by David Hosp
“Do you miss the spotlight?”
Elliot shook his head. “The spotlight often gets a little too hot for my tastes, and there are many compromises that must be made to keep it shining on you.” He pointed over again toward Abe Venable. “Do you think he’s enjoying this?” he asked. Venable stood stiff-backed and somber, his aquiline features judging everything around him with jealous disdain. He was surrounded by sharp-looking business types, each of them looking desperate to keep his attention. “People like Lydia Chapin are crucial to anyone making a run at the presidency, as are those in the oil industry, the pharmaceutical industry, and on down the line. As a result, he has to listen to them—what’s the common parlance these days?—suck up to them. It requires a certain flexibility of personality I no longer possess. Besides, I’ve had my time in the sun; in my old age, I prefer the shade.”
Train nodded.
Just then, Sydney Chapin approached them from across the room, her expression heavy with the weight of the occasion. When she reached them, she addressed Elliot. “Uncle Irskin,” she said, her voice carrying equal measures of warmth, affection, and relief. She hugged the older man tightly, almost as if clinging to him for protection. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Elliot hugged her back. “Please, don’t thank me,” he said. “I feel awful that I haven’t been here more over the past few days. I’ve been swamped, and I couldn’t get away. I haven’t been able to forgive myself.”
“We understand, Irskin. We’re just glad to have you here now.”
“And I am here now, child. I’m here for anything you need.” He took her hands in his and looked her in the eyes. “How is the prodigal daughter doing?”
“I’m okay.”
“Really?” He raised his eyebrows skeptically. “This isn’t quite the homecoming I would have hoped for you.”
“I’ll be fine eventually,” she said. “It’s hard right now. I’m trying to focus on Amanda, though.”
Elliot nodded in understanding. “Is she going to be all right, do you think?”
“I do,” Sydney said, and there was the force of conviction in her voice. “She’s got a lot of my mother in her.”
“Ah yes, your mother.” Elliot rolled his eyes slightly, but in an affectionate way. “I spoke with her briefly when I arrived, but I’m hoping to sit down with her for more time this afternoon. She seems in control.”
“Any surprise?”
“No, none.” Elliot tilted his head to the side. “Do you think she’s really doing all right inside, though?”
“Mother?” Sydney sounded surprised at the question. “Have you ever known her not to be all right?”
Elliot frowned. “I don’t know,” he said. “I know that she’s been under an enormous amount of pressure since your father died. Taking over the company has been very difficult for her, I think, and I’m not convinced she’s really been herself lately.”
Sydney patted his hand. “I haven’t seen a change,” she said confidently. “I think she’s doing just fine.”
He patted her hand back. “Good. But remember, I’m always here if you or anyone else in your family need anything.” They hugged again, and Train, who had been ignored throughout the exchange, felt even more self-conscious. He cleared his throat and looked for a tactful way to excuse himself.
“I’m sorry,” Sydney said, realizing that she had not even acknowledged Train’s presence. “Uncle Irskin, have you met Detective Train yet? He’s one of the detectives investigating Liz’s murder.”
“Yes, we were just reminiscing about both our times in the past in Virginia.”
“I had no idea that you two were related, though.” Train noted the reference to “Uncle Irskin.”
“An honorary title only,” Elliot said. “As I mentioned, I’ve been close to the family for a very long time.”
“Irskin started his career working with my grandfather’s company,” Sydney explained. “That was a long time ago, though; before he got into politics.”
“Seems like a lifetime.” Irskin smiled. “But I was always grateful to your family for the opportunities they gave me.” He looked at Train. “I was also Elizabeth’s godfather, and I was extremely close to her, so I feel like I’ve lost a child myself.”
“I’m very sorry,” Train said.
An awkward silence set in until Sydney addressed Train. “Detective Train, you and your partner said you had something you wanted to discuss with me earlier. Now might be a good time. I’m a little tired of accepting condolences from people I’ve never met, and I could use a break.”
“If now works, that’s fine. We just need to grab Detective Cassian.”
As if on cue, Cassian came around the dining room table, a full plate of hors d’oeuvres in his hand. He walked over to the group of three and nodded to Train, who looked back and forth between Cassian’s face and the plate in his hand in disapproval. Cassian didn’t seem to notice. “Hello, Sydney,” he said.
“Detective Cassian,” she replied. “I’d like you to meet Irskin Elliot, an old friend of the family.” Cassian frowned, clearly trying to figure out how he knew the man.
“He was a senator and once the attorney general,” Train said, supplying the information Jack was missing.
The light seemed to go on in Cassian’s mind. “Yes, of course,” he said. He extended his hand, and then, noticing that it was greasy from all the food he’d eaten, he looked around for something on which to wipe his hands. He saw a stack of linen napkins on the dining room table and put his plate down, picking up a napkin and rubbing his hands together on it. Then he turned back to the group and extended his hand again. “Sorry about that,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Elliot smiled. “Don’t worry about it. And I’m sure the pleasure’s mine.”
