Star
She was born Stella Bender in West Paterson, New Jersey. Well, actually, the hospital in which her mother delivered was located in Paterson, but the family lived one town over. Her parents were Dwayne and Kaye Bender. Her father worked in a warehouse, and her mother was a housewife. The family lived in a small house, the type often referred to as a bungalow, on the bank of the Passaic River. It had a living room, kitchen, two bedrooms and a single bathroom, none of which could be described as spacious rooms. The home boasted an enclosed front and back porch. Neither was heated, so these rooms were left unused during the cold New Jersey winters. In addition to the porches, the Benders' house had an attic, used only for storage, and a cellar, one-third of which was designated as a coal bin.
"I hate the cellar," five-year-old Stella complained to her mother one rainy day when she was forced to play indoors.
"But there's plenty of room down there, and you can roller skate on the cement floor."
"It's creepy just like the attic. And there are spiders."
"At least it's warm and dry," {M} pointed out.
The coal furnace was in the cellar, and when it was lit, it provided heat to the surrounding area.
"Why can't we have a big house like Kimberly Northwood. She has a playroom."
"Kimberly's parents both work, so they can afford a nice house."
"She's lucky. I wish I could trade places with her."
It was not only the Northwood's playroom Stella coveted. She envied everything about her classmate. Kimberly's parents bought her the best toys, dressed her in the most expensive clothes and took her on fun vacations.
"I would even trade names with her. Kimberly sounds so much better than Stella."
"Don't be silly! Your name is beautiful. Stella is the Latin word for star."
"I'd rather be Kimberly. Or maybe Courtney or Britney. They're cool names."
"I'm sure someday you'll change your mind," her mother prophesied. "When I was a child, I didn't like the name Kaye either, but it grew on me."
As the years went by, however, Stella's aversion to her name increased. At sixteen, when she watched A Streetcar Named Desire on Turner Classic Movies, she cringed every time Marlon Brando as Stanley Kowalski screamed out "Stella!" The fictional couple's low-rent apartment on New Orleans' Elysian Fields Avenue was no better than the Benders' bungalow in West Paterson. She compared herself to Kim Hunter's character.
"We're alike, she and I. We both live in squalor like poor white trash," she concluded rather dramatically. "But I suppose it's better being like Stella rather than Blanche. Who wants to get carted off to a nuthouse?"
As high school graduation approached, the teenager vowed she would not end up like either of the play's sisters. She would not live in the past like Blanche or settle for marriage to a neanderthal like Kowalski. Nor would she end up like her own mother, living in a bungalow beside a river.
"I'm going to make something of my life!" she swore.
The first step on her journey of transformation was to change her name from Stella to Star.
* * *
Star Bender graduated from William Patterson University with a degree in journalism. After sending out dozens of resumes, she got an entry-level position in a small, television station located just north of Boston. For four years, her duties were mostly clerical and administrative in nature. Not once did she appear in front of the camera. Although her career was stagnant, her personal life flourished. She met and married Glen Maser, a young man who had recently passed the bar, and thanks to the help of a wealthy uncle, was offered a position as an assistant prosecutor.
"Once I've gained a few years' experience, I want to become a defense attorney," Glen promised his bride. "That's where the big money is."
"That would be nice," Star said, sharing her husband's dreams of financial success. "Maybe by then, I'll be a full-fledged reporter, hopefully for one of the major network affiliates in Boston."
Six years passed, and neither husband nor wife reached their career goals. Glen was still with the prosecutor's office, and Star was given only an occasional fluff piece to cover.
"I can't believe I spent four years at college, and I'm assigned to interview the contestants in a chili competition!"
"Why don't you take the administrative job they offered?" her husband asked. "It would mean a pay increase."
"I want to be in front of the camera, not sit behind a desk. There's a new cable station called Court TV, which features true crime documentaries and live coverage of significant trials like that of the Menendez Brothers. What I wouldn't give to get a job with them! Providing commentary on a murder case would be so much better than doing a segment on the retirement of the high school music teacher."
