Author's Note – Sorry it's been so long in between updates, but I had no idea how I was going to finish this thing. (I mean, I know how I plan to finish this thing, I just didn't know how to get there.) But now I think I'm back on track. We're approaching the thrilling conclusion – stay tuned…
"You've subpoenaed my family's medical records?" Abby fumes as she strides up to the table, her pretty face marred by a snarl. "What the hell do you think you're going to find there?"
"You must have some idea, judging by your reaction," Bobby says, responding to her challenge by sliding out of the booth and rising to his full height of six foot four. He's staring down at her in a way that is both annoyed and curious and Alex can see the wheels turning in his head. He's trying to figure out what, exactly, Abby knows based on the anger she's displaying – and how much he can get her to reveal.
Alex, meanwhile, shakes her head at Abby's behavior. After all, the only people who knew the medical records were coming into play were Deakins, Carver, Bobby, and Alex herself so Abby must have a source on the inside – a sneaky move on her part.
"I assume you got your squad buddies to do some research for you after lunch?" Alex asks, perturbed. "What happened to staying out of this?"
"She was my sister," Abby returns defensively, ignoring the question as she looks down at the still-seated detective. "I think I have a right to know what you're doing to find out who killed her."
"You don't have a right to know any more than any other suspect," Alex tells her evenly. "Cop or not, you have to stay away from our investigation. In fact, you should stay away because you're one of us. You should know better, Abby."
"That's not the reason you're upset, though," Bobby shakes his head. "You're upset because you know exactly what we're going to find in those records, don't you?"
Abby curls a lip in angry confusion. "The real question is what do you think you're going to find, Detective?"
"We already told you that we can't talk about the case with you," Alex repeats.
Abby sneers and glances back and forth between the partners. "Oh I get it. This is the routine where you get me to tell you what you already know just to prove that I'm hiding something. It's cute – but it won't work."
"She's got us, Eames," Bobby throws his hands up in mock surrender and shoots a false look of exasperation at Alex. "She knows all the games."
"Guess we'll have to go with plan A and just read the medical records for ourselves," Alex plays along. "No telling what we'll find."
"You guys want your lunch to go?" Gina pops over to check on them.
"Yeah, thanks Gina," Bobby gives her an appreciative smile and Gina's face warms, obviously forgiving him for ignoring her earlier. He speaks the next words in her direction, though they're directed at Abby: "We've got work to do."
Abby's face has gone from ivory to pale pink and continues to redden by the minute as she glares at the detectives and Alex finds herself beginning to see why the young narcotics officer and her psychologist father don't get along – neither backs down from a fight. In fact, they seem to relish the opportunity to battle. It's the same with Bobby – he hasn't moved an inch and, if anything, he and Abby are now standing toe to toe, glaring fiercely at each other. Alex has rarely seen anyone – a woman especially – who hasn't backed down from her partner when he's assumed this defiant stance and she's a bit nervous to see what will happen next, holding her breath as she watches the scene unfold.
"Since when does work constitute going through a family's private records?" Abby demands. Her tone turns ironic. "You already know Amy was pregnant. It was a huge family secret already – which meant that everyone on the Upper East Side knew."
"Save us a lot of time, then, and tell us what we're going to find," Bobby hints while showing that he too can ignore a question. He leans a bit closer, a clear invasion of Abby's personal space, to needle her so he can watch her react. Alex, meanwhile, can't shake the feeling that she's watching a weird game of chicken and she wishes for one of them to give in before she has to radio for backup to pull them apart.
"What do you want me to do?" Abby raves, her words flying right into Bobby's face. "Do you want me to pour out my family's entire sordid history or just give you the Reader's Digest version so you can blame one of us for killing Amy? Why would we want to do that - huh? She was the best one of us – why would we want to murder her?"
"You might not have had reason, but someone else in your family did," Bobby tells her. He tilts his head to the left and sharpens his stare – a move that usually seals victory for him in games like this one.