Train nodded to Cassian. “Sydney was just saying that this would be a good time to talk, Jack.”
“Are you sure?” Jack asked Sydney. “We could do it another time—a little later in the day, after everyone has left.”
She shook her head. “I’ll take any excuse to get a break from this. Amanda’s with my mother, and I’m feeling a little claustrophobic. We can go sit out on the terrace if you’d like.”
“That sounds fine,” Train said, cutting off Cassian before he could raise any further concerns.
“I suppose that’s my cue to excuse myself,” Elliot said. “It was a pleasure meeting both of you, Detectives Train and Cassian.” He turned to Sydney. “And you,” he said, taking her hand. “Don’t ever hesitate to call if you need anything.” She nodded. “Take care of Amanda and your mother. They need you right now.” She nodded again, and then reached out and they hugged once more.
After they’d broken their embrace, he smiled supportively and walked off toward the buffet table. She watched him hobble away, his thin frame looking as though it might be knocked over if anyone he passed sneezed. Then she took a deep breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, bracing herself. “Let’s go outside,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-four
“YOU SAID YOU DIDN’T THINK Leighton did this,” Sydney said. She
felt as though the walls were closing in on her.
“He may not have,” Cassian said. “But we want to be sure.”
“The papers said you arrested the man who killed Liz—this Jerome Washington person.” She couldn’t believe this was happening. “Why would you have arrested him if you weren’t sure?”
Train answered the question. “He’s still in custody, Sydney. But we don’t have enough to charge him with your sister’s murder yet, so we need to rule out any other suspects. Jack told me some of what you told him about what happened when Liz and Leighton split up. Sounds pretty rough. We were wondering if you could fill in some more of the details.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know that there’s anything more I can tell you,” she said. “I was living in California at the time, and Liz and I weren’t close back then. I knew she a
nd Leighton were getting a divorce, but I had no idea what had really happened until I started talking to Liz more and more this winter.” She shook her head in exasperation. “You may have noticed we’re not the most open family on the face of the planet.”
“Do you know whether Liz had seen or heard from Leighton since they split up?” Train pressed.
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “As far as I know, she never had any contact with him again after that night—except through their attorneys.”
“Were charges ever filed against him?” Cassian asked.
She nodded. “Originally. I think there were charges that were filed originally, but they were dropped.”
“Why?” Cassian asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said.
“But you have your suspicions,” Train said, picking up on her hesitation.
“You have to understand, Detective, this family exists in the public eye. I can’t imagine what impact it would have had on my mother’s world if a public trial had been held and the world learned that her daughter had been raped by her own husband—a Chapin Industries executive, no less. I always assumed that my mother found a way around that.”
“You think she convinced your sister to drop the charges to buy his silence and save the family some embarrassment?” Train asked.
Sydney shrugged. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”
Train shook his head, and Sydney thought she sensed some disgust in his expression. She couldn’t blame him.
“Does Leighton keep in touch with Amanda at all?” Cassian asked.
“No,” Sydney said emphatically. “That was the one thing Liz was clear about. She said that Amanda would never have to see Leighton again.”
“Hard to believe a court would allow her that peace of mind,” Train said. “Even with violence between a husband and wife, judges usually bend over backwards to make sure that both parents can stay involved in some way with the children. And if Leighton was never convicted of a crime, I would think that he would at least have been allowed supervised visits.”
“All I know is that Liz was certain that Amanda would never have to see her father again.” She could see the skepticism on the detectives’ faces. “Look, it’s not like this was really ever an issue. Leighton wasn’t exactly the most caring father in the first place and I don’t think he’s ever expressed any kind of an interest in staying in touch with Amanda. As for Amanda—well, after what she witnessed, could anyone really be surprised that she had no interest in seeing him?”
“Still,” Cassian said, “if Liz had found a way to keep Leighton from seeing his daughter, it could provide a motive for murder.”
Train nodded. “If someone tried to keep me from seeing my kid, I could see myself doing just about anything to make them pay.”
Sydney shook her head. “I think you’re wrong. From what I know about Leighton, I don’t think he cares about anyone else enough to be driven to violence over a little thing like losing his daughter.”
“Where is he now?” Cassian asked.
“I don’t know. I think he’s still out in Old Colony. He doesn’t work for Chapin Industries anymore—no big surprise there— but he must be doing okay. Liz used to say he spent most of his time hanging out at the Old Colony Golf and Polo Club, so he must have some money.” She let her head drop into her hands. “I just can’t imagine how hard this will be for Amanda if Leighton really had something to do with Liz’s murder.”
“I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion yet,” Train said. “And I certainly wouldn’t tell anyone that we’re looking into this. Like I said before, at this point we just need to complete the full investigation and run down every lead.”
