“No, not exactly,” Barneton admitted. “We’ve strayed a little bit from the conversation that I had with your sister. She asked me for any information I might have about some of the eugenics programs from the 1950s and ’60s, and how they were implemented in mental institutions.”
“Why?”
“I assume it was because, a number of years back, I wrote a book on the changing interpretation of fundamental rights in the context of constitutional theory and the power of the states to regulate reproductive and medical rights. The bulk of the book deals with issues like abortion and voluntary euthanasia—issues that are still at the forefront of the legal and political agendas of this country—but it also had a chapter on the origins of eugenics and the various programs that were deemed legal in the twentieth century.”
“No, I don’t mean ‘why you,’ I mean why was my sister interested in the topic at all?”
Barneton tipped his head to the side. “I don’t know, really; she didn’t say. She told me she was a reporter, and I guess I assumed it was for some sort of story she was writing. The way mental institutions were run in the middle of the last century would shock most people today. The patients were often used for medical testing and generally received very little actual therapy. I had the impression that your sister was writing an article about it all. I have to say, I don’t think I was very helpful to her.”
“Why not?”
“She wanted to know specifically how sterilizations were actually carried out, and what kind of medical testing was performed. She seemed particularly focused on what went on at the Virginia Juvenile Institute for the Mentally Defective—one of the state-run facilities that sterilized thousands of people into the 1960s.”
“There’s really a place that’s called that?”
Barneton chuckled softly. “Not anymore. It was renamed the Virginia Juvenile Institute for Mental Health in the 1970s. Most people just call it the Institute. In any case, I didn’t have any of the information she wanted. I’m a bit of an expert on the development of political and legal theory in this area, but I’m afraid I’ve never done any real research into the nitty-gritty of what actually happened ‘on the ground,’ as it were. As a result, I didn’t have much information to give her. She said that she’d been up to the Institute, and I think she was hoping to follow up on some of the things she’d seen there.”
Sydney leaned back in her chair. She felt like there was something she was missing, some important information that she should be asking about but that was eluding her. “Was there anything else that she asked you about?” she asked finally.
Barneton thought for a moment. “No,” he said, “nothing I can think of.” He looked at her with an expression of sympathy. “How about you? Have I answered all your questions?”
Sydney nodded. “Yes, thank you for your time. You’ve been very kind.”
“Not at all.”
Sydney rose and walked to the door. Barneton followed and extended his hand in a warm gesture. “I know it’s silly,” she said, “but if you think of anything else you discussed with my sister, will you let me know?”
Barneton nodded and clasped both of his hands over hers. “Of course. I’m very sorry for your loss. As I said, your sister and I had a very pleasant conversation, and I’m distraught to hear of her death.”
Sydney nodded to him in thanks and walked out the door.
J
ACK
C
ASSIAN STOOD
on the front steps of the Chapin mansion. Although it was evening, the temperature still loomed near eighty, and the air was heavy with the taste of honeysuckle and wisteria. He was off duty, technically, but still on the job. Chief Torbert had made it clear that although they were to intrude on the Chapin family as little as possible, he still wanted them to keep them up to date on the investigation. Train had personal business to attend to and was already offended at the special consideration granted the wealthy family, so Jack had offered to give that evening’s update.
Sydney Chapin opened the door, dressed much as she’d been the last time he’d been there—worn jeans and a loose-fitting top—and her hair was down, falling in golden brown streams around her shoulders. It took a moment for him to re
alize how attractive he found her. Her beauty wasn’t obvious in the way it was for many attractive women; she had the kind of looks that snuck up on you.
“Detective Cassian, right?” she asked, interrupting his musings.
“Yes. Hi, Sydney,” he said, feeling oddly unsure of himself. “I’m sorry for disturbing you during the evening again.”
“That’s all right, Detective. My mother and niece went out to dinner—Amanda’s been cooped up here all day, and my mother thought it would be a good idea for her to get out of the house, even if just for a little while. It’s pretty much just me here.”
“Oh,” Cassian said stupidly. “Well, I have an update on the investigation, but maybe I should come back tomorrow when everyone’s here.”
