Then she looked down into Leighton Creay’s lap and saw the gun, and her expression changed. She gasped, the tears gathering in her eyes, her fists clenched and angry. After a moment, she looked back up at Cassian.
“Jack?” she said.
“Yes?”
“We need to talk.”
J
ACK STOOD ON THE STEPS
of the Chapin mansion. Evening was upon the city, and the sun was dipping just below the horizon to the west, but with summer having blossomed in earnest, the humidity had gathered force, and he knew that nightfall would bring scant relief from the heat.
Sydney shifted her stance nervously between him and Train, and Jack felt the desire to reach out to her, but he kept his hands to himself. He couldn’t imagine what she was feeling.
“It’s my mother’s,” she’d told the detectives back at the sta
tion house.
Jack and Train had exchanged confused looks. “What’s your mother’s?”
“The gun—the one at his apartment. It was a gift from my father.”
“I don’t understand,” Train said slowly.
“What’s not to understand?” Her voice was distant. “Oh my God . . . it all comes back to her. Who stood to lose the most if people found out about Chapin Industries’ role in what happened at the Institute? Who had access to the information about the company? Who would my sister have confronted? It
all comes back to my mother. And now the gun clinches it.”
“So how was Leighton involved?” Train challenged.
“Who knows, exactly? Maybe he learned something when he was running Consolidated Pharmaceuticals. Maybe he was involved somehow in something going on at the Institute. I don’t know, and now that he’s dead, we’ll probably never know. But one thing seems clear: my mother is at the center of all this.”
“You’re not suggesting she had your sister killed, are you?” Jack couldn’t believe his ears.
“I don’t know,” Sydney said haltingly. “I don’t want to believe it, but what if she did? You don’t know what she’s capable of. Even I don’t know what she’s capable of anymore.”
“I have trouble believing that she’d have her own daughter killed,” Jack had argued. And yet when they ran a check on the gun’s registration, sure enough, the computer spat out Lydia Chapin’s name. A review of Chapin Industries also confirmed that after the death of her husband Lydia Chapin had inherited all of his corporate holdings, and was now a majority owner of the Chapin Industries empire. She stood to lose billions if any kind of scandal caused the stock to tumble.
Now, standing at the threshold of Lydia Chapin’s house, Jack reached out and rang the bell, falling back into line with Sydney and Train as he waited for the door to open. When it did, Lydia Chapin stood before them, perfectly coiffed and suited in Valentino. She looked only at Sydney, ignoring the detectives, and Jack felt a cold mixture of betrayal and disappointment in her stare. Then she stepped back and turned around, leaving the door open for them as she retreated into her living room without uttering a sound.
z
Salvage sat in his nondescript blue sedan parked on Wis
consin Avenue across the street from Lydia Chapin’s house. He drummed his thumbs unevenly against the steering wheel as he considered his options. God, he needed a drink so badly. His flask had run dry an hour earlier, and he’d actually considered stopping to get a bottle to refill it. It might have made sense, given the way his head was pounding. Another drink would have to wait for now, but as soon as this job was over he’d be able to crawl into a bottle for a year.
He’d been following the Chapin girl for the entire day, keeping his distance and waiting for the opportunity to finish his assignment. He’d had a brief opening at Leighton Creay’s apartment, and had even started to move in, but by the time he was in position to take a clear shot, the two cops were outside with her again. Too close to risk it, he’d thought.
But now there was no question; he was out of time, he knew. He’d waited too long and squandered every opportunity, and now that the police were at the Chapin mansion, he knew he had to act. To say they were getting close to putting this all together would be an understatement of monstrous proportions. In order to save his own existence, something drastic had to be done. Under normal circumstances, he might just cut his losses, but his client’s threat to him, hanging over him like the sword of Damocles, couldn’t be ignored.
After the Chapin girl and her two new appendages had entered the house, he opened his car door and stepped out. He walked up the street toward the mansion and, after making sure that no one was observing him, ducked through one of the front hedges.
