Free The Final Judgment by Richard North Patterson Page B

decide what was best for her. And that she would.” Betty’s voice grew flinty now. “What she believes is that I’m an overprotective mother who can’t let go because my obsession with her is all I have in my narrow and limited existence. And what I know is that the line between romanticism and self-destruction is one that she has yet to recognize.” Caroline gave her a long, cool look. “Do you really think,” she asked, “that she understands herself so incompletely?” Betty met her eyes. “Do you think,” she answered, “that she’s a murderer?” Suddenly, Caroline felt off balance. “I don’t know,” she said. “But then I didn’t raise her, did I?” Caroline heard Larry exhale; saw Betty’s mouth open again. Caroline continued in a tone of calm she did not feel. “While you, of course, did. Which leads me to inquire whether you ever listened to her telephone conversations.” Betty stiffened in her chair. “What makes you ask that ... ?”
    “She thinks you did. Specifically, that night. When she and James decided to go to Heron Lake.” Betty seemed to blanch. “Why does she say that?”
    “Because she heard someone pick up a telephone.” Betty touched her eyes. “No,” she said. “No?”
    “No.” Betty folded her arms now, staring at the hard gloss of the dining table. “Why would it matter now? To her or to you?”
    “To Brett? Because twenty-two-year-olds don’t like being spied on, including this one. To me, because I can’t help but wonder if you told someone else.” Across the table, Betty froze. Larry placed his hand on Caroline’s arm. Voice half anxious, half brusque, he demanded “Just what is this about, Caroline? The present or the past?” Caroline did not take her gaze off Betty. “The present, very much so. I’d like to know if either of you knows any way that anyone could have found out where Brett was taking him.” Betty met her eyes. “No,” she said succinctly. “I did not spy on my daughter.” Caroline appraised her. “And you have no idea,” she inquired, “how anyone else would have known she was there.”
    “No.” A brief pause. “Perhaps James told someone. Perhaps, Caroline, they were simply followed.” Caroline shrugged. “Perhaps.” Betty’s voice rose. “She did not kill him.” Deliberately, Caroline picked up the wineglass and drained it. Betty shut her eyes; Caroline felt Larry’s gaze. The wine seemed to numb her. “This knife,” Caroline said. “I gather the police asked you about it.” Betty’s eyes half opened. Slowly, she nodded. Caroline turned to Larry. “And you?” Larry shook his head. “They haven’t questioned me yet.” Caroline leaned forward, her gaze sweeping them both. “Because it is very important that the knife not be traced to Brett. Or to this house.” Betty stiffened. “You do think she killed him.”
    “I don’t think anything,” Caroline answered sharply. “But whoever represents Brett can do without surprises. It’s quite important that there is nothing that would lead the police to believe Brett brought the knife.” Her voice became quiet. “It’s not just a matter of you or Father telling the police that you know nothing about a knife, or that no knife is missing. It’s a matter of being sure that there is no one in a position to say anything different. Or to be caught in a lie.” Caroline paused. “Do you understand, both of you, precisely what I’m saying?” Betty’s mouth was tight. “I understand perfectly. Brett says that she’s never seen the knife. You want to be sure that if she’s lying, we’ve thought through whether we can cover it up. Unless we don’t know better ourselves.”
    “In which case,” Caroline answered mildly, “you have no problem, do you? ... Incidentally, what you just said was very foolish. Not the thought so much. But to say it aloud.” Betty stood up from the table, staring down at her sister. “They showed me pictures of the knife, Caroline. And I never saw it before.” She looked to Larry and back again. “If you’ll excuse me, Brett’s