It is often said one should be careful what he or she wishes for because that wish might come true. Shortly after their eighth wedding anniversary, Glen Maser was shot in front of the courthouse by a recently released drug dealer he had helped convict. Despite doctors' attempts to save his life, the assistant prosecutor died, leaving his wife a widow. In the weeks following the shooting, Star was sought after by television and newspaper reporters alike. Given the petite blonde's innocent, almost angelic appearance, she captured the hearts of TV audiences as she told her tale of woe.
"The camera just loves her!" one of Court TV's executives declared after watching Star's interview with Catherine Crier. "And she appears intelligent and articulate, too."
"We could use someone like her here," a colleague suggested. "Why don't we see if she'd be willing to leave her current job and come work for us?"
Needless to say, Star Bender jumped at the opportunity.
* * *
Recent college graduate Shannon Dennehy walked off the United flight that had taken her from Newark's Liberty International Airport to San Francisco. After gathering her luggage, she located the car that was to transport her to Star's home. Never having been to the West Coast, she stared out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of well-known landmarks.
"Here we are," the Uber driver announced as he pulled in front of the multimillion-dollar abode.
After shutting the engine off, he opened the trunk and removed her suitcase. Shannon took her bag, gave him a generous tip and climbed the stairs to the home's front door. While she waited for someone to answer, she turned to gaze at the bay. The door was soon opened by a maid who showed the young woman inside.
"Miss Star is expecting you."
Since becoming the most popular and highest-paid celebrity on True Crime Network, Star dropped her surname. Like Cher, Liberace, Twiggy and Madonna, she preferred being known by a single name. However, her personal employees and underlings at the cable station were instructed to include the title "Miss" when speaking of or to her.
"This is some fancy place," Shannon commented as she followed the maid into the living room. "And what a view! I can see both the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz from here."
"Only the very best for Miss Star."
By the tone of the woman's voice, Shannon could not tell if the remark was a compliment or a thinly veiled insult. Without further comment, the maid left the room. Moments later, Star entered it.
"Hello, there!" she exclaimed. "You must be my new research assistant."
"Yes, I am. I'm quite pleased to meet you. I've been a fan of yours for years, Star."
"That's Miss Star to you. And don't for one second think this is going to be an easy job," the well-known diva warned. "I expect my researchers to work their butts off!"
"Oh, I will. I'm no stranger to hard work. That's how I managed to graduate top of my class at Princeton."
Since Star's agent had hired the young woman, the TV host knew little about the girl aside from her name.
"You went to Princeton, did you?"
"Yes. You're from Jersey, too. Aren't you, Miss Star?"
"I was born and raised in West Paterson."
"West Paterson? Oh, you mean Woodland Park."
"That's right. I forgot they renamed the town."
Not wanting to remember her humble beginnings, Star changed the subject.
"I assume you have a place to stay?" she asked.
"Your agent's secretary made a reservation for me at the Holiday Inn. I can stay there until I find a relatively inexpensive apartment near here."
"An inexpensive apartment?" Star laughed. "Obviously, you don't know much about San Francisco."
Two days after arriving in California, Shannon found a one-bedroom unit not far from Fisherman's Wharf. Although she barely made minimum wage working for Star, she had no worries about the rent. Her family offered to pay all her expenses for the time being. Once she gained valuable experience that would lead to a higher-paying position, she would roll up her sleeves and pay her own way. Until then, she took advantage of having been born into a wealthy family.
"Why is a rich kid like you willing to work as my assistant?" Star asked when she learned about Shannon's financial situation.
"I want to learn from the best, and that's you, Miss Star!"
Despite the flattering words, Star frowned. Her new researcher reminded her of Kimberly Northwood, whose father was a doctor and whose mother was an accountant. As their only child, Kimberly had enjoyed advantages that Star was denied.
