Page 68 of Dirty Looks

She nodded, but she wept bitterly and she grasped Everett’s hand as if it were a lifeline. “Please don’t hate me. Please forgive me.”

“What Dad did wasn’t your fault,” Everett said. “You were a child.” There was an anger in his voice that he was keeping on a tight leash. I could see his struggle for control in his movements.

“No, you don’t understand,” she said, almost pleading. “I never thought he’d hurt Emma. I never wanted to think of him as someone who was evil. But he was. I could see it in his face the first time he raped me. I knew then he hated me. Because it wasn’t love. And then Carson and Jason and I came home for Christmas a few years ago and I caught Emma drinking from one of the decanters Mom kept stashed around the house. She was already drunk. Defiant and rebellious. And I knew.”

Her breathing became harsh and jagged and she tightened her grip on his hand as if she were afraid he was going to pull away. Everett’s face had gone pale.

“I knew and I didn’t say anything. I wanted to. I wanted to help her. I wanted to tell you. And I think Dad knew that because he told me what a special boy Jason was, and that I really needed to be more aware of the harm that could come to him now that I’d been elected to Congress. He said it would be a shame if something happened to him because of me.” A sob broke in her voice again. “He was just a little boy. I had to protect him. But I couldn’t protect him and Emma at the same time. And we just went home and I said I was too busy to come home again the next Christmas and the one after that. Please don’t hate me.”

Everett dropped his head so it almost touched his knees, and I could see him trying to get his breathing under control—deep breath in, slow exhale out—and he repeated it several times.

“I don’t hate you, Janet,” he said softly. “But I hate him.” He looked up at me and asked, “Did my father kill Evie? Did he do all those terrible things to her and kill her and leave her alone in the park?”

“I’ll run a DNA test to confirm,” I told him, “But we don’t believe your father was Evie’s killer. He doesn’t have the defensive wounds, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved.”

“Wait a minute,” Phin said, stepping away from his corner and joining the conversation. “This is insanity. Do you hear whatyou’re saying? This is our dad. If he was doing this stuff how could Ev and I not have known? I’m just supposed to believe dad has been raping and killing girls for the past thirty years?”

“God, for once, Phin, could you not be just like him?” Everett asked. “Of course he did it. You think Mom drank herself to sleep every night for another reason? You think Emma went from a sweet straight-A student overnight to a disturbed and angry teenager? Our dad was a monster.”

“What does that make us?” Phin asked darkly.

“The end of an era,” Everett said.

He turned back to Janet and put his arm around her. She was frail and seemed barely able to hold herself up, and she partially collapsed against her brother’s side.

“I hate him more that he was a coward and killed himself,” Everett said mostly to himself. “That was a trip to hell that was much too easy. If I’d known all this before I would have pulled the trigger myself.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

We left Phin,Everett, and Janet with what was left of the broken pieces of their family.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Let’s pay a visit to Geoffrey,” Martinez said. “His arrogance seems out of place considering he’s essentially out of a job.”

“There are no coincidences here,” I said. “We have three dead family members and another dead security guard. Evie was raped and murdered. Kitty was poisoned. Alan Goble was shot. And Robert Lidle supposedly killed himself.”

“You don’t think he did?” Martinez asked.

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “But I know that Astrid Nielsen is out on bail, I know that the staff passageway leads directly into Robert’s office, and I know the information Doug passed on to all of us before we got here. The autopsy will tell the full story, but for now, I’m going to keep being suspicious.”

“One of these people has to be responsible,” Jack said. “Or know who is responsible. We just need to break them down until they’re more scared of a life in prison than what an elite trafficking network can do to them.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I might be more scared of the network. Everyone involved is wondering if they’ll be the next Jeffrey Epstein and end up committing suicide in a cell.”

“Like Robert Lidle?” Martinez asked.

I shrugged, acknowledging the point.

“Come on,” Martinez said. “I’m getting tired of these people and their lies. Let’s see what Geoffrey has to say for himself.”

Geoffrey had the disposition of the Grim Reaper. He sat like a stiff in a hardback chair, his legs neatly crossed, and his hands folded in his lap.

We were back in the breakfast room where we’d questioned Astrid Nielsen the day before. A lot had changed since then. There were more dead bodies, and the sun was shining through the glass roof instead of pounding rain and dark clouds.

Jack and Martinez sat across from Geoffrey, and I sat at the end of the table. Martinez had finished reading Geoffrey his Miranda rights when Leonore walked in and took the seat directly across from Jack.

“We’re recording this interview,” Martinez said. “Mr. Higgins has been read his rights, and let the record show that counsel is now present in the room.”

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