He only nodded. “I tended to Audrey’s father while he was dying, and I guess he could see I cared for Audrey. And she cared for me. So he told me everything, or everything he knew. Tessa’s half-sister was wild. She married a good man, but she betrayed him, and ran away to join Menzini’s cult. They used God’s word, twisted and defiled it to prey on the weak. She lay with him, and had his child. She was one of them. But she came to realize she’d taken an evil path, came back to her husband with the child. She begged for forgiveness from him, from her family.”
“And William took her back,” Eve prompted. “Took you as his own.”
“He was a good man,” Audrey said. “And he forgave her. They were going to take me away from her, and she ran away with me, went home.”
“But this Menzini found them,” Russell continued. “He killed them, took the child. William Hubbard was a soldier. He and his wife searched for the child, and finally found her. Menzini had vanished, but they feared for the child. They left their home, their friends and family, and came here to America. They changed her name, and raised her as theirs.”
“They loved me. They were good, and gave me a good life. I’m their daughter. Theirs.”
“Mrs. Callaway, I don’t believe in the sins of the father. I believe we make our choices, make ourselves. I believe Edward and Tessa Hubbard did the very best they could for you, and loved you, and that you were their daughter.”
“I was. I am.”
“Lewis found the boxes?”
“He came home. He was restless, and upset. Something at work. Someone stole one of his ideas.”
“Audrey.” Russell sighed.
“They didn’t appreciate him or respect him enough,” she insisted, with an edge of desperation in her voice. “That’s what he said. I don’t know why he went up in the attic. We were working outside. He found some things, and started to ask questions. We talked it over, and decided we should tell him. We should tell him what had happened all that time ago, and we should destroy everything. It isn’t who we are.”
“But he didn’t want you to destroy it.”
“He said it was his legacy, his right. That he should know his family tree, the truth of it. He seemed—not happy, but satisfied. He seemed calmer. As if, I thought, he’d always known something was different, and now that he knew the truth, it contented him.”
“He came back for more.”
“I had things of my mother’s. My mother,” she said, laying a hand on her heart. “And some things she’d kept from when she and her half-sister were young. Some I have in the house. My mother’s dishes, and some of her jewelry. Not heirlooms, really,” she said as her hand covered the little cross again, “but they matter. He was sure there was more, on Gina MacMillon, my mother’s half-sister, on Menzini. He searched the attic, the basement, the outbuildings. He came back again, again, looking, asking the same questions.”
“You don’t know what was in the boxes? You never went through them.”
“Not really. I looked, after my father died. I read some of Gina’s journal entries, but they were upsetting— written when she’d run off with the cult—so I stopped. She died for me, so I couldn’t throw her things away, but I didn’t want to read what she’d written when she’d lost her faith.”
“But he wanted to. Lewis wanted to read the journals.”
“He said it was important to know. And he …”
“What?”
“Don’t be angry,” she said to her husband. “Please.”
“Did he hurt you?” Russell’s fist balled on the table.
“No. No, he didn’t.”
“Has he hurt you before?” Teasdale asked.
“It was a long time ago. He lost his temper.”
“He wanted shoes, some fancy shoes we couldn’t afford. His mother caught him stealing money from her household bank. When she tried to stop him, he struck her. He struck her with his fist. He was sixteen, and though she tried to make excuses for him, I could see what he’d done. He came home with those damned shoes, and for the first time in his life, I laid hands on him. I struck him, my son, as he had struck his mother. I burned the shoes. He apologized, he made amends, and for a while …”
“It seemed better,” Teasdale prompted.
“But it wasn’t, not underneath it all. We knew,” he said to his wife, and laid a hand over hers again. “We knew.”
“We just couldn’t make him happy. But he’s a successful man now. He has a good job.”
Russell shook his head. “He lies, Audrey, he’s always lied and sneaked around, and connived to cause trouble. What do you think he’s done?” he asked Eve.
“I think he found information, and he’s used that information, as his grandfather did. He’s responsible for the deaths of more than a hundred and twenty people.”
“That can’t be true. You’re only saying that because you found out about Menzini. You’re using that to accuse Lew. Russell, tell them!”
But he only sat, and to Eve’s surprise, and pity, tears slid down his cheeks. “He’s our son. We wanted a child, so much. We did our best by him. We did everything we knew. You’re saying he’s evil. How do we believe that? How do we live with that?”
“They’re wrong. They have to be wrong.”
“I can pray they’re wrong. But we always knew.”
“You don’t love him!”
“I wish I didn’t.”
Audrey broke down, laid her head on the table, sobbed. Russell sat, head bowed, silent tears running down his face.
When they stepped outside the room, Teasdale glanced back. “They’ll grieve.”
“A lot of people will.” Eve pulled out her ’link, nodded. “Peabody’s back. I need to talk to her, and we need to keep the Callaways under wrap. He’s going to be here any minute.”
Mira came out of Observation. “I’d like to go in and speak with them now.”
“Could you give me some time first?” Teasdale asked. “In this first wave of grief, they may tell me more.”
“Callaway’s coming in soon,” Eve told Mira, “and I need you in there. Why don’t you observe for a few minutes, and if you think Teasdale’s got in, come to the conference room. I’ll signal you when we’ve got him set,” she told Teasdale. “Here’s how it’s going to work.”
Once Eve laid it out, she went straight to Peabody in the conference room. “Give me what you got, make it quick.”
“Boiled down, Fisher wasn’t a Callaway fan. She bitched about him to the roommate. Main beef? He had her do some grunt work on one of his projects. She came up with a fresh angle, created an entire ad—tags, visuals, market projections. He took the credit.”
“Did she tell Weaver?”
“No. But the next time he dumped something on her, she dated and initialed all her work. And she ran it all by Weaver first, like she was looking for a second, more experienced opinion.”
“Smart. She got the credit, and he had to swallow it.”
“He never used her again. Plus she got a bonus, and got to head another, smaller project. Fisher was friends with one of the people she chose for the project team. I went to see her, too. She corroborated the roommate’s story.”
“We’ve got the Callaways in Interview. Teasdale’s doing a second pass.” She paused when Mira came in.
“Has Teasdale got it?”
“Yes, she’s very good. I’ll talk with them later.”
“I need to run this through for Peabody, and I’d like your opinion,” she told Mira. “It’s looking like they moved around a lot because Callaway got into trouble as a kid. He punched his mother in the face when she caught him
