“I don’t really remember my parents, but I know they were always holding me, kissing me. I think I can remember their laughter. Grandmother never laughed. Aunt Sarah used to laugh at the dinner table, and Uncle William and my grandmother would scowl at her like she’d passed gas. It was hell growing up in that hideous mausoleum. I know my parents’ house wasn’t like that. Do you know what it’s like to grow up unloved and unappreciated?”
“He seemed very protective and complimentary about your work last night,” Alexa said, purposely not answering Casey’s question.
“Only because Detective Kennedy called my work snapshots. Unko has called my photography a lot worse things, though. Grandmother said photography was a common pursuit. She wanted me to paint or sculpt as a hobby. ‘Why would you want to take pictures when you can hire a professional,’ she said. Had I funded a photographic center for underprivileged children, or something that made the family look as though it cared about the poor, that would have been okay. When I started getting outside attention, praise from their social equals, and publicity in the right magazines, it became somewhat bearable. Of course, being a LePointe helped get the right sort of people interested in my work. The right curators, critics, gallery owners, corporate and museum collections…”
“Your work is remarkable,” Alexa said. “I’ve seen enough to know that who you are is irrelevant to the work. The accolades are well deserved.”
Casey smiled. “That’s very kind of you.”
“It may be kind, but it’s also the truth.”
“You grew up unloved,” Casey said, studying her. “Neglected.”
Alexa looked out at Deana, who was tugging flowers from their stems while Grace looked on passively.
“What makes you think that?” Alexa said. The denial she wanted to convey sounded false to her.
“Alexa, even a cat that’s been raised since birth by a dog knows another cat when he sees one. I’ve felt it since the moment we met. Maybe that’s why I know I can trust you. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped. Your personal life is none of my business. This is all professional with you, and I understand that.”
Alexa knew exactly what it felt like to be unloved and beaten down by passive-aggressive people. But the emotional pain from her past wasn’t something she could share with Casey West. She had always told herself that her history never adversely affected or interfered with her job. The idea that this woman and she had something that basic in common had no bearing on the job at hand. Alexa’s empathy, while powerful, was irrelevant. Casey must see her only as a professional.
Alexa looked out again and caught Grace Smythe staring in at her from the garden. The assistant averted her gaze immediately. She suspected that Grace wasn’t accustomed to being out of Casey’s loop, and Alexa was sure she resented it.
“Forgive my prying?” Casey asked.
“It’s okay,” Alexa said. “No childhood is perfect.”
“Please, Alexa. I want to know all about you. You probably know more about me than most people I’ve known for years.”
Alexa didn’t want Casey’s pity, but she thought it might help Casey to know she wasn’t as alone as she felt. “My parents were addicts and low-level criminals feeding their habits. My father was killed by a store owner he was robbing. My mother died of an overdose when I was five. My little sister and I had no relatives, at least none that wanted to deal with two small children from a mixed-race relationship between two thieving junkies.
“We were split up and put into the foster system. We both acted out, so we were shuffled around a lot. When I was thirteen, this wonderful woman and her husband gave me a home, and when I asked, they brought my sister there and adopted us both. After that, life was easier. They were poor, but for the first time I felt loved and appreciated. Those people-and a very special young man who came into my life when I was fifteen-undid most of the emotional damage I sustained, by loving me unconditionally. I was unlucky for thirteen years, but lucky just the same. The way I see it, because of what my life was, I’m better able to relate to other people going through painful experiences.”
“Are you and your sister close?”
“We stay in touch. I get postcards from her from all over the place.”
Smiling warmly, Casey gripped Alexa’s hands in hers. “When I found Gary, I felt truly loved and valuable as a human being for the first time in my life. I mean, after my parents were killed. I never felt loved between the time I lived here with them and here with Gary and Deana.”
“Beg your pardon? You mean in different houses.”
Casey looked at Alexa, perplexed. “Alexa, this was their house, my house,” she said. “My mother owned it. She refused to live in the big house with my grandmother like William and Sarah did. It stayed vacant, except for a caretaker, until I was old enough to move back in. The estate kept it up so it wouldn’t lose value, and it was mine when I reached twenty-one. Unko and Sarah didn’t think it was a good idea for me to move back in, but it was the only place I’d ever been happy and felt loved. And it’s still the place where I am happiest and loved best.” She smiled warmly at Alexa. “As soon as you find Gary, it will be perfect again. You’ll really like Gary.”
Alexa didn’t know what to say. She was stunned that she and Casey were sitting in a twenty-six-year-old crime scene-maybe unaltered except for the removal of the mutilated bodies and a professional cleaning.
44
When his cell phone rang, Kenneth Decell was seated in an office at a bank, closed on Saturday afternoons to all but the most important customers, watching the distinguished-looking man across the room carefully count the bearer bonds he’d just placed on the conference table. Decell frowned when he saw the name on the phone’s caller ID.
“Decell,” he said.
“Kenneth,” Dr. LePointe said, sounding exhausted. “Jesus Christ.”
“What is it?”
“I need you here now. I…well, truth is…I don’t know…Truth is, this is all getting out of hand. Keen was here and she got Casey upset by telling her some things. Keen’s a problem.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can get out of the bank,” he said. “I’m picking up your paper now. Relax. You have nothing to worry about.” So much for playing all the chess matches at the same time, Decell thought.
“Good. Kenneth, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I depend on your expertise, loyalty, and discretion. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Decell closed the phone and smiled. I know where you’d be without me. And so do you.
After the banker had finished placing the counted bonds in the valise, he locked it, placed LePointe’s key on the table beside it, and stepped back, folding his hands so they covered his sex, posing like a mortician beside an open casket.
“Two and one-half million in ten-thousand-dollar denominations is the confirmed count,” the banker said, opening his fountain pen and placing it beside a document.
Decell crossed the room and lifted the valise.
“Please sign the receipt, Mr. Decell.”
Decell looked at the document and shook his head. “Dr. LePointe authorized it, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” the banker said nervously. “He did. Over the phone.”
“Are you satisfied that the man on the phone was Dr. LePointe?”
“I’ve known William since grade school,” the banker replied. “It was he.”
“And they’re his bonds to do with as he sees fit, right?”
The banker nodded.
“Then you can ask him to sign.”
“But I’m turning them over to you-”
“He said to, right?”
“Yes. But you are taking possession.”
“Okay. Hit REDIAL on my phone, or call him yourself and tell him he’ll have to come sign the receipt. I’m not going to put my name on any piece of official paper.”