"And that's in our medical records?" Abby counters. As she does so, she does something that Alex has never seen any other suspect do in all of the years she has been paired with Bobby: she tilts her own head. Now she and the tall detective are staring at each other at an angle, gazes still unwavering. The air between them almost shimmers, like the sidewalk in the city in July.
Knowing that Bobby is as shocked by this turn of events as she is, Alex has to put aside her own genuine surprise and step in so that he can regroup. In a way, it's as though they're back in Deakins' office and he's waiting for her to help him get the subpoena – except this time she's ready to take on the challenge.
"No, we expect to find the father of Amy's baby there," Alex folds her hands before her on the table, her tone sharp enough to cut through the tension.
Her words are obviously the key because as soon as they register, Abby falters. She breaks eye contact and steps away from Bobby, her demeanor shaken. Bobby shoots Alex a quick look that says, Thanks – we got her, then straightens his head on his neck to observe Abby's behavior, waiting for another clue to pounce on.
The young woman looks up and meets his eyes again, resolve washing over her face, but Alex can tell that her anger at them is abating a bit. She has realized that she can't beat both of them; the pair is too strong.
Bobby reaches out a hand to take her elbow and guides her over to the booth. His tone is soft now. "You knew that Andrew was the father of Amy's baby, didn't you?"
Alex watches them slide into the seat across from her and Abby begins to trace an absent pattern on the tabletop with her index finger.
"No, I didn't – not right away at least," Abby shakes her head, taking deep breaths to calm herself. "I had a suspicion when Amy first told me she was pregnant, but Keith told me he was the father so I believed him. Besides, that's not the kind of thing you want to believe about your siblings, you know?" She looks up and scans both of the detective's faces as she continues: "It wasn't until later that Keith figured it out on his own and tried to talk to me about it. I was angry with him, though. I mean, he told me he slept with my sister; how could we just switch to being friends after that? Finally he cornered me at the rehearsal dinner and I let him have it. I told him we were through and he should marry my sister and leave me alone and then Amy heard the argument and came over to break things up and I left in a huff. The next thing I know, I come home from the bar and he's sitting on my doorstep looking as bad as I've ever seen him and trying to explain to me why everything is so messed up."
She twists a napkin nervously as she concludes: "And that's when he told me that he knew he wasn't the father of Amy's baby – and that he thought Andrew was."
"How did he find out?" Alex wants to know.
Abby gives a rueful smile. "Keith's good at math, Detective. The date of conception apparently lined up with a weekend when he was in Chicago at a meeting."
"But how did he know it was Andrew's?" Alex presses.
Abby chews the inside of her lip. "When he got back from Chicago, he found Andrew camping out at Amy's. They used to do that a lot – camp out, I mean." Her tone grows rueful: "We always used to joke that if you couldn't find one of them, you should call the other because they were probably together."
"So why not cancel the wedding?" Bobby asks, peering sideways at Abby. "I mean, if it was a sham… Besides, then you and Keith could get back together."
She meets his gaze with a stony expression. "Amy needed that marriage, Detective - a lot more than I needed Keith. That's what he and I decided that night and that's the plan we intended to stick to."
"So you got even with Amy by sleeping with Keith one last time," Alex interjects.
"It wasn't like that," Abby doesn't even bristle. "It was good-bye - like I said, Amy needed him more."
"Did Amy need the marriage – or did your father?" Alex asks. Abby remains silent.
"What about Andrew?" Bobby inserts, tilting his head again. "You were prepared to absolve him of his sins and pretend to be the perfect family?"
"I told you," Abby is defensive again, her words clipped sharply, "Andrew has enough problems to deal with."
"You all protect him," Bobby observes. "Why? What's been so hard about Andrew's life that wasn't hard about yours?"
"He's not a strong person," Abby pushes the question away.
"So you were protecting him from your father?" Alex asks.
