He had thought her expression had been calm and steady before. Now it
froze. She opened her mouth, closed it, then said. "You've been speaking
to Philip."
Goren went on as though she hadn't spoken. "You lived with your brother continuously, through all the moves, except for four years in New Haven. You lived with him when Karen came back, after he remarried. You were what, 24 when they married and his wife was only 26? Most newlyweds . . ."
"Fuck you," she whispered. She had begun to shake perceptibly.
"Phil said he'd found you and your brother in bed together. Fully clothed, but still. That's a little odd."
"He m-m-misunderstood. I was . . . having an an-anxiety attack. I g-g-get cold and Ben was . . ."
"Comforting you. In bed." Goren supplied reasonably. "I could buy that, except, well, you know what Karen was saying, right? She claimed to have seen it."
"She was . . . lying."
"She claims he was with her, too. These things are really hard to disprove, and you have to admit, you and your brother . . .there was something funny there. I mean," he leaned closer. She was shaking spastically, fighting to control her motions, "everyone knows you'd anything for each other, you adored each other. How much did your brother adore you, Miss Baldwin?"
"No . . . N-n-n-no. He . .. was an . . never . . ."
Goren stood and shrugged. "Hey, I'm not judging. You and Ben had horrible childhoods, a shared past that would make most people run screaming in the other direction. You were close. You needed each other. You understood each other. These things can get . . . complicated. So what if your relationship was a little unconventional? It's not fair to expect normalcy from you. And besides, the proof is in the pudding. Whatever it was worked. Your brother and you are respected, admired. He was a great writer; you're earning some acclaim as an actress. And you work with traumatized children. He helped you, you helped him. So what if you were a little . . . close."
Amy stood and banged her fists on the table. "It's a b-b-big step from unusual rel . . . relationship to, to, to . . ."
"Incest?" He supplied. "I agree. But once it's out there . . ."
Amy sank back down, still shaking, and slumped in her chair.
Bobby pulled his chair back around to the other side of the table. He pulled a photocopy of the letter they found in the hotel room from one of the folders and pushed it over to Amy. She didn't even glance at it.
"I read the letter," he said seriously. "You're right, for the most part it's bullshit. I mean, you killed your father, that's true. But it was in self-defense, and that'll be rehashed in the press sooner or later anyway. I read the police report. There's not even a shadow of a doubt about what happened and the grand jury declined to indict, so who cares? I don't know where she gets this stuff about your brother killing your mother, but there's no indication that that's even a possibility, so . . . And as for burning down the house you grew up in . . . Well, it was your property and no one got hurt, so no harm no foul. But the incest, that'll stick."
"It's a lie," she whispered viciously.
Goren shrugged. "So what? You've been to Hollywood, your brother was a reporter. The truth isn't necessarily what sells, or what people believe. This allegation would taint your reputation, possibly destroy your nascent career. Unless you wanted to act exclusively in Lifetime Original Movies, that is."
"You over . . . I've never sought . . . Even if it c-c-could destroy my career, I . . . Being big in Hollywood or New York was never that important to me."
"You're an actress."
"I . . . I have other possibilities. And I have money from my . . . brother.
Killing is . . . a terrible thing. My reputation or my . . . theoretical career isn't worth it."
"What about your brother's?"
She stopped shaking and looked at him silently.
Goren moved Ben Baldwin's book so that it sat beside the photocopied letter. "His reputation is all that's left of him in the world. The critics love him. The press loves him. All that goes away if this gets out. His name becomes something that's whispered with a smirk by gossips and voyeurs. He disappears."
"His reputation . . . is not the same as his honor." She said quietly.
"Yeah, but a ruined reputation hurts. And whose gonna listen to your defense of him? You're his victim!"
"No." Very softly. So softly he could barely hear it.
"You would do anything to protect him."
"He would never want me to kill for him." Flatly, no hesitation or
stammer.
"No. No. Okay, let's get back to that. In all seriousness, I really
like this book." He flipped through until he got to the last chapter. "And I love the way he finishes it. He calls the chapter 'Apologia'. It's an apology in the classic sense of justification and explanation for any pain he might have caused. Its subject matter's curious, given how your cousin died."
Amy looked at her hands.
"It's interesting that the entire apologia focuses on the need for
fire. The premise that catharsis is necessary for true healing. And he talks about the basic human understanding of that in the symbolism and use of fire," he read from the book " 'Across cultures and throughout history, fire has been used to destroy disease, purge sin, and wipe the slate clean. It is it's very destructive aspect that makes healing and ultimately survival possible.' And he talks about how it's viewed as necessary even in cases of blamelessness and that communities tend to use fire against the perceived sources of the stain, in order to free everyone else from infection. It's really a very interesting and well-reasoned chapter. One would almost think that whoever killed your cousin was trying to both save her soul and wipe the slate clean."
