Laurie found herself hiding a smile. She could imagine herself saying something like that if the situation called for it.
“And she could be terribly jealous. She was all too aware that other women were attracted to Hunter, not to mention the fact that he’d previously been very serious with a socialite who was quite different from Casey.”
Andrew continued a monologue devoted to every one of Casey’s faults. He was on his fourth anecdote about Casey speaking out of turn in “proper company”-this time at the gala the night Hunter was killed. “We were all concerned that she might have had too much wine.”
Ryan interrupted. “Let’s be fair here, Andrew. It’s not unusual for people to partake a bit at these sorts of functions, right? In fact, weren’t you also hitting the bar pretty hard at the gala?”
Andrew laughed like he’d heard an inside joke. “Unfortunately, that’s probably true.”
“Do you recall encountering Gabrielle Lawson? She said you were in a somber mood that night, talking about your father’s interference in Hunter’s relationship. In fact, according to her, you said your father would have no problem with Casey if she were marrying you. She just wasn’t good enough for Hunter. She quotes you as saying that if your father wasn’t careful, you’d-quote-be the only son he had left.”
Andrew’s face suddenly fell. “I was hungover when I found out my brother was dead, and that was the first memory I replayed in my mind. I’m ashamed every time I think of that night. It was a horrible choice of words. Obviously I had no idea we’d lose Hunter within hours.”
“So what exactly did you mean?”
“I didn’t mean anything. Like Gabrielle apparently told you, I was drunk.”
“Really? Because in context, it sounds like you were saying that your father might lose his relationship with Hunter. It gives the impression that your father was pushing Hunter to decide between him and Casey, and you believed your brother was going to choose Casey.”
“Maybe. I don’t know; it was a long time ago.”
Ryan looked quickly to Laurie, and she nodded. Viewers would see the point. Andrew believed that Hunter was going to disobey his father, which undermined the prosecution’s theory about Casey’s motive for murder. It was time for Ryan to move on.
“Let’s return to the subject of your brother’s work for the foundation. By all accounts, he poured himself into it. It has been fifteen years since that night. How has the foundation fared without Hunter?”
“Pretty well, I think. We just had an event for donors last night at Cipriani. Every time we’re there, we always have a moment of silence for both my mother and brother.”
“Did you step into Hunter’s shoes at the foundation?”
Andrew chuckled. “No one could step into Hunter’s shoes in any aspect of his life. I work with staff on the silent auction for the annual gala, meet with press on occasion, but no, I’m definitely not engaged at the same level as Hunter. But thanks to his groundwork, the foundation is largely able to run with staff.”
“But that staff no longer includes Mark Templeton, your former chief financial officer, correct?”
Andrew’s expression remained blank, but the change in his body language was unmistakable. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa and folded his arms.
“Mark was your brother’s close friend, correct? It seems like he would have been a natural successor in leading the foundation. But instead, he resigned just a few years after your brother was killed. Were there problems?”
“No.”
Ryan paused, waiting for further explanation, but Andrew remained silent.
“Have you stayed in touch with him?” Ryan asked.
Andrew smiled politely, but his usual charisma was gone. “He was more Hunter’s friend than mine.”
“How about your father? Is he on good terms with Mark Templeton?”
“Why are you asking so much about Mark?” When he began to reach for the microphone clipped to his shirt collar, Ryan effortlessly shifted gears back to Andrew’s favorite memories of his brother.
Good job, Laurie thought. We weren’t going to get any more information out of him, and you kept him in his seat. Ryan was finding his sea legs.
Once the interview had wrapped, Ryan immediately asked Andrew if he could show Jerry and a camera team around the property. “We want viewers to see why your brother considered this his home.”
When Andrew and Jerry walked out the back door, it was 12:17. General Raleigh’s “PTA,” as his son had called it, was in thirteen minutes. Just as they’d planned, Andrew’s tour of the grounds should keep him from notifying his father that they’d been asking about Mark Templeton.
But then twelve-thirty became twelve-forty and then twelve-fifty. Laurie’s phone rang shortly before one o’clock.
“This is Laurie.”
“Ms. Moran, this is Mary Jane Finder calling for General Raleigh. I’m afraid the General won’t be able to make it to Connecticut today.”
“We thought you’d already left the city. We’re already filming.”
“I understand that. I’m afraid time got away from us. But Andrew is there. He should be able to get you whatever you need in terms of access to the house.”
“We need more than access to the property. Both you and the General agreed to tell us whatever you know about the night Hunter was killed.”
“Frankly, Ms. Moran, the evidence speaks for itself, doesn’t it? Not that you asked my opinion, but I’d say Ms. Carter has cost the Raleigh family enough without wasting their time with this futile reality show.” She said the words reality show as if they were dirty.
“I was under the impression that General Raleigh still believes strongly that Casey Carter is guilty. We thought he’d want an opportunity to express his beliefs. You found a reason not to sit down with us on camera yesterday. Did you persuade your employer to stand us up today?”
“You underestimate General Raleigh if you think anyone pulls his strings. Please, Ms. Moran, I’m sure your show craves drama, but there’s no conspiracy here: he is on a very tight writing schedule right now for his memoirs, which, with all due respect, are a better venue for his thoughts than your program. You’re free to do whatever you want with your production, but General Raleigh won’t be able to participate in the coming days.”
“And you? You’re also a witness to the events of that night.”
“I’ll be busy helping General Raleigh with his book.”
“Speaking of the General’s book, that’s for Holly Bloom at Arden Publishing, correct? We’ll be reporting Holly’s role in publishing Jason Gardner’s tell-all book about Casey, not to mention her assistance in securing a job for the Raleigh Foundation’s former chief financial officer, Mark Templeton. Does the General know that we’ll be reporting these connections, Ms. Finder?”
“Have a good afternoon.”
Mary Jane didn’t need to acknowledge Laurie’s question. The answer was already clear. Of course General Raleigh knew the information they were reporting. That’s exactly why Laurie was looking at an empty chair in the living room.
50
Forty-five miles from New Canaan, in his Manhattan townhouse, General James Raleigh watched his assistant hang up the phone on his desk. He had only heard Mary Jane’s side of the conversation.
“She thinks you’re pulling my strings, does she?” he said with a wry smile.
“Pity the person who would try such a thing.”
“How did she handle the news that I would not be coming up to Connecticut?”
“Not well. As you predicted, she tried fear tactics. And I’m afraid I need to apologize. I realize that when I first called her assistant, Grace, I mentioned the name of your publisher. She’s connected it to Jason Gardner’s book.”