The front lawn was open, and he felt dangerously exposed, but the sky was dimming, and a spotty row of shrubs along the north property line gave him enough cover to get to the back of the house. Once there, he’d wait a short while for darkness to fall so that it would be safe to approach the mansion. He’d been given a key to the French doors at the back of the house and had been told that the alarm system wasn’t turned on until nine o’clock.
He chose a spot behind a large tree and settled in for the wait, watching the house for any unexpected trouble. He would demand double the agreed-upon price, he told himself, given the stakes. He deserved it, and when this was all over, the drink would taste all the better.
z
The way her mother moved into the living room, with the confidence of a queen, ignited Sydney’s anger. Until that mo
ment she’d felt only shock and resignation, but looking at Lydia’s stiff, proper posture as she led them wordlessly into her lair, an explosion of conflicting emotions consumed Sydney, and she had to fight to stay in control.
“You know why we’re here, Mother,” she said as they entered the living room.
“I’m sorry, dear, but I really haven’t the faintest idea,” her mother replied, her back still to Sydney. Then she turned around and looked at the detectives. “Gentlemen, can I offer you anything? A drink, perhaps?” Her words were sharp and cold, and the storm within Sydney continued to build.
“Bullshit, Mother,” Sydney said, chipping her words out in her mother’s face.
“Such language. I raised you better than that; at least I thought I did.” Lydia walked over to the bar and poured herself a drink. “I assure you, I have no idea what this is all about.”
“We found Leighton Creay in his apartment this morning,” Train told her. “He’s dead.”
“How unfortunate.” Lydia sipped her scotch.
“You killed him, Mother,” Sydney said, moving in closer as she leveled the accusation.
Lydia sat down on the couch, crossing her legs. “Don’t be absurd.”
“The gun, Mother. It’s yours. Only two of them like it in the world; you told me that once.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The gun that Mr. Creay was killed with is registered to you, ma’am,” Train explained.
“Oh my.” Sydney’s mother hardly seemed surprised. “You’re not suggesting that he killed himself with my pistol, are you?”
“I didn’t say anything about suicide, ma’am,” Train corrected her.
“My apologies, I just assumed. You see, I loaned a gun to him a few years ago, when he and my daughter were still together. I suppose I should have asked for it back, but it slipped my mind.” She looked directly at Train. “I don’t get much of a chance to shoot anymore, Detective. You understand.”
“Is that really the best story you can come up with, Mother?” Sydney’s anger was boiling over.
Lydia regarded her daughter with a look of triumph in her eyes that cut into Sydney’s chest and ripped her heart out. “Yes, dear, it is,” she said. Then she smiled. “I’m sure it will be sufficient.”
z
Amanda was upstairs when the doorbell rang. She’d been spending much of her time in her room, primarily to avoid her grandmother. Lydia had always been a little difficult to deal with—Amanda was well aware of the tension between her mother and grandmother before her mother was murdered— but since her mother’s death, Lydia’s behavior had become even more erratic. It was as though she’d fallen into a severe manic depression, sometimes focusing on the most trivial de
tails with frenetic precision—a flower arrangement, or the clothes Amanda was wearing—other times locking herself into her room for hours at a time, or disappearing from the house altogether.
The doorbell drew Amanda out of hiding, and she crept down the stairs to see who had arrived. When she recognized Sydney’s voice, she was tempted to run to her, but something in the tone of the conversation in the living room made her hold back. She and Lydia were arguing, and Amanda knew well enough not to get into the middle of one of her grandmother’s fights. Then, a moment later, she heard another voice, and realized that the detectives investigating her mother’s murder were in the room as well.
Desperate to know what was happening, Amanda snuck down the stairs and stood just outside the living room, listening.
z
“We know about the Institute, Mother,” Sydney said.
“What are you talking about?” Lydia’s demeanor was calm, but there was an edge of panic to her voice now.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“Tell me!”
Sydney raised an eyebrow and tossed a look in Cassian’s direction at the vehemence of her mother’s reaction. “Liz was conducting an investigation into the Virginia Juvenile Institute for Mental Health,” she said. “It started out as a story on the eugenics experiments that went on there ages ago, but it looks like she discovered something else. Something that led her to you.”