And where did it get her? the TV host thought with a sense of vindication. Nowhere! She's a housewife and mother of three living in obscurity in New Jersey while I'm a world-famous celebrity with houses in San Francisco and the Hamptons.
* * *
True to her word, Shannon Dennehy proved to be a hard worker. While Star enjoyed being in front of the camera, she shied away from the hours of research needed to write the scripts for her show. She left that chore to her intern.
While reading thousands of articles written about Abner Begley, a serial killer who murdered five women in Texas, Shannon spent long hours in front of her computer. Searching through the court documents alone took more than thirty-six hours. If she had expected praise from her employer for her efforts, she was disappointed.
"When I started out in this business," Star told her, "I had to conduct face-to-face interviews with lawyers, police officers and witnesses before writing my story. I couldn't just sit at a desk and find answers on the internet. You don't know how easy you've got it."
Shannon had been working for the True Crime Network's celebrity host for more than a year when the two women found themselves snowed in at Logan Airport after shooting an episode on the Boston Patriots' Aaron Hernandez.
"I should have known we'd run into bad weather here in New England," Star complained, signaling the Delta Sky Club's bartender to pour her another drink. "God! I hate Massachusetts!"
"I'm not surprised you feel that way, Miss Star," her assistant replied. "Being back here must have awakened so many painful memories."
"What are you talking about?" Star snapped.
"Your husband's murder."
"Oh, that."
"They never found his killer, did they?"
"No."
"Did you ever look into the case yourself?"
"Why should I?"
Shannon was surprised by the older woman's apparent lack of interest in the crime.
"Because he was your husband. Surely you want to get justice for the man you married."
"Let me tell you, young lady," Star said, ordering yet another drink. "There's no such thing as justice. It's nothing but a myth. If my husband's murderer was convicted and sent to jail, what difference would it make? It wouldn't bring him back."
The assistant could not reconcile her boss' cynical words with the woman's reputation for being an outspoken advocate for victims' rights. Maybe she was being unfair, though. Perhaps her pessimistic outlook was spawned by her proximity to the crime scene.
I bet she wouldn't feel this way if her husband's case was solved, Shannon thought.
As Star quietly passed the time at the bar, her assistant looked out the window at the snowy airport and wondered how difficult it would be to solve a twenty-year-old cold case.
* * *
Shannon was back from New England for only four days when she found herself once again at San Francisco International Airport. This time, she was waiting for a flight to Newark. Predictably, the airport was crowded with holiday travelers. The assistant would spend Christmas and New Year with her parents in New Jersey before flying back to California to begin work on another episode of Star's true-crime series.
Unlike her employer, she did not spend time drinking at any of the airport's VIP lounges. Instead, she sat in the waiting room by the departure gate with her laptop open atop her carry-on bag. As she waited for her boarding group to be called, she read through online copies of police reports in connection with Glen Maser's murder.
Originally, Jerry Hinckley, the detective in charge of the case, believed the assistant prosecutor was murdered by one of the criminals he had put behind bars. However, after having spent nearly a year interviewing all those individuals who were either free or still incarcerated, he could find no evidence linking any of them to the fatal shooting. The detectives then widened the net to include coworkers, friends, family members and ex-girlfriends, but they did not uncover a suspect or even a person of interest. Eventually, they ran out of leads, and the phone-in tipline became silent.
When Shannon's flight landed in Newark on December 22, it was already after ten o'clock at night. It was much too late to phone Jerry Hinckley, who had retired from the force and was, along with his wife, running a bed and breakfast in Provincetown. Instead, she waited until nine o'clock the following morning to contact him. After receiving her text message, the former detective agreed to a video call on Skype.
"I'm surprised Star herself didn't want to speak to me," he declared after Shannon introduced herself.
"I didn't contact you in connection with the show. This is research I'm doing on my own, not on behalf of Miss Star."
"Ah!" Jerry Hinckley teased. "Hoping to score major brownie points with your boss by solving her husband's murder, huh?"
