"Because Mr. Bishop asked me to," she said.
He was "Mr. Bishop" all of a sudden. My putting her on the defensive was shutting her down. I backtracked. "To be honest, they're lucky you were here-and willing to step in. A lot of people would have said, 'Hey, it's not in my job description.' "
"I could never do that," she said. "Win was beside himself."
"Of course," I said. "What was Julia like, exactly?" I asked. "Was she sad and tearful, or…?"
"More irritable. Win called it a 'black mood.' They'd hired a baby nurse for the twins-a woman named Kristen Collier-but Julia argued with her and fired her a week after the twins were born."
"Do you remember where she was from?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "I helped find her. She's from Duxbury."
Duxbury is a suburb of Boston, about twelve miles south of the city. I took a mental note of Kristen's name and hometown. "Did Julia ever mention hurting herself?" I asked. "Or anyone else?"
Claire shook her head. "I don't want to make more of this than it is. I mean, it's probably not that uncommon. Right? I think a lot of women feel the way Julia did and just never say anything. And her moods had been getting better over the last month."
"A lot of women never say anything" the voice at the back of my mind prodded me, "but what did Julia say?"
"I understand," I said. "But did Julia share anything specific about her feelings-anything, in particular, that concerned you?" I asked.
Claire looked away and said nothing.
"Claire?"
"Well, she told me once that…" She fell silent, again.
"Go on."
"She told me… She said she wished she never had the twins." She dropped her voice to just above a whisper. "She said she wished they were dead."
My heart fell. It is true that many women feel overwhelmed after childbirth and wish they could go back to their lives without the constant demands of a new infant. They may even fantasize about the baby not surviving. The most honest and brave of them might even confess their private thoughts to doctors or close friends. But given Brooke's death-her murder-the question had to be asked whether Julia had acted on those thoughts. My whole being told me that that wasn't the case, but I couldn't completely trust my instincts where Julia was concerned.
"I wasn't going to say anything," Claire went on, "but when they took Billy to the psychiatric hospital, he really did seem shocked."
"Tell me what you mean," I said.
"I've heard him lie plenty of times," she said. "He's very convincing. He could have your wallet in his pocket and tell you flat out that he hasn't seen it. That happened to me once with him. He even helped me look for it after he'd stolen it. And I remember him swearing he was nowhere near any of the neighbors' pets, even when he had scratch marks all over his arms from one of the cats." She toyed with her shiny Cartier love bracelet. "But the night he left for Payne Whitney, he seemed just plain scared. Like he didn't know what had hit him."
"Are you saying you don't think he did it?" I asked.
She bit her lower lip again. "I'm not sure what I think. I just wanted to get all this off my chest."
"I appreciate that, Claire," I said. "I really do."
"If I think of anything else, should I be in touch with you?" she asked.
"I'm staying at the Breakers overnight," I said. "Feel free to call me there. And you can always reach me on my cell phone." I gave her the number. She walked me to the door. "By the way, where's Garret today?" I asked.
"In his room," Claire said. "He's having a lot of trouble coping. He's lost his sister and his brother. It's a chore to get him to come out of there for meals."
"But he makes it to his tennis matches," I said.
"Reluctantly," she said, "to say the least." She glanced at her watch. "Actually, he has to defend his singles championship at twelve-thirty."
"On the day of his sister's funeral?"
She rolled her eyes. "I don't get involved in any of that," she said. "That's between Garret and his father."
I looked up the staircase, then glanced back toward Darwin Bishop's office. "You think Garret would mind if I talked with him a few minutes?" I asked.
"He won't speak with anyone," she said. "I don't think you'd get anywhere right now."
"I don't mind trying," I said.
She hesitated. "I would have to run that by Win."
I knew how that would turn out. "Don't bother," I said. "I'll catch up with him another time."
"Learn anything?" Anderson asked, as we drove away from the Bishop estate.
"You're right about one thing. Bishop wants this investigation to end," I said.
"What did he say?"
"He offered me fifty grand to cut bait."
"I hope you took it," Anderson said.
I looked over at him. He was grinning. "He wasn't happy when I turned him down," I said. "He's not pretending we're on the same team anymore."
"So he still sits at the top of your list? You think he's the one."
"I think if we keep the pressure on him," I said, "he'll let us know, one way or the other."
"I'll buy that," Anderson said.
I didn't want to hold anything back. "Claire stopped me on my way out," I said. "She wanted to tell me a few things about Julia."
"Like?"
"Julia did get quite depressed after the twins were born." I kept any alarm out of my voice. "I guess she even made a stray comment about wishing they hadn’t been born."
Anderson raised an eyebrow. "All worth hearing," he said. "I'm glad you made the trip."
"Me, too," I said.
"I reviewed that data you e-mailed about the risk of a second infanticide when one twin has been killed," Anderson said. "Seventy percent. I'm going to press the Department of Social Services to intervene and get Tess out of there."
I didn't like the idea of forcing Julia's hand, but the risk to Tess was too high to worry about hurt feelings. "It's the right thing to do," I said.
As we passed Bishop's "watch house" another Range Rover pulled behind us.
Anderson glanced into the rearview mirror, then over at me. "You should get out of that hotel and head to my place for the night."
I instinctively felt for the Browning Baby in my front pocket. "Not a bad idea," I said. "Maybe I'll head over after the funeral."
"Why just maybe?" he asked.
"Because my room is nonrefundable," I joked.
Anderson shook his head. "If you're planning anything with Julia, you're not thinking straight."
"I'll probably come by," I said, feeling the urge to close down the discussion.
"You've been warned," Anderson said.
10
The Brant Point Racket Club on North Beach Street is the kind of place you'd expect people of leisure to spend leisure time. The fences around the outdoor courts are hung with green nylon sheeting intended to protect the players not only from the sun but from the paparazzi. The clubhouse is understated and elegant, with deep armchairs to linger in and talk about this shot or that shot, this racket or that, all the while nursing a gin and tonic, maybe checking a stock quote on a Palm VII.
I had driven over to Brant Point after Anderson left me at my hotel. I thought I might get a few minutes alone with Garret Bishop. My gut told me that something other than grief was keeping him scarce.
I got to Garret's singles match just before 2:00 p.m. The temporary bleachers around the court were filled with spectators. Garret was already winning the third set 4-1. He'd taken the first two 6-2, 6-4. He was serving for another game point. He leaned back. Beads of sweat flew off his brow. He tossed the ball over his head, tracking it with his eyes like a hunter. Then he reached to the sky and funneled every ounce of strength in his powerful body to his arm and wrist. A dull thud broke the silence, his opponent swung and missed, and, just like that, it was 5-1.
What sort of young man, I wondered, can perform with excellence on a tennis court when his baby sister's funeral is to be held four hours later? And what had it cost Garret to buckle to Darwin Bishop's demands for performance and grace under any pressure, no matter how intense? Where had all his anxiety, sadness, and fear gone?