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Kate could have corroborated the statement, but on the night of her mother’s death, she didn’t want any part of this discussion. Her father could handle himself.

“Why would she lie about something as serious as that?” asked the detective.

“Because she was drunk and angry.”

“Angry about what?”

“The trash she’d read in the tabloids.”

“About your extramarital affair?”

“There was no affair. That was something the tabloids made up to sensationalize the story about Sandra Levy.”

“Sandra Levy was one of your closest confidantes at Buck Technologies, as I understand it.”

“That was a mistake on my part.”

“She was a spy, right? She was stealing corporate secrets and classified information.”

“She’s in prison, where she belongs. Look, Detective, what happened two years ago with Sandra Levy has absolutely nothing to do with the terrible thing that happened to my family tonight. And the Fairfax County Police Department has no business reopening an espionage investigation after the Department of Justice got the conviction it wanted and closed the case.”

“I’m not talking about espionage,” said the detective. “I’m talking about domestic violence.”

Kate could hardly believe her ears, shocked that, on this night, the detective would dredge up allegations that even her own mother had admitted were false.

“You’re way out of line,” her father told the detective.

“Sadly, a suicide is sometimes a sign we arrived too late. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a crime committed two days ago, two weeks ago, two months ago—or when a call to nine-one-one was made two years ago.”

Kate heard the chair scrape the dining room floor, her father rising. “I’ve had enough of this,” he said.

“Just a few more questions.”

“I’m asking you to leave,” he said firmly.

The silence lingered, and even through the closed door, Kate could feel the tension between the two men. She’d had enough eavesdropping and needed to look her father in the eye. She pushed open the swinging service door to the dining room.

“Are you two almost finished?” she asked, as if she hadn’t been listening.

“The detective was just leaving,” her father said.

“There’s one more issue to address,” the detective said. “The identification of the body.”

“Is there any doubt as to that?” asked Gamble.

“There rarely ever is, unless the victim is a homeless person. Still, it’s a formality I offer to the family. We can accommodate almost any request, mindful of the sensitivities. Some families only ask to see a tattoo or a birthmark. Some do it by photograph. Others don’t do it at all. You don’t have to decide now. You can think about it and call me in the morning.”

“I don’t need to think about it,” her father said. “I don’t want to do it.”

“I do,” said Kate.

Her father shot her a look of surprise. “Are you sure, Kate?”

Kate had no second thoughts about not looking over the balcony, no need to see her own mother’s violent and senseless death on public display. But having one last moment in the same room with her mother, if only her body, felt like her most lucid decision of the evening.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Chapter 4

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