Shannon laughed but did not deny his allegation. However, she was not exactly hoping to impress her boss. Rather, she thought that by solving the cold case, she might advance her career at the network.
"So, what do you want to know?" the retired detective said, eager to assist her. "Ask me anything."
"Now that twenty years have passed, do have any fresh insights on the crime?"
"No. I wish to God I did. We interviewed close to two hundred people. No one knew, saw or heard anything. My best guess is that it was a random, drive-by shooting. Glen Maser wasn't targeted. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"You don't find that odd? Someone would kill a complete stranger for no apparent reason?"
"That's the world we live in. Some nut opens fire into a crowd. There's no motive."
"But shooting one man isn't the same thing," Shannon argued. "According to the medical examiner, Glen Maser was shot once, right through the heart. If it was a drive-by shooting, the killer had to have been an expert marksman."
"Or just a damned lucky shot!" Hinckley said.
"So, there's no one you secretly thought could have done it? Someone who never made it into the police reports?"
Again, the former detective laughed.
"Well, some of the guys on the force joked that his wife killed him. After all, it's often the spouse that pulls the trigger. But Star Bender had an alibi. She couldn't have done it. And we couldn't find any evidence of a contract killing. No large withdrawals from her bank account or anything like that. Hell, she wasn't even rich and famous at that point. It wasn't until after her husband was murdered that she became a media darling."
Since Shannon had no further questions for Jerry Hinckley, she thanked him for his time, wished him a happy holiday and ended the call. Rather than shut down her computer after exiting Skype, she went to YouTube where she watched twenty-year-old film clips of Star being interviewed by Catherine Crier, Barbara Walters, Katie Couric, Larry King and several lesser-known TV personalities. Oddly enough, she never mentioned in any of those interviews where she was at the time her husband was shot.
And there is only a brief mention of her having been questioned by detectives in the police reports, she thought, wondering exactly what her employer's alibi was.
* * *
For the next two days, Shannon spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day enjoying the Dennehy family holiday traditions. It wasn't until late in the evening of December 25, when the presents had all been opened, the family feast was over and the messes cleaned up that the research assistant returned to her computer. With all the aunts, uncles and cousins on their way home, her parents sat in front of the living room fireplace, sipping wine and listening to music as they watched the lights on the Christmas tree twinkle and change color.
Upstairs in her old bedroom, their daughter had put aside her holiday cheer and read through articles about Glen Maser's murder in both legitimate newspapers, such as The Boston Globe, and supermarket tabloids. Again, nowhere did anyone mention where Star was at the time or what she had been doing. As many times as she talked about her tragic loss, the grieving widow never hinted at an alibi.
The following morning, Shannon declined her mother's invitation to go to the mall.
"I did enough shopping before Christmas," she explained.
"We're going out to lunch afterward," her sister added, hoping to tempt her with food.
"After all the junk I've been eating these past few weeks, I need to cut down. Otherwise, I'll never fit into my clothes."
Once she was alone in the house, Shannon took her phone out of her purse and called Jerry Hinckley again.
"How was your holiday?" she asked when he answered.
"Great. I spent a good part of the day playing video games with my grandson."
"Sounds like fun."
"I assume you wanted to ask me some more questions about the Glen Maser murder."
"I do. You mentioned the last time we spoke that Miss Star had an alibi for the time her husband was killed."
"That's right. She did."
"What exactly was it? I couldn't find any reference to it in the police reports or in her interviews."
"She was at the movies that night. When I questioned her, she just happened to have the ticket stub in her purse."
That was convenient, Shannon mused.
But then she remembered all the times she tossed sales receipts and ticket stubs into her own handbag where they would pile up until she eventually cleaned out her purse and threw everything into the trash.
"If memory serves me," the retired detective added after giving the matter some thought, "she went to see the movie Chicago. Yup. That was it. Chicago with Richard Gere. I remember because I took my wife to see it later that week."
"Since her husband wasn't with her, did she go with someone else? A friend maybe?"