“No. It’s a lie.” But the look of confidence was gone from Lydia’s face completely.
“It’s not a lie. Consolidated Pharmaceuticals. It’s a company you own, Mother. It was involved in the experiments back in the 1960s, and according to Liz’s notes, it’s involved in new ex
periments out there now. She was trying to figure out what was going on. Now she’s dead, and Willie Murphy is dead, and Leighton’s dead.”
“Their deaths had nothing to do with the Institute,” Lydia insisted.
“No?” Sydney was pacing, though her eyes never left her mother’s face. “Leighton was in charge of Consolidated Pharmaceuticals until two years ago, wasn’t he?”
Lydia stared at her daughter. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
The hatred and rage was clear in Sydney’s voice, though. “I know exactly what I’m saying, Mother. I’m saying that you killed your own daughter, just to save your company.”
Lydia stood up and slapped her daughter. She moved so quickly it startled everyone in the room. “Don’t you ever say that again!” She stared in horror at Sydney. “I loved Elizabeth! I would never have done anything to hurt her!”
“I don’t believe you, Mother!”
“I don’t care what you believe, Sydney. I gave up on you right around the same time you gave up on me. Amanda is my only real family now.”
“You killed her mother!”
Lydia steadied herself and then sat back down on the sofa, having regained some of her composure. “You can believe what you want, dear. I suspect that your police friends here will agree that you’ll never convince a jury beyond a reasonable doubt.”
Sydney stared at her mother. If she’d had the means at that moment, she might very well have killed her. She tried to think of something to say, but no words would form in her mouth. As she stood there, lost in a nightmare beyond her comprehension, she heard a voice from behind her. Quiet but steady, it shook her to the core, and rocked everyone in the room.
“It’s true, though, isn’t it?”
Sydney turned to see Amanda standing in the doorway to the foyer, staring at Lydia with tears in her eyes, her hands clenched at her side.
“You killed my mother, didn’t you?”
z
“No! Amanda, no!” The protest leaked from Lydia’s throat, qui
etly at first, but gaining momentum as she shook her head, until it bordered on a scream. “You can’t believe that! I would never have hurt your mother.” Suddenly her hands started shaking and her knees buckled as she collapsed into the couch. The breakdown was horrific; like a mountain of granite crumbling in on itself, as her shoulders shook and sobs poured out of her.
“Oh God! What have I done?” she wailed.
Sydney bent down in front of her mother, pulling the older woman’s hands from her face. “Tell me, Mother! Tell me what happened!”
“I thought he killed her,” she moaned. “It was the only thing that made any sense.”
“You thought who killed who?”
“Leighton. I thought he killed Elizabeth.” She took a few deep breaths, and the hysteria abated somewhat. “He called me, the night she was murdered. He told me now that she was dead, he was going to take Amanda away. He threatened to hurt her.”
“I don’t understand.” Sydney shook her head. “Why?”
“It was blackmail. He wanted more money.”
“More money?”
Lydia nodded. “That was how Elizabeth got sole custody two years ago in the divorce. I paid him two million dollars to relinquish all of his parental rights to Elizabeth.”
“How could you?” Amanda croaked from the doorway.
“It was the only way, don’t you see?” Lydia pleaded with her granddaughter. “You remember what he was like, don’t you? And your mother was destroyed by what he did to her. I couldn’t let him near you, so I paid him. I had to get you free from him—from what he would do to you.”
“So what happened?” Sydney asked.
“Elizabeth was murdered, that’s what happened. Her death nullified the custody order. Leighton called me that night, saying he wanted money, otherwise he’d try to get custody of Amanda back.” She looked at Amanda again. “He threatened to do such awful things to you ...I couldn’t let that happen. You understand, don’t you?”
Amanda nodded slowly. “I understand.”
“So, yes, I did it!” Lydia started crying again. “I thought he killed Elizabeth. And then, when you were attacked out on the highway, I thought he was coming after you. I couldn’t let that happen, so I killed him. Don’t you see, I didn’t know you and Elizabeth were poking around the Institute; I thought Leighton was responsible. I thought he killed my daughter!”