funny things to a person.”