"Missy, you need to change your last name," the shackled man in the orange prison jumpsuit said into the receiver, staring blankly at his 15-year-old daughter's tear-stained face.
"That's when I knew that these things were true," recalls Melissa Moore, now 33.
Until that day, the man behind the glass partition, Keith Hunter Jesperson, was simply her father; the one who used to tuck her into bed at night "like a burrito."
Now, in her eyes, he was also the convicted serial killer plucked straight from the newspaper headlines who was serving multiple life sentences; the one who had bloodied her family name forever.
Jesperson, the so-called "Happy Face Killer," murdered eight women when he was a long-haul truck driver in the early 1990s. Jesperson earned his nickname by sending confessions to journalists and police departments around the country to gain notoriety, signing the admissions with a happy face.
That visit at Washington's Clark County jail as he awaited trial was Moore's last with her father for many years. She eventually severed ties with him and took her husband's surname when she married at 21.
Moore is a part of an exclusive group, those who share blood relations with someone perceived by the public as a monster: a mass murderer. With that unenviable tie can come isolation, guilt, grief, fear, disbelief, even post-traumatic stress disorder, in addition to a very public stigma.
In the aftermath of a massacre, questions and criticism are frequently directed at the parents, spouses and children of the accused. The public sometimes sympathizes, often criticizes and even goes so far as to blame family members for the actions of their kin.
In documents released Thursday, it was revealed that 20-year-old Sandy Hook shooter Adam Lanza's mother (whom he shot in the forehead before turning his guns on 26 more victims, as well as himself, at the elementary school) gave him money earmarked to purchase weapons and allowed him to keep a gun safe in his bedroom.
Whether they provided the weaponry, ignored warning signs or had no clue what was to come, the Lanzas, Loughners and Klebolds of the world are essentially guilty by association.
Michael Price, a professor of evolutionary moral psychology at Brunel University in London, said people are hardwired to defend their kin, like Moore did before she realized her father's guilt.
"There will be strong psychological and emotional incentives to defend and remain loyal to the family member, and to delude and self-deceive themselves about the reality of their relative's guilt," Price said.
At the same time, Price said individuals may be prone to protect their own reputations and disassociate themselves from the killer to avoid being ostracized.
"They may experience anger at the relative for putting them in such a conflicted position," Price said.
Recently Lanza's father, Peter, met with Robbie and Alissa Parker, the parents of 6-year-old victim Emilie, to discuss his son's actions.
"One of the main reasons that I wanted to speak to him was I wanted to just speak to him as a father, one father to another father," Robbie Parker told CNN's Piers Morgan. "And I understand that, despite the circumstances, that he lost his son and that he needed to grieve that as well, just as much as I needed to grieve my daughter. And so I wanted to express those condolences to him, and I felt that we were able to do that for each other."
Sandra L. Brown of the Institute for Relational Harm Reduction & Public Pathology Education said relatives of killers can initially be categorized into two groups: the family members who recognized the pathological nature of the violent perpetrators and those who did not.
"The more psychopathic they are, the better they are about hiding it," Brown said.
In Moore's case, she looked back on her childhood; what had she missed? She remembered playing games with her wavy-haired father and going to laughter-filled meals with him and her siblings at the local truck stop.
She also remembered a bitter divorce and her dad killing their pet dog by beating its head in right in front of her. "But I didn't like to remember that."
"When I was growing up, my dad had put so much pride in my last name, and he gave me lessons on how to be a good citizen," Moore said. "My name was now known for these horrific murders, and it started to make me wonder if I was like my dad."
Brown says it's normal for the family members of killers to doubt their own moral integrity. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, right?
Soon after her father's arrest, Moore's friends started making excuses not to hang out with her. She later found out that their parents instructed them to avoid her.
Brown said the more horrendous the crime, the more isolated the family becomes.
It wasn't until Moore wrote her book, "Shattered Silence," that she finally opened up.