Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(44)

“My parents would never say we’re estranged,” Ned said, “because that wouldn’t fit, either. But we barely speak, only see each other on holidays when we have to.”

“And when you did see each other or speak?” Eve asked.

“Nine out of ten, it ended in an argument. Charlie said to be brutally honest with you about it, so here we are. Brutal. I didn’t like my father.”

“Oh, Ned.”

“What’s the point, Gwen? I didn’t like or respect him. But he was my father. My mother’s a pain in the ass.”

“God, she is.” Gwen sighed, let her head tip to her brother’s shoulder. “But she’s our mother, and she’s grieving. Our father’s been murdered, and however strained our relationship, he didn’t deserve to be killed, to be hurt the way he was hurt. We’ll tell you anything you need to know, answer any questions you have to help you find who did it.”

“And we’ll release a statement to the media that reflects family unity. We’ll maintain the image for him, and for our mother.”

“Let’s get this out of the way,” Eve began. “Where were you yesterday, four to six, then midnight to four.”

“Four to six, in the shop, working. Well, until about five-thirty,” Ned corrected. “Then Grant—one of my partners—and I hung out, talking shop for a while while we closed up. I was probably home by six or a little after. We had dinner around seven. My wife, the kids, and I. By midnight? I was out for the count.”

“In court until nearly five,” Gwen said. “Custody case, nasty. Trewald v. Fester, Judge Harris presiding. I had to check in at the office, but I was home by six. Chaos ensued. I have a thirteen-year-old girl in the crazed clutches of puberty who was going into the tenth round with her eleven-year-old brother, whose job it is to irritate her. About midnight my husband and I were having a second glass of wine, in bed, and trembling like earthquake survivors—and wondering where our sweet, loving, happy little girl had gone.”

“You’ll get through it,” her brother told her.

“As long as there’s wine at midnight.”

“Mr. Mira—Dennis Mira—indicated the two of you will inherit your father’s interest in the Spring Street property. My information is it’s worth eight figures.”

“Sure it is.” Ned nodded. “If it’s coming to us, that simplifies something at least. It stays in the family. We don’t need the money, Lieutenant. Both Gwen and I are solid there, and that place means a lot to Dennis.”

“Let’s set that aside. Do you know any of the women your father was involved with?”

“We made it a point not to,” Gwen began. “A few years ago I was facing off against Leanore Bastwick in court, and during a recess she made it a point to follow me into the ladies’ room and tell me she was sleeping with my father. She did it to throw me off my game.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“When I heard about what happened to her a few weeks ago, I was shocked. But—brutal honesty—I didn’t lose any sleep over it.”

“Down, girl.” Ned squeezed her hand. “One of them came on to me.”

“What!” Gwen goggled at him. “You never told me!”

“It was twenty years ago, easy. I don’t even remember her name, but she came into the little storefront we had back then and cornered me. Said she wondered if I resembled my father in all ways. She grabbed my crotch—not something I wanted to tell my sister. Zoe saw it—my wife. Well, not my wife then, we weren’t even dating yet. She is—and was—a designer, interior. We were working with her on some projects. But she saw the whole thing, and while I was trying not to scream like a girl, she marched over, kicked the crotch-grabber out, and told her if she ever came back, she’d call the cops.”

“I love Zoe,” Gwen said, with feeling.

“Me, too. It took me over a month to get up the courage to ask her out after that. But it all worked out. Sorry, that doesn’t help you.”

“You’d be surprised. You’ve told me that for most of your life, your parents had this sort of arrangement, but each of you only clearly remembers one incident where the woman involved at the time made herself known. That tells me as a rule, they were discreet, and not looking for trouble when the liaison ended. So, to the best of your knowledge, none of the women he had affairs with caused trouble for him, threatened him?”

“He’d have crushed them. I don’t mean physically,” Ned said quickly. “But in every other way. If they’d even hinted at causing trouble, he’d have let them know how he could and would ruin them. Their lives, their business or career, their family. He was my father, and I want whoever killed him found and put away. But he was vindictive, and he was ruthless, and he never forgot anything he considered a betrayal.”

“Is that enough? Can that be enough for now? It feels awful to talk about him this way.” Tears swirled into Gwen’s eyes again. “We want to help, but can this be enough?”

“Sure. And you have helped.”

“Then I want to go home. I want my family.”

“I’ll take you home.” Ned got to his feet.

“You don’t need to.”

“How about if Zoe brings the kids, we just hold together at your house for a while?”