"Thank you." She looked up, meeting his gaze now, unflinching.
Goren went on as though she hadn't spoken. "You lived with your brother continuously, through all the moves, except for four years in New Haven. You lived with him when Karen came back, after he remarried. You were what, 24 when they married and his wife was only 26? Most newlyweds . . ."
"Fuck you," she whispered. She had begun to shake perceptibly.
"Phil said he'd found you and your brother in bed together. Fully clothed, but still. That's a little odd."
"He m-m-misunderstood. I was . . . having an an-anxiety attack. I g-g-get cold and Ben was . . ."
"Comforting you. In bed." Goren supplied reasonably. "I could buy that, except, well, you know what Karen was saying, right? She claimed to have seen it."
"She was . . . lying."
"She claims he was with her, too. These things are really hard to disprove, and you have to admit, you and your brother . . .there was something funny there. I mean," he leaned closer. She was shaking spastically, fighting to control her motions, "everyone knows you'd anything for each other, you adored each other. How much did your brother adore you, Miss Baldwin?"
"No . . . N-n-n-no. He . .. was an . . never . . ."
Goren stood and shrugged. "Hey, I'm not judging. You and Ben had horrible childhoods, a shared past that would make most people run screaming in the other direction. You were close. You needed each other. You understood each other. These things can get . . . complicated. So what if your relationship was a little unconventional? It's not fair to expect normalcy from you. And besides, the proof is in the pudding. Whatever it was worked. Your brother and you are respected, admired. He was a great writer; you're earning some acclaim as an actress. And you work with traumatized children. He helped you, you helped him. So what if you were a little . . . close."
Amy stood and banged her fists on the table. "It's a b-b-big step from unusual rel . . . relationship to, to, to . . ."
"Incest?" He supplied. "I agree. But once it's out there . . ."
Amy sank back down, still shaking, and slumped in her chair.
Bobby pulled his chair back around to the other side of the table. He pulled a photocopy of the letter they found in the hotel room from one of the folders and pushed it over to Amy. She didn't even glance at it.
"I read the letter," he said seriously. "You're right, for the most part it's bullshit. I mean, you killed your father, that's true. But it was in self-defense, and that'll be rehashed in the press sooner or later anyway. I read the police report. There's not even a shadow of a doubt about what happened and the grand jury declined to indict, so who cares? I don't know where she gets this stuff about your brother killing your mother, but there's no indication that that's even a possibility, so . . . And as for burning down the house you grew up in . . . Well, it was your property and no one got hurt, so no harm no foul. But the incest, that'll stick."
"It's a lie," she whispered viciously.
Goren shrugged. "So what? You've been to Hollywood, your brother was a reporter. The truth isn't necessarily what sells, or what people believe. This allegation would taint your reputation, possibly destroy your nascent career. Unless you wanted to act exclusively in Lifetime Original Movies, that is."
"You over . . . I've never sought . . . Even if it c-c-could destroy my career, I . . . Being big in Hollywood or New York was never that important to me."
"You're an actress."
"I . . . I have other possibilities. And I have money from my . . . brother.
Killing is . . . a terrible thing. My reputation or my . . . theoretical career isn't worth it."
"What about your brother's?"
She stopped shaking and looked at him silently.
Goren moved Ben Baldwin's book so that it sat beside the photocopied letter. "His reputation is all that's left of him in the world. The critics love him. The press loves him. All that goes away if this gets out. His name becomes something that's whispered with a smirk by gossips and voyeurs. He disappears."
"His reputation . . . is not the same as his honor." She said quietly.
"Yeah, but a ruined reputation hurts. And whose gonna listen to your defense of him? You're his victim!"
"No." Very softly. So softly he could barely hear it.
"You would do anything to protect him."
"He would never want me to kill for him." Flatly, no hesitation or
stammer.
"No. No. Okay, let's get back to that. In all seriousness, I really
like this book." He flipped through until he got to the last chapter. "And I love the way he finishes it. He calls the chapter 'Apologia'. It's an apology in the classic sense of justification and explanation for any pain he might have caused. Its subject matter's curious, given how your cousin died."
Amy looked at her hands.
"It's interesting that the entire apologia focuses on the need for
fire. The premise that catharsis is necessary for true healing. And he talks about the basic human understanding of that in the symbolism and use of fire," he read from the book " 'Across cultures and throughout history, fire has been used to destroy disease, purge sin, and wipe the slate clean. It is it's very destructive aspect that makes healing and ultimately survival possible.' And he talks about how it's viewed as necessary even in cases of blamelessness and that communities tend to use fire against the perceived sources of the stain, in order to free everyone else from infection. It's really a very interesting and well-reasoned chapter. One would almost think that whoever killed your cousin was trying to both save her soul and wipe the slate clean."
"Thank you." She looked up, meeting his gaze now, unflinching.