"That I couldn't say. The ticket stub was all the proof we needed that she was somewhere else when her husband was killed. Why this interest in Star's whereabouts? You don't think she had something to do with the murder, do you?"
"No. I'm just curious why she never looked into the case. It seems odd, considering all the crimes she's covered on her show."
"Yeah. But maybe Glen Maser's murder is too close to home for her. I don't see how she could remain objective if she was reporting on her own husband's death."
"You've got a point there," Shannon conceded. "Anyway, thanks for your time. I hope you have a good New Year, and go easy on those video games. They can be addicting."
* * *
Shannon returned to San Francisco on the first Saturday of the new year. Despite the long hours she spent researching Glen Maser's murder, she had come up with no theory as to why he had been killed or who pulled the trigger.
"I guess I'm not much of an investigative reporter," she told herself as the Uber driver drove past Fisherman's Wharf on the way to her apartment.
On Monday morning, she reported to work on time. As usual, Star was late. When the Queen of True Crime finally showed up twenty minutes past the hour, she headed straight for the espresso machine.
"How was your holiday, Miss Star?" the assistant inquired.
"It was okay," Star replied unenthusiastically. "Nothing special."
She did not ask how Shannon's trip back east was. Instead, it was business as usual.
"I spoke to the producer yesterday," the TV host announced, adding sweetener to her coffee. "We're going to do a special show that will air on Valentine's Day. It won't be our usual format because the crime is so old that there is no one we can interview who was alive at the time it was committed."
"Really? How intriguing! What crime is it?"
"The St. Valentine's Day Massacre."
"Does that mean we get to go to Chicago?"
"Yes. I don't know why. There's nothing left of the murder site. The garage where the massacre took place was torn down back in 1967. However, we're going to talk to local historians as well as descendants of the investigating officers and possibly even the victims."
"While we're there, maybe we can look into the murders by Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly," Shannon joked.
"Who?"
"Roxie and Velma, the characters from the movie Chicago."
"Uh! I hate musicals!" Star exclaimed with disgust. "I can't see why they interrupt movies or plays by to sing songs. Worse are the ones that are nothing but singing. I think I'm the only person who walked out on Les Misérables."
"I'm surprised you didn't like Chicago, though, since the characters were inspired by actual murderers Beulah Annan and Belva Gaertner."
"It doesn't matter. If there is singing in the movie, I won't waste my time watching it."
"You're telling me you've never seen the movie Chicago with Richard Gere, Renée Zellweger and Catherine Zeta-Jones?"
"No. I never saw it. Now, can we get back to the St. Valentine's Day Massacre? I want you to get me as many details of the shooting as you can find. See if you can discover any interesting stories about the victims. You know the kind of titillating facts our viewers like to learn."
"Yes, Miss Star."
"And I'd like it all on my desk first thing in the morning."
"Of course, Miss Star."
* * *
Once Jerry Hinckley was told that Star's alibi was in question, he notified his brothers in blue. With the assistance of the retired detective, the Boston police found witnesses who put the widow in the vicinity of the crime scene.
"What we haven't been able to determine," Jerry told Shannon when he phoned her to report the progress that had been made on the case, "is a possible motive. There isn't any indication of infidelity on either side. Everyone we spoke to claimed the couple rarely fought. And money was no issue since both of them were fairly well paid."
"What about life insurance?"
"It was only ten thousand. Hardly worth killing for."
"So, she gets away with it?"
"Unless the murder weapon turns up with her fingerprints on it. Sadly, the D.A. won't go to trial on what we've got. He knows he wouldn't stand a snowball's chance in hell getting a conviction."
"I suppose you're right. Star can afford to hire the best defense attorney money can buy."
"And given her celebrity status and reputation as an advocate for victims' rights, she'll no doubt have public opinion on her side," Jerry added.
"But what about you? Do you think she did it?"
