"Professional companions are rigidly screened. A dislike – or disdain, as you put it – is a usual reason for denial of licensing."
"She was also clever. There was nothing in her life she wanted she didn't find a way to have. Except happiness. She was not a happy woman," Elizabeth went on, and swallowed the lump that always seemed to hover in her throat. "I spoiled her, it's true. I have no one to blame but myself for it. I wanted more children." She pressed a hand to her mouth until she thought her lips had stopped trembling. "I was philosophically opposed to having more, and my husband was very clear in his position. But that didn't stop the emotion of wanting children to love. I loved Sharon, too much. The senator will tell you I smothered her, babied her, indulged her. And he would be right."
"I would say that mothering was your privilege, not his."
This brought a ghost of a smile to Elizabeth 's eyes. "So were the mistakes, and I made them. Richard, too, though he loved her no less than I. When Sharon moved to New York, we fought with her over it. Richard pleaded with her. I threatened her. And I pushed her away, lieutenant. She told me I didn't understand her – never had, never would – and that I saw only what I wanted to see, unless it was in court; but what went on in my own home was invisible."
"What did she mean?"
"That I was a better lawyer than a mother, I suppose. After she left, I was hurt, angry. I pulled back, quite certain she would come to me. She didn't, of course."
She stopped speaking for a moment, hoarding her regrets. "Richard went to see her once or twice, but that didn't work, and only upset him. We let it alone, let her alone. Until recently, when I felt we had to make a new attempt."
"Why recently?"
"The years pass," Elizabeth murmured. "I'd hoped she would be growing tired of the lifestyle, perhaps have begun to regret the rift with family. I went to see her myself about a year ago. But she only became angry, defensive, then insulting when I tried to persuade her to come home. Richard, though he'd resigned himself, offered to go up and talk to her. But she refused to see him. Even Catherine tried," she murmured and rubbed absently at a pain between her eyes. "She went to see Sharon only a few weeks ago."
"Congresswoman DeBlass went to New York to see Sharon?"
"Not specifically. Catherine was there for a fund-raiser and made a point to see and try to speak with Sharon." Elizabeth pressed her lips together. "I asked her to. You see, when I tried to open communications again, Sharon wasn't interested. I'd lost her," Elizabeth said quietly, "and moved too late to get her back, I didn't know how to get her back. I'd hoped that Catherine could help, being family, but not Sharon 's mother."
She looked over at Eve again. "You're thinking that I should have gone again myself. It was my place to go."
"Ms. Barrister – "
But Elizabeth shook her head. "You're right, of course. But she refused to confide in me. I thought I should respect her privacy, as I always had. I was never one of those mothers who peeked into her daughter's diary."
"Diary?" Eve's antenna vibrated. "Did she keep one?"
"She always kept a diary, even as a child. She changed the password in it regularly."
"And as an adult?"
"Yes. She'd refer to it now and again – joke about the secrets she had and the people she knew who would be appalled at what she'd written about them."
There'd been no personal diary in the inventory, Eve remembered. Such things could be as small as a woman's thumb. If the sweepers missed it the first time…
"Do you have any of them?"
"No." Abruptly alert, Elizabeth looked up. "She kept them in a deposit box, I think. She kept them all."
"Did she use a bank here in Virginia?"
"Not that I'm aware of. I'll check and see what I can find out for you. I can go through the things she left here."
"I'd appreciate that. If you think of anything – anything at all – a name, a comment, no matter how casual, please contact me."
"I will. She never spoke of friends, lieutenant. I worried about that, even as I used it to hope that the lack of them would draw her back home. Out of the life she'd chosen. I even used one of my own, my own friends, thinking he would be more persuasive than I."
"Who was that?"
"Roarke." Elizabeth teared up again, fought them back. "Only days before she was murdered, I called him. We've known each other for years. I asked him if he would arrange for her to be invited to a certain party I knew he'd be attending. If he'd seek her out. He was reluctant. Roarke isn't one to meddle in family business. But I used our friendship. If he would just find a way to befriend her, to show her that an attractive woman doesn't have to use her looks to feel worthwhile. He did that for me, and for my husband."
"You asked him to develop a relationship with her?" Eve said carefully.
"I asked him to be her friend," Elizabeth corrected. "To be there for her. I asked him because there's no one I trust more. She'd cut herself off from all of us, and I needed someone I could trust. He would never hurt her, you see. He would never hurt anyone I loved."
"Because he loves you?"
"Cares." Richard DeBlass spoke from the doorway. "Roarke cares very much for Beth and for me, and a few select others. But loves? I'm not sure he'd let himself risk quite that unstable an emotion."
"Richard." Elizabeth 's control wobbled as she got to her feet. "I wasn't expecting you quite yet."
"We finished early." He came to her, closed his hands over hers. "You should have called me, Beth."
"I didn't – " She broke off, looked at him helplessly. "I'd hoped to handle it alone."
"You don't have to handle anything alone." He kept his hand closed over his wife's as he turned to Eve. "You'd be Lieutenant Dallas?"
"Yes, Mr. DeBlass. I had a few questions and hoped it would be easier if I asked them in person."
"My wife and I are willing to cooperate in any way we can." He remained standing, a position Eve judged as one of power and of distance.
There was none of Elizabeth 's nerves or fragility in the man who stood beside her. He was taking charge, Eve decided, protecting his wife and guarding his own emotions with equal care.
"You were asking about Roarke," he continued. "May I ask why?"
"I told the lieutenant that I'd asked Roarke to see Sharon. To try to… "
"Oh, Beth." In a gesture that was both weary and resigned, he shook his head. "What could he do? Why would you bring him into it?"
She stepped away from him, her face so filled with despair, Eve's heart broke. "I know you told me to let it alone, that we had to let her go. But I had to try again. She might have connected with him, Richard. He has a way." She began to speak quickly now, her words tumbling out, tripping over each other. "He might have helped her if I'd asked him sooner. With enough time, there's very little he can't do. But he didn't have enough time. Neither did my child."
"All right," Richard murmured, and laid a hand on her arm. "All right."
She controlled herself again, drew back, drew in. "What can I do now, lieutenant, but pray for justice?"
"I'll get you justice, Ms. Barrister."
She closed her eyes and clung to that. "I think you will. I wasn't sure of that, even after Roarke called me about you."
"He called you – to discuss the case?"
"He called to see how we were – and to tell me he thought you'd be coming to see me personally before long." She nearly smiled. "He's rarely wrong. He told me I'd find you competent, organized, and involved. You are. I'm grateful I've had the opportunity to see that for myself and to know that you're in charge of my daughter's murder investigation."
"Ms. Barrister," Eve hesitated only a moment before deciding to take the risk. "What if I told you Roarke is a suspect?"
Elizabeth 's eyes went wide, then calmed again almost immediately. "I'd say you were taking an extraordinarily big wrong step."
"Because Roarke is incapable of murder?"