“No, no,” Sydney insisted. “Please, tell me what’s happening, and I’ll pass the information on to my mother and Amanda. I won’t get to sleep without knowing.”
Jack nodded. “Okay.” He stood in the doorway for a moment before suggesting, “Should I come in?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Sydney said, looking flustered. She opened the door wider and ushered him in. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It seems like I’ve been walking through the last couple of days or so in a haze.”
“You seem better tonight than the other evening,” Jack commented. It was true, too. The color had returned to her face, and there was a certain determination to her carriage that had been absent the first time they met. She led him into a huge kitchen and offered him a seat at a polished granite island the size of Nantucket.
“Well, yeah, I hope so,” she said matter-of-factly. “I was a mess. I’m still a bit of a mess now, but I think the shock has worn off, at least.”
“It’ll take some time,” Jack said. “Don’t rush it.”
She nodded. “So, what have you found out about Liz’s murder?”
“We’ve got a possible suspect.”
She nodded. “I read that in the newspaper. I think the police chief also called my mother.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“My mother was thrilled with how quickly you all are moving on this. We’re very happy you caught the man.”
“I’m glad, although I should warn you that we haven’t charged him yet. We still have to complete our investigation.”
“Still, it’s good that you found him so quickly, isn’t it?”
Jack nodded. “That’s the way it usually works. Most murders are either solved in the first day or two, or they’re never solved. In this case, we got lucky with a fingerprint.”
“Have you learned anything about the man who you’ve arrested?”
“Nothing surprising. He’s a lowlife and a drug dealer who hangs out in your sister’s neighborhood. We’ve run into him before, but never for something like this.”
“But you’re pretty sure he did it?” Her voice sounded hopeful.
“He’s our best suspect right now,” Cassian said. “We checked his alibi; not surprisingly, a couple of his homies swear he was with them, although we think their stories will probably break down in the end. We’re also looking to connect him to your sister’s credit cards or any of the other things stolen from the apartment.”
“What happens if you can’t?”
“That’s up to the prosecutor. I’m not convinced we’d have enough to convict on the fingerprint alone, but you never know.”
Sydney walked over to one of the two huge refrigerators that took up almost the entire space along one wall of the kitchen. She opened the door and pulled out a bottle of beer, turning to look over her shoulder at Jack. “Can I offer you anything— beer or something?”
Jack was tempted. He was technically off duty, after all, and sharing a drink with this attractive young woman would be nice. On the other hand, he knew he’d catch hell if it ever got back to the chief, or even to Train, for that matter. “Just a water would be great, thanks.”
She pulled out a Heineken for herself, and an Evian for him. She handed him his water and reached into a drawer for an opener. Picking up her beer in one hand, she flicked her wrist and the bottle top flipped off and landed in the garbage bin next to the enormous island.
“Impressive,” Jack commented.
“Thanks,” she said. “I bartended my way through college.”
“Really?” Jack looked around the kitchen at all of the top-ofthe-line appliances and expensive custom-carved cabinetry. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who would have had to work their way through much of anything.”
Sydney frowned. “If I’d wanted to be under my family’s control, I’m sure I could have avoided getting my hands dirty,” she agreed. “But as long as I’m making my own money and paying my own way through my life, nobody can tell me what to do. Besides, I thought it would be fun—and a great way to meet guys.”
“And was it?”
“Fun? Yes.” She took a sip of her beer. “I met a lot of guys, too—just never any of the right ones.” She seemed to study him for a moment, and he found himself wondering what she was thinking. “It wasn’t until I got interested in the law that I gave it up. Funny how sometimes in life a direction finds you, rather than the other way around, you know?”
“I do,” he replied.
“How about you?” she asked.
“How about me what?”
She shrugged. “Is that how you ended up on the police force? Just drawn to it?” She was still looking a little too closely at him, and it unnerved him.
“Family business,” he said after giving the question brief consideration.
“Father?” she pressed.
He shook his head. “Brother.”