"You've met my father and you have to ask?" Abby raises an eyebrow.
Bobby says: "You were all afraid of him – why?"
Abby's face suddenly becomes stony and she shakes her head, closing off from them once more and rising from the booth to stare down at the detectives. "You know what? Nothing I say is going to make a difference to you people so why don't you just go read the medical records?"
She turns to walk away but before she's gone three steps, Bobby reels her back in by saying, "What am I going to find in them, Abby?"
Abby stops, then turns slowly. "Knowing what I do about you, Detective Goren, I'm sure you'll be quite entertained."
With that, she spins on her heel and leaves the restaurant, leaving Bobby to turn back to Alex and draw a deep breath, his eyes indicating to her that he's intrigued with their exchange.
"I'm really interested to talk to Andrew Markham now," Alex comments with raised eyebrows.
"I'm anxious to see those records," Bobby nods and both rise to receive their take-out bags from Gina.
***
Abby proves to be right about the records of the Markham family, the detectives soon learn as they begin to pore over the materials – especially when they look into the records of the long-deceased Cynthia Markham, whose file is larger than those of her three children combined.
"Look at this, Eames," Bobby holds out the piece of paper he's pulled from her file. "Cynthia Markham was practically a walking pharmacy when she died – and most of these are mood-altering drugs."
Alex concurs. "It says here she suffered from a form of depression before her children were born and that after she had the twins she went into a major post-partum depression that put her in the hospital three times under suicide watch."
Bobby screws up his face and rests his head on his right hand, the fingers splayed across his forehead. "So Markham married a woman with a psychological condition - that's almost too ironic. Does it say there when she was first diagnosed?"
"Looks like in college," Alex tells him, scanning the page. "She was a Bryn Mawr girl too – like Abby. Smart though – Phi Beta Kappa – and outgoing too from the looks of it – she was a member of the Delta Gamma sorority."
Bobby shakes his head. "Markham did his undergrad at Northwestern; how do you think they met?"
"Markham's little sister went to Bryn Mawr," Alex leafs through another stack of papers to answer his question. She holds one up: "And she was Delta Gamma too."
"Well, now we know how they met," he says thoughtfully and Alex nods.
"And I'm guessing the girls in the sorority knew about Cynthia's condition so Markham would have known before he married her – probably before he even dated her," Bobby is thinking out loud. "The perfect psychological experiment – what it's like to be married to someone with a mental disorder."
He's shaking his head now, clearly agitated, and Alex fights the urge to get up and walk over next to him so she can put a gentle hand on his shoulder while they wade through the rest of the materials – the contents of which are bound to increase Bobby's angry mood. Cases like these tend to dredge up unpleasant memories from his childhood – his own father's neglect and scorn for Bobby and for his mother – and her partner takes them very seriously. Still, she's walked this path with him many times before and she knows the routine inside and out. First he'll be angry with Markham, then fathers in general, and ultimately the world for allowing such men to even exist. Her job will be to curb his temper when it flares and prevent him from doing anything to jeopardize their case, his career, and – most importantly – himself. For once, though, she'd like to see if he can handle putting aside his own feelings and history long enough to work a case with some degree of objectivity. It's her own psychological experiment, she supposes.
Alex pulls another sheet from a separate file to see if she can get her partner back on track. "I'm sure he didn't care too much about her mental condition when they got married anyway – Cynthia's maiden name was Vanderbilt."
"A society girl," Bobby raises his eyebrows and Alex can tell he's still upset, but masking it relatively well. Maybe there's hope. "He certainly married well – a wealthy wife looks good when you're trying to leave a legacy."
He shuffles hastily through his stack of papers again and emerges with what looks to Alex like a coroner's autopsy report. He scans it briefly, then tells her, "She died of a massive drug overdose when Abby was nine and the twins were six. Coroner ruled it a suicide."
"Suicide - or Markham cleaning another slate?" Alex raises an eyebrow.
