He'd thrown the bomb, and it fizzled. "Excuse me?"
"Thank you." More distinctly. Her eyes didn't stray from his and now it was his turn to want to look away. "I co-wrote that chapter, Detective. I crafted its reasoning, its rhetorical strategy. You misquoted, or misparaphrased, me."
"Enlighten me."
She spoke in clipped tones. Not exactly angry, but . . . righteous. "You are implying that the chapter is legitimizing the idea that a community or individual can short-cut its way through catharsis. In fact, it says the opposite." She reached across and seized the book so quickly he didn't even have time to grasp it reflexively. She flipped through a few pages. " 'In a figurative sense, self-immolation, with all of the attendant pain, is a necessary facet of healing. This is as true for a community as it is for an individual. Despite society's pathological attempts to circumvent this necessity through the use of innocent and not so innocent scapegoats, we are left with the inescapable conclusion that catharsis is not something that can be imposed or achieved vicariously.' I wrote those sentences. I believe them. Even if I killed my cousin, my worldview would not justify burning her in order to purge my shame or hers."
He replied automatically. "Miss Baldwin, it would have sent a message to the community that offered you up as a scapegoat by turning a blind eye to your suffering. Besides, you did burn down your childhood home." But now he was waiting for her to refute him, waiting for her to drive a nail in his theory's coffin.
She snorted. "Ben and I burnt down the house - which belonged to me and my brother at that point - because it felt good. It appealed to the irrational need for a visible symbol of our victory over our past. But it was a house. And as for the message that might be a reason to kill her in that way, if I were a sociopath."
She leaned in, a challenging look on her face. "You had me intimidated for a while there, Detective, but . . . I didn't kill my cousin. I didn't want to kill her. I had no real reason to kill her. What's reputation? It's insubstantial, temporary, by it's very nature inaccurate. And the people who matter, they would know the truth anyway. You're right, that her 'revelations' would have caused me pain, but a lot of things cause me pain. I suffer, I cope, I heal, and I go on.
"Killing my father was the most disempowering moment of my life, and that was completely justified. Believe me when I tell you that I could not do that again for any other reason than to go on breathing. But I don't think that you actually believe that I killed her, which begs the question of why you're wasting time."
They contemplated each other for a long time, silently weighing the
next step. He was half shocked that she didn't walk out. But then, she needed an answer from him. She was right, he didn't believe she killed Karen, but he could think of no one else. Which left only one viable alternative.
"Self-immolation."
Amy blinked. "What?"
"Self . . . Amy, I read in her file that Karen's mother killed her self after the abuse came to light. Did she leave a note?"
Amy understood now. Her eyes widened and she shook her head at the thought. But not to the question. "Yes . . . Umm, my brother said she mailed two letters, one to her ex-husband, my uncle, and one to Karen." Her jaw slackened in grief. "Oh, God."
"She . . . she killed herself when she found out about her husband's . . . Oh, my God." Realization dawned. The blood drained from her face and her jaw slackened in grief. "How could she burn herself?"
Goren answered without thinking. "She drank herself into a near stupor, handcuffed herself . . . She was alone in the study, wasn't she?"
"For five minutes while I got my purse and phoned a cab."
"She handcuffed her self to the bed and kicked over the candle. Miss Baldwin, I want to search your mail."
Amy nodded. "Yeah, Yes, of course."
"Thank you." More distinctly. Her eyes didn't stray from his and now it was his turn to want to look away. "I co-wrote that chapter, Detective. I crafted its reasoning, its rhetorical strategy. You misquoted, or misparaphrased, me."
"Enlighten me."
She spoke in clipped tones. Not exactly angry, but . . . righteous. "You are implying that the chapter is legitimizing the idea that a community or individual can short-cut its way through catharsis. In fact, it says the opposite." She reached across and seized the book so quickly he didn't even have time to grasp it reflexively. She flipped through a few pages. " 'In a figurative sense, self-immolation, with all of the attendant pain, is a necessary facet of healing. This is as true for a community as it is for an individual. Despite society's pathological attempts to circumvent this necessity through the use of innocent and not so innocent scapegoats, we are left with the inescapable conclusion that catharsis is not something that can be imposed or achieved vicariously.' I wrote those sentences. I believe them. Even if I killed my cousin, my worldview would not justify burning her in order to purge my shame or hers."
He replied automatically. "Miss Baldwin, it would have sent a message to the community that offered you up as a scapegoat by turning a blind eye to your suffering. Besides, you did burn down your childhood home." But now he was waiting for her to refute him, waiting for her to drive a nail in his theory's coffin.
She snorted. "Ben and I burnt down the house - which belonged to me and my brother at that point - because it felt good. It appealed to the irrational need for a visible symbol of our victory over our past. But it was a house. And as for the message that might be a reason to kill her in that way, if I were a sociopath."
She leaned in, a challenging look on her face. "You had me intimidated for a while there, Detective, but . . . I didn't kill my cousin. I didn't want to kill her. I had no real reason to kill her. What's reputation? It's insubstantial, temporary, by it's very nature inaccurate. And the people who matter, they would know the truth anyway. You're right, that her 'revelations' would have caused me pain, but a lot of things cause me pain. I suffer, I cope, I heal, and I go on.
"Killing my father was the most disempowering moment of my life, and that was completely justified. Believe me when I tell you that I could not do that again for any other reason than to go on breathing. But I don't think that you actually believe that I killed her, which begs the question of why you're wasting time."
They contemplated each other for a long time, silently weighing the
next step. He was half shocked that she didn't walk out. But then, she needed an answer from him. She was right, he didn't believe she killed Karen, but he could think of no one else. Which left only one viable alternative.
"Self-immolation."
Amy blinked. "What?"
"Self . . . Amy, I read in her file that Karen's mother killed her self after the abuse came to light. Did she leave a note?"
Amy understood now. Her eyes widened and she shook her head at the thought. But not to the question. "Yes . . . Umm, my brother said she mailed two letters, one to her ex-husband, my uncle, and one to Karen." Her jaw slackened in grief. "Oh, God."
"She . . . she killed herself when she found out about her husband's . . . Oh, my God." Realization dawned. The blood drained from her face and her jaw slackened in grief. "How could she burn herself?"
Goren answered without thinking. "She drank herself into a near stupor, handcuffed herself . . . She was alone in the study, wasn't she?"
"For five minutes while I got my purse and phoned a cab."
"She handcuffed her self to the bed and kicked over the candle. Miss Baldwin, I want to search your mail."
Amy nodded. "Yeah, Yes, of course."