“He’s afraid of you,” Catherine whispered. “He’s afraid of you. I could tell. He’s afraid of women. That’s why he hurts them. I think he may have given something to my mother. Broke her mind. She knew.”
“Your mother knew your father was abusing you?”
“She knew. She pretended she didn’t, but I could see it in her eyes. She didn’t want to know—she just wanted everything quiet and perfect, so she could give her parties and be the senator’s wife.” She lifted a hand, shielding her eyes. “When he would come into my room at night, I could see it on her face the next morning. But when I tried to talk to her, to tell her to make him stop, she pretended she didn’t know what I meant. She told me to stop imagining things. To be good, to respect the family.”
She lowered her hand again, cupped her tea with both hands, but didn’t drink. “When I was little, seven or eight, he would come in at night and touch me. He said it was all right, because he was Daddy, and I was going to pretend to be Mommy. It was a game, he said, a secret game. He told me I had to do things—to touch him. To—”
“It’s all right,” Eve soothed as Catherine began to tremble violently. “You don’t have to say. Tell me what you can.”
“You had to obey him. You had to. He was a force in our house. Richard?”
“Yes.” Richard caught his wife’s hand in his and squeezed, squeezed. “I know.”
“I couldn’t tell you because I was ashamed, and I was afraid, and Mom just looked away, so I thought I had to do it.” She swallowed hard. “On my twelfth birthday, we had a party. Lots of friends, and a big cake, and the poni
es. You remember the ponies, Richard?”
“I remember.” Tears tracked silently down his cheeks. “I remember.”
“And that night, the night of my birthday, he came. He said I was old enough now. He said he had a present for me, a special present because I was growing up. And he raped me.” She buried her face in her hands and rocked. “He said it was a present. Oh God. And I begged him to stop, because it hurt. And because I was old enough to know it was wrong, it was evil. I was evil. But he didn’t stop. And he kept coming back. All those years until I could get away. I went to college, far away, where he couldn’t touch me. And I told myself it never happened. It never, never happened.
“I tried to be strong, to make a life. I got married because I thought I would be safe. Justin was so kind, so gentle. He never hurt me. And I never told him. I thought if he knew, he’d despise me. So I kept telling myself it never happened.”
She lowered her hands and looked at Eve. “I believed it, sometimes. Most of the time. I could lose myself in my work, in my family. But then I could see, I knew he was doing the same thing to Sharon. I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how. So I pushed it away, just like my mother did. He killed her. Now he’ll kill me.”
“Why do you think he killed Sharon?”
“She wasn’t weak like me. She turned it on him, used it against him. I heard them arguing. Christmas Day. When we all went to his house to pretend we were a family. I saw them go into his office, and I followed them. I opened the door, and I watched and I listened through the crack. He was so furious with her because she was making a public mockery of everything he stood for. And she said, ‘You made me what I am, you bastard.’ It warmed me to hear that. It made me want to cheer. She stood up to him. She threatened to expose him unless he paid her. She had it all documented, she said, every dirty detail. So he’d have to play the game her way. They fought, hurling words at each other. And then . . .”
Catherine glanced over at Elizabeth, at her brother, then looked away. “She took off her blouse.” Elizabeth’s moan had Catherine trembling again. “She told him he could have her, just like any client. But he’d pay more. A lot more. He was looking at her. I knew the way he was looking at her, his eyes glazed over, his mouth slack. He grabbed her breasts. She looked at me. Right at me. She’d known I was there, and she looked at me with such disgust. Maybe even with hate, because she knew I’d do nothing. I closed the door, closed it and ran. I was sick. Oh, Elizabeth.”
“It’s not your fault. She must have tried to tell me. I never saw, I never heard. I never thought. I was her mother, and I didn’t protect her.”
“I tried to talk to her.” Catherine gripped her hands together. “When I went to New York for the fund-raiser. She said I’d chosen my way, and she’d chosen hers. And hers was better. I played politics, kept my head buried, and she played with power and kept her eyes opened.
“When I heard she was dead, I knew. At the funeral I watched him, and he watched me watching him. He came up to me, put his arms around me, held me close as if in comfort. And he whispered to me to pay attention. To remember, and to see what happened when families don’t keep secrets. And he said what a fine boy Franklin was. What big plans he had for him. He said how proud I should be. And how careful.” She closed her eyes. “What could I do? He’s my child.”
“No one’s going to hurt your son.” Eve closed a hand over Catherine’s rigid ones. “I promise you.”
“I’ll never know if I could have saved her. Your child, Richard.”
“You can know you’re doing everything possible now.” Hardly aware she’d taken Catherine’s hand, Eve tightened her grip in reassurance. “It’s going to be difficult for you, Ms. DeBlass, to go over all of this again, as you’ll have to. To face the publicity. To testify, should it come to trial.”
“He’ll never let it go to trial,” Catherine said wearily.
“I’m not going to give him a choice.” Maybe not on murder, she thought. Not yet. But she had him cold on sexual abuse. “Ms. Barrister, I think your sister-in-law should rest now. Could you help her upstairs?”
“Yes, of course.” Elizabeth rose, walked over to help Catherine to her feet. “Let’s go lie down for a bit, darling.”
“I’m sorry.” Catherine leaned heavily against Elizabeth as she was led from the room. “God forgive me, I’m so sorry.”
“There’s a psychiatric counselor attached to the department, Mr. DeBlass. I think your sister should see her.”
“Yes.” He said it absently, staring at the closed door. “She’ll need someone. Something.”
You all will, Eve thought. “Are you up to a few questions?”
“I don’t know. He’s a tyrant, difficult. But this makes him a monster. How am I to accept that my own father is a monster?”