“He must be proud,” she said. He didn’t reply. “Well,” she continued, letting the subject drop, “if there’s anything we can appreciate in the Chapin household, it’s the pressures of the family business.”
“I got that impression the other night.”
She nodded. “My mother’s a handful, isn’t she?”
“That’s one word for it.” Cassian remained noncommittal.
“When I was younger, my father ran the family business and my mother ran the household. When I say she ran the household, I mean she
ran
the household.” She pulled the label off her beer as she spoke. “When my father got sick, my mom took over the running of the company, and you know what?” She looked up at Cassian.
“What?”
“She turned out to be a better CEO than my dad.”
Cassian looked at her closely. Her head was down again, and her fingers worked at the label. “Must have been hard when you were growing up, having someone that demanding running the house.”
She shook her head. “There were a lot of people she was tougher on than me.” She turned her head on a swivel, as if to check and see whether anyone was eavesdropping on them alone in the kitchen. Then she cupped her hand and whispered, “Like
The Help
.” Cassian recognized the imitation of her mother’s voice. She smiled conspiratorially at him, and he couldn’t help smiling back. Then her face turned serious. “And my sister,” she added.
“How so?”
She sipped her beer again before she answered. “She was much older than me, so there was a lot more that was expected of her. She was the one who was supposed to help with the business, which means she was expected to be perfect. You know, when I was growing up, I never saw her lose—at anything.” She put her beer down. “Can you imagine living with that kind of pressure?”
“Can’t be easy,” Cassian agreed, trying not to get in the way of her thoughts.
“No, it can’t be easy,” she echoed him. “And then, add to that the pressure to produce a grandchild—preferably a grand
son
.” Cassian raised his eyebrows at her and she held up her hand. “Don’t worry, Detective, I’m fine with being a woman— always have been. I just always got the feeling that my parents were hoping to have at least one son.” She looked off into space for a moment. “I suppose that’s only natural, but it always seemed to add extra pressure. I think once it was clear that Liz and I were going to be their only children, they put their hopes into having a grandson.”
“Is that why your sister got married?” Cassian asked quietly.
Sydney nodded. “She never really loved Leighton.” She rolled her eyes. “My parents loved Leighton, though. At least, they loved the package that Leighton presented. He was tall and good-looking and funny, and he came from a family that could trace its roots back to the
Mayflower
—even if the money the family once had was long gone.” She raised her beer in a mock toast. “What more could you want in a husband?”
Jack raised his bottle of water, meeting her toast. “You tell me,” he said.
“You could want a man with a brain,” she said. “Or maybe one with a conscience, or a heart, or some self-control.” She seemed to realize she was letting her anger show, and she cut
herself off.
“What happened?” Jack pressed.
She sighed. “Things seemed good for a while, at least on the outside. Amanda was born within a year of the wedding, and even though she was a girl, my parents were thrilled to have a grandchild. Leighton had been working at one of my father’s companies before they got married, in a minor executive’s position, but after the wedding he started to work his way up the corporate ladder in spite of his obvious shortcomings. Everyone seemed happy.”
“But it didn’t last?”
She shook her head. “Maybe a few years. I don’t really know what happened first—who lost interest in who. At some point it became clear to my father that Leighton wasn’t smart enough to be tapped as a real successor, and the rapid promotions came to a halt. Leighton and Liz drifted apart; he started drinking heavily; there were rumors about him sleeping around. Then Liz started feeling resentful and trapped. Unfortunately, Amanda got trapped in the middle of all of it. At some point, Liz felt like she’d had enough, and she confronted Leighton; that’s when things got really ugly.”
“What happened?”
“Leighton was out with one of his girlfriends—he wasn’t even really trying to hide them anymore. Amanda was over at a friend’s house across the street, so Liz had the house to herself. She packed a couple of bags for herself and Amanda and waited for Leighton to get home. When he got home, he was drunk. She told him it was over, and he hit the roof. He told her she wasn’t going to leave; that she belonged to him. She asked him why he cared, when he had the other women in his life, and when they hadn’t had any physical relationship to speak of in years. I guess that sent him over the edge, and he started beating her. Badly.”