Brotherhood in Death (In Death 42)

“Not to you.”

“To the investigation. They’re tight,” she repeated. “And when you listen to them, observe, it’s clear they’ve always been ti

ght, and basically they only had each other. Parents who had them primarily—maybe exclusively—to present an image. The image of an attractive, traditional, well-heeled family, because that image could further the vic’s career. Lawyer to judge, judge to senator. And likely he hoped for more, but backed off it rather than lose an election.”

“I see,” he said, and he did.

“It’s also clear they understood this, and their expected role from a young age. They understood their parents’ marriage, and the family itself, was surface and show. They were expected to behave in a scripted manner, to follow the family line to Yale, to law, to an advantageous marriage. Just pawns, right from the jump, who knew their parents for cheats and liars and hypocrites.”

She set the half slice of pizza down. “It’s not the same, I know it’s not.”

“Not so very different.” And because he understood, he laid his hand over hers. “Physical abuse is a tangible thing. A child beaten and raped as you were, that shows if anyone cares to look. Emotional abuse leaves marks and scars, but they’re internal. You, as they, knew from a tender age you were created for a purpose. It doesn’t matter that theirs was to walk a golden path, and yours was dark and brutal. You were all caged in and devalued by the very people who should have cherished and protected you.”

“Same with you.”

“Same with me, yes. They had each other, and that got them through. We found each other, and that changed the path for both of us. It’s hardly a wonder, darling Eve, that you related to them, felt for them, and for yourself.”

“It’s not something that can get in the way of the job. It could if I let it, so I needed to come home, settle it all down, start fresh.”

“And walked straight into the redhead in boots. Poor timing all around. I can apologize for the timing adding to the general pissiness of your day.”

“You didn’t know about it, so . . . They’re not in this.” She looked back at the board, at the ID shots. “Not just because he has Mr. Mira’s eyes, or because I can relate. They made their own lives, they didn’t follow the path, made their own. And they’re happy. I’ll look. I’ll cover the ground, but this wasn’t a family thing. It hinges on sex.”

“You may not have done justice to the food, but I’ll help you cover the ground.”

“We can save it for later.” Grateful, she took his hand, gave it a quick squeeze. “Once I get some work under me, I might feel more like pizza.”

“All right then. Let me take the senator’s children. Your instinct says they’re not a part of this, so you won’t waste time looking into them.”

“Or relating.”

“Or that.”

“Okay, then I can start at the top of my list.”

She looked back at the board, and Carlee MacKensie.

10

At her desk, she brought up her incomings, found Peabody’s verification of all alibis, right down the line. Considering, she decided rather than starting with MacKensie, she’d do a run on Downing’s alibi.

Lydia Su.

Make that Dr. Lydia Su, Eve discovered. Biophysicist, on staff at Lotem Institute of Science and Technology, New York. Age thirty-three, single. Asian—Korean and Chinese. One sib, a sister, four years younger—a linguist, Eve noted, living in London. Parents married thirty-five years—a nice run, in Eve’s opinion. Father a neurosurgeon, mother also a scientist. Nanotech.

So, Eve thought, highly motivated, highly intelligent, highly educated family.

Well-educated in Lydia Su’s case, Eve read, at Yale.

“Interesting. Isn’t that interesting?”

But then a lot of really smart people, rich people, motivated people went to Yale.

Still . . .

Following the line, she toggled back to check where Charity Downing had studied art. NYU, she noted, not Yale.

It nagged at her enough to have her checking the education data on every name on the list.