I had noticed. So had Darwin Bishop. Claire's youth was hard to miss. Her straight brown hair, which she had worn in a braid on my last visit, was loose this time and hung halfway to the small of her back. Her body, more visible now in shorts and a simple light blue, sleeveless blouse, had the muscle tone of a gymnast. I let my gaze linger on her face and realized that she was more than pretty; she was a natural beauty, with deep brown eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones that mixed elegance and sensuality. She had the looks of a freshly minted high school English teacher who makes half the class-the male half-daydream about being kept after school. "You're right," I said. "You have plenty of time. And you're certainly needed here."
"I'm glad I can help. The Bishops have been wonderful to me," she said. Tess stirred in her blanket, stretching her arms so that Claire had to readjust her own. "She'll need a bottle soon. I'd better bring you to Win."
We started toward the study. "Is Julia at home?" I asked.
"I gave her the day off," Claire joked.
"Nice of you," I said flatly.
She stiffened. "Actually, she went to the Vineyard to visit with her mother. The two of them will come back together by late afternoon." She paused. "Brooke's funeral is at five."
"I plan to stop by," I said.
"I'm sure the family would appreciate that," she said. "I'll be here with Tess. I think we can spare her the mood at the church."
"Probably a good idea," I said, even though I didn't think it was the best one. I would rather have seen Tess stay close to Julia or Julia's mother.
Darwin Bishop was working on a laptop computer when Claire and I got to the door of his study. Looking at him, I felt a surge of loathing. The intensity of the emotion took me by surprise.
He glanced at me over half-glasses. "Please, come in," he said.
"I'll see you on your way out," Claire said to me.
I watched her leave with the baby, then walked into the study. I lingered a few moments on the portraits of Bishops' polo ponies, buying time to calm myself.
"Doctor," Bishop said, motioning for me to take the seat in front of his desk. I did. He kept watching the computer screen.
"Do you need another minute?" I asked.
"I need another year," he said, pulling his eyes away from the screen. "Acribat Software is down forty-five percent since last March. I have a rather substantial position."
It bothered me that Bishop was tracking his portfolio on the day of his infant daughter's funeral, but it didn't surprise me. "Sorry to hear that," I said, trying to filter the sarcasm out of my voice.
"Not as sorry as I am." He glanced back at the screen. "Do you follow the markets?"
"Not much," I said.
"You're better off." He removed his glasses and focused on me for the first time. "It's a rough game. Like a lot of things in life, you don't want to get into it unless you can stand to lose. You can get hurt badly."
I didn't think Bishop was talking about the market. He was warning me to stay away from the murder investigation-or from Julia. "Thanks for the advice," I said. "I'll keep it in mind."
"For whatever it's worth." He put on the fake Bishop smile. "What brings you?"
I decided to start with what I needed to tell Bishop about Billy. "Your son called me last night," I said.
He didn't show any surprise. "Were you able to trace the call?" he asked.
Bishop hadn't asked whether Billy was all right, or living on the streets, or about to do himself in. His first question had been a strategic one about whether Billy could be tracked down. "He wasn't on the line long enough," I said. "I wasn't set up for a trace, anyhow."
"What did he have to say?"
"He wanted me to loan him money, which I refused to do."
"I think that was wise," Bishop said. "Maybe he'll get hungry or scared and head back to the hospital." He shook his head. "I wish he had stayed put. We would have done our best for him."
"He wasn't convinced of that," I said.
"He never has been," Bishop said. "It isn't easy to trust anyone after you lose your parents the way he did."
"No question," I agreed.
"It's also hard to trust anyone," the voice at the back of my mind said, "when your adoptive father is whipping you with a strap."
"You should know that he's very angry," I told Bishop. "I had the feeling he might lash out at you or your family."
"We've struggled with Billy's rage a long time," Bishop said. "Since Brooke, we're taking every precaution. It's a little like Fort Knox around here. We'll be just fine."
"Do you have any idea where his anger stems from?" I asked.
"I would say that emotion is displaced from tragic losses he's suffered in his life," he said. "But you would know better than I."
"Did you know the police were set to arrest him early this morning?" I asked.
"I did," Bishop said. "Their plan actually helped me focus my thoughts." He folded his thick arms.
"How so?"
"Given that they've decided to arrest and try Billy, his best chance for acquittal is a straightforward plea of innocence. His mental state and his trauma history should be irrelevant because no case for insanity or diminished capacity need be made. As I've said before, there were several of us at home the night Brooke was killed. I don't see any way the police and the District Attorney can prove that Billy was the one responsible."
That was a simple strategy: Billy would stand trial for murder and either be acquitted or do life. Either way, the chances of suspicion settling on any other family member would be close to zero. Judging from what Laura Mossberg at Payne Whitney had told me, that had always been Bishop's plan. He had never really intended to keep Billy out of the courtroom. I decided to play my hand more aggressively. "If you believe the D.A. won't be able to prove Billy is guilty," I said, "why are you so certain he is?"
Bishop looked at me like he didn't understand.
"Why do you think he's the one who did it?" I asked, more directly. "Did you see him?"
Without a word, Bishop stood up, went to the door, and closed it. Then he walked back to his desk chair and sat down, staring at me. "Do you have another theory?" he deadpanned.
"You've said yourself, five people were at home that night. Billy, your wife, Claire, Garret-and you."
He nodded to himself, gazed out his window at the rolling lawn behind the house, then looked back at me. "I've learned to be straightforward whenever possible," he said. "I'll tell you what I'm thinking. You went to see my son at Payne Whitney, and he spun such a compelling fantasy that you've lost track of reality."
"I'm hopelessly deluded," I said.
"I'm not saying that," Bishop said. "But it took me years to understand how manipulative and skilled in deception Billy is."
"I believe he's both those things," I said.
"Yet whatever lies he told you," Bishop went on, "led you to seek out my wife, to learn more about this family."
That wasn't completely accurate. Julia had called me, not the other way around. But I wasn't about to share that fact with Bishop. "I certainly wanted more background," I said. "Your wife and I talked briefly over lunch in Boston. But you already know all that." I paused. "Just out of curiosity, if you're going to have me followed, wouldn't a Chevy sedan or a 4Runner be a little less conspicuous than a Range Rover with smoked windows?"
"I wasn't trying to be coy," he said.
"Neither was I," I said. "Do you always have people followed?"
Bishop kept his game face. "Not infrequently. More information is better than less." He ran his fingers through his silver hair. "Let's get to it, Dr. Clevenger: What tall tale did Billy fabricate that would lead you to believe someone else might have harmed Brooke?"
That felt like an open door to Bishop's truth. I couldn't resist walking through it. "It's hard to fabricate welts all over your back," I said.