The Bitter Season (Kovac and Liska, #5)(38)

“She had some . . . interruptions along the way.”

“Are you a student, too?”

“No. I’m a paralegal at Obern and Phipps. Family law.”

“Decided not to follow in the old man’s footsteps?”

“There’s more call for paralegals in the workplace than for scholars of ancient Asian history,” the kid said. “I didn’t have any desire to go into his field and be his rival.”

“But your sister felt differently?”

“We’re different people. She still has some idea that if she pleases him, he’ll be proud of her. The thing is it’s virtually impossible to please him.”

“So, you became a paralegal, and you don’t have to live up to your old man’s reputation or expectations?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he mumbled. “He doesn’t limit his criticism to his own field of expertise. But I don’t care,” he declared in a way that made it clear he did care. “I figured him out a long time ago. Narcissists love themselves. The rest of us live on a sliding scale of pleasing them or displeasing them.”

“Where did you rank on that scale lately?”

“Somewhere on the lower end of center,” he admitted.

“What was his beef with you?”

He shrugged, as if to say, Take your pick. “I should have become an attorney instead of a paralegal. I should have become a doctor instead of a lawyer. I should have been him instead of me. That’s how it works. To try to live up to his expectations is a trap. He just keeps raising the bar—a lesson my sister refuses to learn.”

He went quiet for a moment. “I guess she doesn’t have to now.”

Kovac sat back and scratched the side of his face, thinking he needed a shave, watching the kid’s body language. He was uncomfortable talking about his family issues. He was having a hard time sitting still. He kept glancing at Taylor, who was reading something on his phone.

“What was the fight about Sunday?” Kovac asked.

Chamberlain rolled his eyes. “Diana is—was our father’s student assistant. Pretty much the worst idea ever. She filed a complaint about him at school, and he’s up for a big promotion. He accused her of sabotaging him.”

“Was she?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably. Partly. I mean, it’s not like he isn’t a jerk. He was hard on her. But her timing . . . Everything is complicated with Diana. Her brain is hardwired differently. She doesn’t feel obligated to make sense to anyone but herself.”

“What about Ken Sato?”

“What about him?” he asked, his expression carefully neutral.

“He and your sister seem . . . close.”

The kid shook his head again, like a pitcher shaking off a catcher’s signs. He didn’t want to play this game.

“I mind my own business. I don’t get involved in Diana’s life.”

“She’s truly bipolar? Is she on medication?”

He shrugged. “She should be. Whether or not she takes it, I don’t know. Why are you asking all these questions about her?” His eyes got big. “You can’t think she would— No. No.”

“We’re just trying to get a clear family picture,” Kovac reassured. “We’re not accusing anybody of anything.”

Chamberlain looked around, uncomfortable, anxious, probably feeling trapped in his own home. He’d just about had enough. He got up and walked behind his chair, needing to burn off some of the anxiety. He chewed on a thumbnail as he paced.

“Di is a mess, but she would never do anything like that,” he said. “I mean, she and our father went around and around. That was just their relationship. It was like a sick game.”

“What was your relationship with your father like?” Taylor asked.

“It was . . . fine,” he said, struggling for the right word, clearly not satisfied with the one he chose. “I have my own life. I saw him when I had to see him. We weren’t buddies or anything. That’s not who he is.”

“We have to ask,” Kovac said. “Where were you last night, Mr. Chamberlain?”

The kid looked from one of them to the other. “I was here, working. I have a deadline.”

“Can anyone verify that? A roommate, a friend, a co-worker, a neighbor?”

“Oh my God,” he breathed. “Do I need an alibi?”

“It just makes our job easier if we can conclusively put people in place while we figure out the time line,” Kovac said.

“I was home. Alone.” He looked like he might get sick.

“Lots of people are. That’s not a crime.”

“I was on my computer,” he said. “It has a log.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kovac said, rising. Taylor took his cue and stood.

“What happens now?” the kid asked. “Should I be making arrangements or something? Who’s supposed to do that?”

“Next of kin,” Taylor said. “Do you have any uncles, aunts, grandparents in the area?”

“No.”

“You’re it, then. You and your sister.”

“The bodies are at the medical examiner’s office, pending autopsy,” Kovac said. “Five thirty Chicago Avenue. Someone will have to come downtown and make the official ID.”