"Yes. I was always amazed at how she seemed to bask in all the attention she was given after the murder. It seemed every time I turned on the TV back then, she was being interviewed. And not just on Court TV. I saw her on 20/20, Dateline, Larry King Live, The Oprah Winfrey Show and that special interview with Barbara Walters. I know everyone grieves differently, but damn! You'd think she was Princess Diana with all the media coverage she got."
Shannon attributed all the interest the widow had received after her husband's murder to people's compassion. At the time, Star was a beautiful young woman. Her innocent façade seemed to pull on the nation's heartstrings.
And she used all that attention and compassion to her advantage, she thought.
Most women would not be able to openly display their grief to the world or discuss the details of their husbands' murder with reporters. While others may have praised Star for her strength and admired her pursuit of justice, Shannon believed her employer had seen a unique opportunity and seized it. Or did she create her own opportunity?
That could be her motive!
* * *
Once the St. Valentine's Day Massacre episode was in post-production, Star and her intern headed to New Orleans to film interviews with witnesses to Vernon Perron's murder of his wife and three children. Currently, the convicted killer was on death row, awaiting execution. The show's producer was trying to arrange with prison officials an in-person interview with Perron.
"Would you really want to sit in the same room with that monster, Miss Star?" Shannon asked her employer.
"It'd be great for my ratings," Star replied. "Besides, I've interviewed murderers before. This one isn't any different."
"But this crime is especially heinous. He bludgeoned those three little girls to death! They weren't even old enough to go to school yet."
"Which is why my viewers will want to see him and hear what he has to say."
"And that's what passes for entertainment these days?" the assistant asked with disgust.
"Maybe you're not cut out for this network. Perhaps you should try to get a job at the Food Network, HGTV or, better yet, the Hallmark Channel."
"But I want to cover crimes," Shannon insisted.
Star stared at her assistant as though seeing her for the first time.
"I don't see why," she said. "You seem more like the type who would host an interior design show or a baking competition."
"I've always believed people should pay for the evil they've done. Since I wasn't cut out to be a cop or lawyer, I chose journalism. I'd like to think, in some small way, reporters help shed light on the crimes people commit. Why did you choose the field of true crime, Miss Star? Oh, I know your husband was murdered, but was that the only reason?"
"I always wanted to be a TV news reporter. But I soon realized my options were limited. I could continue covering fluff pieces for a local station or perhaps work my way up to weather girl. But I wanted so much more! I saw an opportunity in the new cable stations that were popping up then. When I first heard about Court TV, I saw my chance."
"But weren't most of the people associated with that station lawyers?"
"Yes, but after my husband was killed, I was frequently invited on the air to express my opinions and point of view. Unlike the other commentators, I spoke from the perspective of someone who lost a loved one to murder."
"In other words, your career was a direct result of your husband's death?"
"Yes. But let's not talk about the past," Star said, hoping to change the subject. "Why don't you and I go get something to eat? I haven't eaten all day, and I'm famished!"
The concierge at the hotel suggested they visit Palace Café on Canal Street.
"Maybe after we eat, Miss Star, we can ride the streetcar that runs down Canal Street," Shannon cried with excitement.
Star frowned. Riding streetcars was for tourists.
"Why? Are you a fan of Tennessee Williams?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Oh? You're obviously referring to A Streetcar Named Desire. As a matter of fact, it's one of my favorite movies. You've got to love Brando. I think it's his greatest role. That and Vito Corleone."
"I hate that movie."
"The Godfather?"
"No, Streetcar. I saw it once when I was a teenager, and it infuriated me."
"Why?"
"Because my real name is Stella."
Shannon was momentarily left speechless with surprise.
"You're kidding!" she finally said. "I thought your parents named you Star."
"No. They called me Stella, which my mother said was the Latin word for star."
"So, Star is your stage name."
"No. I had it changed legally. At first, I wanted to call myself Kimberly after a girl I went to school with, but then I realized the name Star would likely get more people's attention."
"And that's what you became: a star."
