I didn’t say anything. I waited for him to go on.

He kept looking out the window and said slowly, “Gabriel wasn’t just my brother, he was my best friend. He was the kindest man you ever met. Too kind. And all his talent, his goodness, his passion for life—wiped out, because of that bitch. It wasn’t just his life she destroyed—it was mine too. Thank God my parents didn’t live to see it.” Max choked up, suddenly emotional.

It was hard not to sense his pain, and I felt sorry for him. “It must have been extremely difficult for you to organize Alicia’s defense.”

Max shut the window and returned to the desk. He had regained control of himself. He was wearing the lawyer’s hat again. Neutral, balanced, emotionless.

He shrugged. “It’s what Gabriel would have wanted. He wanted the best for Alicia, always. He was mad about her. She was just mad.”

“You think she was insane?”

“You tell me—you’re her shrink.”

“What do you think?”

“I know what I observed.”

“And what was that?”

“Mood swings. Rages. Violent fits. She’d break things, smash stuff up. Gabriel told me she threatened to murder him on several occasions. I should have listened, done something—after she tried to kill herself, I should have intervened, insisted she got some help. But I didn’t. Gabriel was determined to protect her, and like an idiot, I let him.”

Max sighed and checked his watch—a cue for me to wrap up the conversation.

But I just stared at him blankly. “Alicia tried to kill herself? What do you mean? When? You mean after the murder?”

Max shook his head. “No, several years before that. You don’t know? I assumed you knew.”

“When was this?”

“After her father died. She took an overdose … pills or something. I can’t remember exactly. She had a kind of breakdown.”

I was about to press him further when the door opened. The receptionist appeared and spoke in a sniffly voice. “Darling, we should go. We’ll be late.”

“Right. Coming, dear.”

The door shut. Max stood up, giving me an apologetic glance. “We have theater tickets.” I must have looked startled, because he laughed. “We—Tanya and I—were married last year.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Gabriel’s death brought us together. I couldn’t have gotten through it without her.”

Max’s phone rang, distracting him.

I nodded at him to take the call. “Thank you, you’ve been a great help.”

I slipped out of the office. I took a closer look at Tanya in reception—she was blond, pretty, rather petite. She blew her nose, and I noticed the large diamond on her wedding finger.

To my surprise, she got up and walked toward me, frowning. She spoke urgently in a low voice. “If you want to know about Alicia, talk to her cousin, Paul—he knows her better than anyone.”

“I tried calling her aunt, Lydia Rose. She wasn’t particularly forthcoming.”

“Forget Lydia. Go to Cambridge. Talk to Paul. Ask him about Alicia and the night after the accident, and—”

The office door opened. Tanya immediately fell silent. Max emerged and she hurried over to him, smiling broadly.

“Ready, darling?” she asked.

Tanya was smiling, but she sounded nervous. She’s afraid of Max, I thought. I wondered why.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Alicia Berenson’s Diary

JULY 22

I hate the fact there’s a gun in the house.

We had another argument about it last night. At least I thought that’s what we were fighting about—I’m not so sure now.

Gabriel said it was my fault we argued. I suppose it was. I hated seeing him so upset, looking at me with hurt eyes. I hate causing him pain—and yet sometimes I desperately want to hurt him, and I don’t know why.

He said I came home in a horrible mood. That I marched upstairs and started screaming at him. Perhaps I did. I suppose I was upset. I’m not altogether sure what happened. I had just gotten back from the park. I don’t remember much of the walk—I was daydreaming, thinking about work, about the Jesus picture. I remember walking past a house on my way home. Two boys were playing with a hose. They couldn’t have been older than seven or eight. The older boy was spraying the younger with a jet of water, a rainbow of color sparkling in the light. A perfect rainbow. The younger boy stretched out his hands, laughing. I walked past and I realized my cheeks were wet with tears.

I dismissed it then, but thinking about it now, it seems obvious. I don’t want to admit the truth to myself—that a huge part of my life is missing. That I’ve denied I want children, pretending I have no interest in them, that all I care about is my art. And it’s not true. It’s just an excuse—the truth is I’m scared to have kids. I am not to be trusted with them.

Not with my mother’s blood running through my veins.

That’s what was on my mind, consciously or unconsciously, when I got home. Gabriel was right, I was in a bad state.

But I never would have exploded if I hadn’t found him cleaning the gun. It upsets me so much that he has it. And it hurts me he won’t get rid of it, no matter how many times I beg him. He always says the same thing—that it was one of his father’s old rifles from their farm and he gave it him when he was sixteen, that it has sentimental value and blah blah blah. I don’t believe him. I think there’s another reason he’s keeping it. I said so. And Gabriel said there was nothing wrong with wanting to be safe—wanting to protect his house and wife. What if someone broke in?