“On that score,” Cassian said, “is there anyone else we should be looking at? Anyone you’re aware of who might have wanted to hurt your sister, or who had threatened her in the past?”
Sydney shook her head. “Not that I know of. She did a lot of the kind of investigative reporting that tends to make people angry, so I’m sure she had her share of enemies, but I don’t know who she rubbed the wrong way in the past.”
Jack nodded. “We’re having one of the assistants at the department put together a quick list of possibilities based on your sister’s published articles. I guess we were wondering whether she ever told you of anyone specifically who she was afraid of.”
Sydney thought for a moment. “No one I can recall,” she said at last.
“How about anything else that wouldn’t be in her published articles—anything that didn’t make the paper, or that she was still working on? We need to come up with as complete a list as possible.”
“Did you check her computer at work?”
“We did, but we haven’t come up with anything useful.”
“She did most of her work on her office computer, but I can also check her laptop,” Sydney suggested.
Train shook his head. “It was stolen.”
“What?”
“It was stolen by whoever murdered your sister,” Train explained.
“No it wasn’t. I’ve got it.”
Train and Cassian looked at each other. “What are you talking about, Sydney?” Jack said.
“Liz’s laptop. I borrowed it a couple of weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Nobody asked me.”
Train rubbed his head. “We’re going to need to see that computer,” he said.
“That’s fine. It’s at my apartment. You can get it whenever you want, but she mainly used the desktop at work, I think, so there’s probably nothing useful on it.”
“We’ll need to take a look at it anyway. We’ll arrange to have it picked up. Now, is there anything else you can think of?”
Sydney thought about her conversation with Barneton. Liz had been looking into something having to do with eugenics, but Sydney had no specifics, and certainly no reason to suspect that it had anything to do with her death. “I can’t think of anything,” she replied after a moment. She was sure that they would merely scoff at the notion that Liz’s visit with Barneton was relevant. Worse still, they could take her seriously and waste precious time in their investigation chasing down a rabbit hole that would only upset the professors at the law school—doing herself no favors.
She looked up and noticed that Cassian and Train were still looking at her, as if they expected her to say more. She pursed her lips and kept silent. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Train stood up and looked at his partner. “Next stop, Leighton Creay’s house?” he said.
“Looks that way,” Cassian replied.
z
Lydia Chapin stood at the bay window looking out from her living room, past the manicured front lawn, out to the street and toward the city. It was dark out now, and the house was quiet save for the distant clatter of china as the caterers packed up from a long day. She brought her drink up to her lips and paused as she caught sight of her hand gripping the glass, the skin pulled transparent over white knuckles; the bones showing through with greater and greater determination each year
as though eager for their inevitable freedom from confinement.
She closed her eyes and took a deep swallow.
“How are you holding up, Lydia?”
The voice came from behind her, but she didn’t turn. It was familiar enough to require neither identification nor formality. “I’m fine. Thank you, Irskin.”
A hand found her shoulder, its weight barely enough to register, and yet strong and comforting. “Honestly, Lydia?”
She turned halfway, sidestepping the diminutive older man, unable to meet his eyes, and walked over to the bar to refill her glass. She took half of it in one sip. “I told you, I’m fine.”
Elliot shrugged; as you wish. Then he walked over to the bar himself and poured a drink. He sipped in solidarity with her. “She loved you, you know,” he said after a moment.
“Please, don’t.”
“She did, though. You’ve alw
ays been too hard on yourself—a trait your children inherited—but Elizabeth loved you very much in spite of it.”
Lydia moved away from the bar, still unable to look Elliot in the eyes. She knew she would flinch, and she was afraid of what he might see. “That’s nice of you, Irskin. You’ve always been a wonderful friend.”
“It’s not friendship, it’s the truth. Elizabeth loved you. Sydney loves you, too. You must try to stay focused on that. Hold on to that, and it will sustain you.”
“I know.” She didn’t actually know, but she felt compelled to keep up appearances.
“I hope so. Sydney and Amanda need your strength, now more than ever.”
Lydia put her drink down and brought her hands to her face. “I don’t know how much strength I have left, Irskin.”
He sat next to her and patted her knee. “Yes you do. You do, because you must. As long as you keep that in mind, you’ll find all the strength you need.”
“Do you believe in God, Irskin?” she asked impulsively.
He folded his hands together as he leaned back against the sofa. “They say there are no atheists in foxholes,” he said. “Old age is a foxhole.”
“Pascal’s wager?”
He shook his head. “It’s not nearly so self-serving or calculated as that; at least I like to think not. I’m just old enough to see the connections—the continuity—that escape the young. It’s not that I like to think that our lives mean something, it’s that I know they do. You can see that in Sydney and Amanda, can’t you? Their very existence gives your life meaning.”
She looked away from him. “I suppose you’re right. I sometimes forget.”
“You shouldn’t. You’re very lucky.”