"Yeah, and as it turned out, Kimberly was not so fortunate. Last I heard, she was a divorced mother of three, working as a receptionist at a doctor's office. But at least she wasn't hauled off to the nuthouse like poor Blanche DuBois!"
* * *
It was only after Shannon picked up the check at the Palace Café that Star agreed to ride down Canal Street on the streetcar. (Of course, the four drinks the TV host had at the café's Black Duck bar helped put her in a more receptive mood.) They rode the streetcar to City Park, got off and then returned.
"That was fun!" the assistant exclaimed.
Her employer grumbled something under her breath.
"What now, Miss Star? Shall we go sightseeing or would you prefer to go shopping? I understand there are some high-end stores at The Shops at Canal Place."
"I don't feel much like doing either. I'd just as soon go back to the hotel and take a nap."
When they entered the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton, two detectives from Boston were waiting to speak to Star.
"Is this about Aaron Hernandez?" she asked after looking at their badges and assuming they wanted to see her regarding the recently aired episode on the former Patriots player. "If so, you're too late."
"No," the senior detective replied. "It's about your husband's murder. We have some questions we'd like to ask you."
Shannon's heartbeat quickened. She knew Jerry Hinckley had been consulting with the Boston Police Department to solve the twenty-year-old cold case. Thanks, in no small part, to her tip that had cast doubt on Star's alibi.
"Don't tell me you've finally managed to come up with a suspect after all this time!" the TV host exclaimed, clearly intending to disparage the police department's efficiency.
"As a matter of fact, we have."
After hearing the contempt in the man's voice, Star suggested, "Perhaps I should call my lawyer first."
"That might not be a bad idea."
* * *
According to an old myth, lightning never strikes the same place twice. Like so many old myths, this was proven to be wrong. A more accurate adage is that history often repeats itself. This was definitely the case when, after being interviewed about the arrest and conviction of her former employer, Shannon Dennehy was hired to replace her.
Her interview with Paula Zahn first brought her to the attention of the Investigative Discovery channel. The fact that she had exposed Star's alibi as false clinched the deal. A new show was then created for her. Based on a quote from a poem by Rudyard Kipling, it was entitled More Deadly Than the Male and featured female murderers. Oddly enough, the first episode was devoted to the murder of Glen Maser.
A cameraman accompanied Shannon when she conducted an interview with Star Maser at the Massachusetts Correctional Institution in Framingham.
"It's good to see you again, Star," Shannon greeted the woman, deliberately dropping the Miss when she addressed the celebrity inmate.
"I wish I could say the same."
"Thank you for agreeing to talk to me."
"It was either this interview or work detail, and I'm not keen on manual labor."
Shannon came prepared with a list of more than three dozen questions she wanted to ask about the murder. However, since the former TV host was in the process of appealing her conviction, she refused to answer many of them.
"If you came here hoping I was going to confess," Star said, "you've wasted your time."
Shannon signaled for her associate to turn off the camera before continuing the conversation.
"No. I knew you wouldn't admit your guilt."
"Then why did you come here?"
"For my own satisfaction. When you told me you'd never seen the movie Chicago, I knew you killed your husband. I wanted to see you pay for what you did."
"It's funny," the inmate concluded after the interview came to an end. "I was always afraid my life would mirror A Streetcar Named Desire. I feared I would end up like Stella, married to a neanderthal like Stanley Kowalski. Either that or I'd wind up in a nuthouse like Blanche. But it turns out the movie that most defines my life is All About Eve. I was Margo Channing, the aging Broadway actress, and you were Eve Harrington, the conniving little upstart who befriends and uses Margo to advance her own career."
"You're forgetting though," Shannon told her with a triumphant smile, "Margo Channing didn't kill anyone. And at the end of the movie, she marries Bill Sampson, the man she loves. I doubt very much your story will have a happy ending, Stella."
Salem once hosted a true crime TV show. Then his intern discovered that he was once a cat burglar.
