Hour of Need (Scarlet Falls #1)(81)

He parked in front of the porch steps. “Maybe they don’t want to let go.”

Mrs. Hamilton let them in. Thin to the point of gaunt, she wore wrinkled silk slacks and a light sweater that bagged on her frame as if she’d lost the weight recently and hadn’t bothered to buy new clothes. Her face and lips were colorless. A half inch from her part, a stark line of gray bisected her bobbed hair. The house was as elegant and unkempt as its mistress. Dust coated the expensive furniture, and dirt marred the red oak floors.

Ellie introduced Grant.

Mrs. Hamilton showed them into a study at the rear of the house.

A man sat on the sofa, his gaze fixed vaguely on the view of the woods through a set of French doors. He didn’t wait for an introduction. “I go out there every day and sit under that tree. You probably think that’s sick.”

“No, sir. Everything about this situation is wrong. I imagine you can’t take it in.” Grant took the wing chair diagonal to Mr. Hamilton. “I’m Lee’s brother, Major Grant Barrett.”

“Your brother was a good man.” Mr. Hamilton returned his gaze to the glass. “He wanted to help us.”

Ellie sensed a connection of grief between the two men and let Grant take the lead. She settled in a chair across from Grant. Mrs. Hamilton sat on the sofa but not immediately next to her husband. She left the middle section empty. The distance between them seemed larger than a couch cushion.

Grant leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. His jacket stretched until Ellie could see the weapon at his hip. He carried it so naturally, she’d nearly forgotten about it. “Did he give any indication of how he was going to do that?”

“No. We were so pleased he’d agreed to take our case. No one else seemed to care, but he did. I’m sorry he died.” Mr. Hamilton turned back to the woods, his gaze clouded with pain. “Do you really think his murder could be related to my daughter’s case?”

“We’re not sure,” Grant said in a raw voice. “But I’m sure you understand why I have to find out.”

“I do.” Mr. Hamilton shuddered. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with the hem of his sweater. “The first time she asked to quit the skating team, we should have known. She loved skating. That would have been the last thing she willingly gave up. We should have pulled her out of that school. We should have taken her back to San Francisco. She was so unhappy here. It broke my heart.” His voice cracked.

“I didn’t want her to let those bullies win. I was afraid if she gave up and ran away, it would damage her forever,” Mrs. Hamilton said quietly.

“No worries about that now, right?” Her husband’s voice cut like a blade. “She didn’t care about any of that. She just wanted to get away from a bunch of nasty, spoiled bitches getting a real charge out of making her miserable.”

His wife turned away from him without comment. Mrs. Hamilton drew her legs onto the sofa and curled them under her. “Everyone else in town, including the police, was more focused on Lindsay’s emotional problems. We kept telling them she didn’t have any emotional problems until we moved here, but it didn’t seem to matter.”

“I don’t understand. That seems simple to me,” Grant said.

“She’d been treated by a psychiatrist and was taking medication for ADHD in California. So even though her emotional issues were new, she had a past history of being treated by a psychiatrist. Then her new doctor here prescribed an antidepressant. We didn’t tell anyone. She asked us not to.” Mrs. Hamilton sighed. “She seemed to be feeling a little better.”

Mr. Hamilton stirred. The set of his mouth disagreed with his wife. “I didn’t want her to take them. One of the warnings on the label said that the drug could cause an increase in suicidal thoughts. How the hell can they make an antidepressant that causes suicidal thoughts? The doctor gave us a list of signs to watch for. It seems we missed them.”

Mrs. Hamilton shifted. “That’s the real reason no one will take the case. They said we held back critical information that could have changed the way the school and the arena management dealt with the situation.” Mrs. Hamilton interlaced her fingers and clenched her hands until her nails turned white. “And that the medication, along with our misreading Lindsay’s moods, could have been determining factors in her suicide. They also suggested she had an undiagnosed mental illness before moving here.”

Actually, the arguments sounded reasonable to Ellie, but she didn’t say it. The Hamiltons were suffocating in guilt and blame. They didn’t want to believe they were partially responsible for their daughter’s death. That she could understand.

“You don’t think that’s possible?” Grant asked gently.

Mrs. Hamilton twisted her hands. “She always seemed happy before we moved.”

“She was happy,” her husband snapped. “We should have moved back, but you made her feel inadequate for wanting to give in to those bullies.”

Mrs. Hamilton recoiled as if he’d slapped her.

Her husband rose. “I’m sorry.” He bolted through the French doors, crossed the back porch, and descended the wooden steps to the ground. He strode into the meadow toward the woods. His anger left an electric-like charge in the room.

Mrs. Hamilton watched him go with a dead eye. Then she turned to Grant. “Your brother seemed particularly interested in copies of the threatening text messages Lindsay received, but I don’t know why. The messages came from a burner phone, and the police couldn’t prove who sent the calls. The phone never turned up. I’ve no doubt it was destroyed. Lindsay had received photos and video as well, but her phone was wiped out with a cell phone virus attached to one of the messages. Even the police experts weren’t able to recover them. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a cell phone virus.” Mrs. Hamilton paused and picked at her fingernails. “We were supposed to meet with your brother again the Monday following his death.”