"I bet the latter," Bobby nods.
Alex glances back down at the stack she's working through and something else catches her eye. "Wait a minute, Bobby – here's something else."
"Hm?" he peeks at her from under the hand supporting his head.
"It says here that the body was discovered by none other than Andrew Markham," she tells him. "He and Cynthia were home alone at the time of her death."
"That's it, I'm having Andrew brought in," Bobby is dialing the phone before he finishes speaking.
***
Two uniformed officers escort Andrew in an hour later, disheveled and smelling of the coffee shop he works in. There are dark circles under his eyes that deepen under the harsh fluorescent lights of the interrogation room and his hair is tousled and unruly. Alex can't help but feel a wave of sympathy for him despite the fact that she is pretty sure he's a murderer. After all, discovering the body of your mother at the age of six is enough to ruin anyone's life and right now, Andrew looks more like that confused and frightened six-year-old than the twenty-something young man that he is. There is also something lurking in his gaze that Alex can't quite put a finger on – something that isn't quite balanced, as though there are light bulbs of different wattage powering his eyes.
"Andrew, Detective Eames and I have to ask you a few questions about the night your sister was killed," Bobby opens the questioning.
Andrew says bluntly, "You think I killed Amy, don't you?"
Bobby follows this question with a logical one: "Did you?"
Andrew blinks slowly and deliberately "No."
"You said you were at her apartment the night she was murdered," Alex begins. "What were you doing there?"
Andrew shrugs and looks down. "I wanted to talk to her. We hadn't really gotten a chance to talk at the rehearsal dinner and I felt bad."
"What did you talk about?" Alex presses. Even his tone of voice is uneven.
Another shrug. "Things."
"What things?" Alex feels her tone become annoyed.
Bobby jumps in then and gives a wave of his hand as though to tell her to back down. He's not, she knows, but rather is trying a different tactic. "No, it's okay, Andrew. You don't have to tell us if you don't want to. I mean, brothers and sisters talk about a lot of things that aren't anybody's business but their own. We understand."
"Look, it was no big deal," Andrew tells them defensively. "We just talked for a while and then I left around one."
Bobby stands and begins to pace. Alex can feel that he's gearing up for a performance of Goren-caliber and she waits for the curtains to open on Act One.
"You know, I've read a lot about twins having some sort of sixth sense," Bobby begins, clasping his hands behind his back as he paces. "Is that true? I mean, did you and Amy have the ability to 'read each other's minds,' so to speak?"
"We were close," Andrew allows, nodding slowly.
"I bet you did lots of stuff together when you were little kids – played games and make-believe and all that," Bobby nods as though to answer the question for Andrew and doesn't give him a chance to respond. "Abby probably didn't join in, being three years older and rebellious and all, but you didn't need her because you had Amy, right?"
Andrew does nod now and Bobby prattles on. "And then after your mother died, I bet you and Amy got even closer – she probably was the one who protected you when your father pushed too hard or got on your case about stuff. I mean, Abby was too busy getting into trouble to be much help, but Amy – Amy was always there for you."
Andrew nods again. "She was always there."
"Always," Bobby repeats and nods emphatically. A pause for dramatic effect – Alex fights the urge to roll her eyes because she knows he is enjoying himself a bit too much – and then: "I mean, she was always there except for when your mother died. She wasn't there when that happened – no one was." One more pause: "Except you."
Andrew's face pales sharply and he seems to be gasping for breath for a moment. Alex feels a twinge of pity – the words are meant to cut and do. Yet if they're ever going to find the truth, they must be ruthless in their pursuit of it. She understands this, but it doesn't help Andrew, who is visibly hurt and dumbstruck by the blow. Ultimately, Bobby is forced to speak again because Andrew seems incapable of it.
"I can't imagine what that must have been like for you," his tone is gentler. "But you recovered – Amy helped you. And then she was there for you again – until that other time, when you were on spring break and had the car wreck…"
He trails off as though lost in thought and Andrew jumps in, his voice a shout. "She was there for me, okay? She never let me down – not once! I loved her!"
