Family Sins(35)

Nine

As ordered, the Waynes were present and seated in the library. Except for the ice tinkling in Fiona’s bourbon and Coke, the room was completely silent. The fact that Fiona was already drinking spoke to her anxiety.

Mad Jack sat in the chair behind the grand desk, wearing a gray Gucci suit and a pink shirt. With the shock of white hair combed into a semblance of order, he posed like a king on his throne, glaring at his subjects.

The others were all seated in separate chairs, as if no one wanted to be too close to anyone else, afraid of guilt by association.

Blake’s frown contradicted the casual style of his dark slacks and white shirt. The sleeves were rolled up a couple of turns past his wrist, and he’d left two buttons open at the collar. He had his laptop balanced on his knees, hoping he looked more at ease than he felt. His belly was churning with every keystroke as he ran through the latest figures from the New York Stock Exchange.

Justin had come down in a navy and silver robe over white silk pajamas—his silent rebellion against Mad Jack’s earlier demand to get dressed—and was pretending to read the New York Times on his iPad. He couldn’t help thinking that Leigh had orchestrated this inquisition, and he resented the hell out of his twin for that.

Charles was wearing designer sweats in a startling cardinal red, his head down, his entire attention seemingly focused on his phone and the text he was composing.

Nita was in white slacks and braless under a nearly sheer summer blouse that was bordering on indecent. At first glance she appeared to be reading a book, although she hadn’t turned a page in almost fifteen minutes. She was daydreaming about sex with Andrew, and the excitement from the daydream had translated into a high pink flush on her cheeks.

Fiona had chosen a demure sundress with huge white lilies on black, a walking homage to Georgia O’Keeffe. She had bypassed breakfast for the bourbon and Coke, and was about to refresh it when they heard footsteps in the hall.

They all looked up as Frances, the maid, walked in.

“Constable Riordan to see you,” Frances said, and made a quick exit as Riordan and his team entered the room.

Blake closed his laptop and stood, as if to initiate the conversation.

The action irked Jack, who quickly took charge. Last time he’d looked, he was still the head of this household.

“Well, we’re here, Riordan. Feel free to begin at any time,” Jack said.

Riordan eyed the assortment of family members and handed Jack a search warrant.

Forgetting his own warning to play it cool, Jack bellowed, “What the hell is this for?”

“We’re confiscating all rifles registered to anyone in the family and taking possession of the motorcycle registered, as well.”

“Well, you can look until hell freezes over, but you won’t find any guns here. Guns have never been allowed in this house. And I don’t know anything about a motorcycle, but I do know there’s not one on these premises, so knock yourself out.”

Riordan ignored him and nodded at the two officers he’d brought with him.

“Proceed,” he said, then turned to the family. “Until this case is solved, you are not to leave the area. You may not travel out of the country, so I’ll need your passports before I leave. I will speak to you one at a time, and when I am finished, you are not to return to this room. At my request, Chief Clayton sent one of his officers to assist me. He will stay here in the library to carry out my orders. I want no communication between any of you until my men and I have left the house, and I want all of your cell phones left on the desk when you exit the room. Is there another room I can use to take your statements?”

Jack’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t argue.

“Blake, he can begin with you. Show him to the game room. There are plenty of tables and chairs in there for him to choose from.”

Blake left his phone on the desk and led Riordan and Griffin out of the library without comment, then down the hall about thirty feet to a doorway on the right. He turned on the light as he entered, revealing a room papered in red-and-gold stripes, with gold draperies and a fleur-de-lis pattern in the matching red-and-gold carpet. All the furniture, from the chairs at the poker table to the theater seating in front of the giant-screen television at the end of the room, was black.

“This will do fine,” Riordan said. “Mr. Griffin, if you will set up the video equipment and prepare for fingerprinting, we’ll get started.”

CSI Griffin quickly unpacked the case he’d been carrying and within a few minutes had the digital recorder ready to go, then set up what he needed to fingerprint the suspects, as well.

“Ready when you are, sir.”

Blake moved to the fingerprint setup, struggling with the fact that he was being fingerprinted like any common criminal, and when they were finished he sullenly took a seat. He took a deep breath and tried not to look as antsy as he felt with a video camera aimed at his face.

Riordan began with a request to have him state his name, age, place of residence and occupation.

Blake’s defiance was obvious as he answered the questions with his chin up and his eyes fixed on Riordan’s face.

“Do you know why we’re here?” Riordan asked.

Blake nodded.

“Please, state your answers aloud,” Riordan said.

“Yes, you’re here to question us about the death of Stanton Youngblood,” Blake said.