Bobby seats himself beside Alex again, the picture of calm, and says matter-of-factly, "We know you loved her. You loved her because she was there for you, because she was the only one who ever really took the time to understand you – to listen to you. It was Amy who you first talked to about the wreck, right? And then Amy who told you to talk to your father about what happened because the other counselors weren't helping. And last year she helped you with your gambling debts. You felt safe with her because she was your sister and she always knew how to make you feel better."
Alex can see where this is going and she watches Andrew's face as Bobby's next words hit home: "And when you slept with her, you knew it was okay because she was your sister and how could that be wrong?"
The words flit across the young man's features aimlessly for a moment before they settle in and when they do, tears form at the corners of his too-bright eyes and he crumples forward onto his arms.
"I never meant for any of this to happen," he tells them feebly. "I loved her."
"But you feared your father more," Bobby says in a tone that is almost conspiratorial. "And when he found out about the baby being yours, he told you that if she didn't marry Keith, you would need to clean up the mess you'd made."
Andrew doesn't speak, just stares blankly at the table. His body has begun to vibrate slightly – visibly so - as though the frequency he's on is different from that of the rest of the world.
"And then he called you from Abby's and told you that Keith was with her and the wedding would undoubtedly be cancelled," Bobby supplies. If he's noticed Andrew's behavior, he hasn't indicated so to his partner.
"I told him he couldn't be sure the wedding would be cancelled," Andrew tells them apathetically, his voice as distant as his eyes. "But he said Abby would see to it. He said we couldn't trust her."
"But you didn't want to kill Amy," Bobby says softly. "You argued with him."
Andrew nods slowly. "He told me it would be easy, that all I had to do was listen to him like I did before and everything would be okay." His tone is becoming increasingly further away, as though he's speaking from a world where the story exists, but not the two detectives who are listening. "But it wasn't like before because there was so much blood – and he told me not to clean up anything and to make it look like a robbery, but I couldn't just leave her like that…"
At the words "like before," Alex shoots a puzzled look at Bobby, whose eyebrows are knit with confusion and who seems to be flipping through his mental case file at top speed while Andrew concludes shakily.
"Andrew, what other time are you talking about?" Alex ventures. She doesn't even know if he can hear her because now she has pinpointed that look she observed in his eyes when he came in – it's the look of someone who's stepped over the edge and lost their footing, sliding down so far that return is impossible. She's seen Bobby waver close to the brink before but she's always been able to pull him back. Andrew undoubtedly relied on Amy for that task, but with her gone he's bereft. Watching him, Alex finds herself beginning to understand exactly how tightly bound two people can become over time – and how the loss of one can leave the other grasping at nothing but empty space.
Ultimately, Alex receives more rambling words from Andrew, words that continue to swirl farther away from the room they're seated in. "She looked so peaceful – like when we were little kids… Mom looked that way too…"
Alex looks to her partner and sees that they've both hit on the answer together. At the same moment, a knuckle raps insistently on the other side of the two-way mirror, demanding their presence.
The detectives move in haste, Bobby explaining to Andrew that he's going to be detained and that the uniformed officers will escort him to a holding cell and Alex rounding up said officers for the task. On the way to meet with Deakins and Carver, they speak rapid-fire words:
"He used his own son for his dirty work," Bobby's words are tipped with rage.
"The real question here is how did he get a six-year-old to commit murder in the first place?" Alex demands.
Bobby shakes his head absently, the anger causing him to shake slightly. "She died of a drug overdose – he probably got the kid to mix it up in some pudding or something and feed it to her."
"That's the worst thing I've ever heard," Alex nearly has to run to keep up with her partner's long strides.
"No, the worst thing is that we can't prove it," Bobby says as they stride through the door and meet up with the glowering faces of Deakins and Carver.