Elliot and I trek down to see Melinda now that she's done a more thorough autopsy. We already know that Claire died from a subdural hematoma sustained from a vicious beating and she was sexually abused over a period of time, and we saw the bruises that covered the little girl's tiny body. It's hard to look at the body because the child bears such a striking resemblance to Alex; in fact, I've seen pictures of Alex as a child and they are almost identical, even though they are technically only half-sisters.
"So, what's up, doc?" asks Elliot, clearly trying to alleviate the tension in the room.
"The girl was beaten over a period of time," Melinda tells us. "There are healed arm fractures and she has a few broken ribs, all of which were broken two to three weeks ago, consistent with being kicked. She has cigarette burns on her right arm and you saw the bruises. This girl was tortured."
Elliot and I exchange glances. "Thanks, Melinda," I say, the wheels in my head spinning a million miles an hour, wondering what this means.
We go back to the house where Alex's father and stepmother live, to interview them again. Even though I'm hoping against hope that there's another explanation, the pieces are starting to fall into place. So that's how Elliot and I end sitting with Lena and George Cabot in their family room an hour later. George is holding Lena's hands in his and has one arm wrapped protectively around her. Or possessively.
"Mr. Cabot, our medical examiner found evidence of long-term physical abuse on your daughter's body," Elliot tells him. "Do you have any idea what happened to her?"
He shrugs. "She was always a clumsy child. Accident-prone, but very active. She broke her arm a few weeks ago falling off her bike."
"Aside from you and your wife, was there anyone else who spent a lot of time with her?"
"Her teachers, her grandparents . . . mostly just us," George replies.
Elliot nods. "Could you tell us again what happened yesterday – for the record?"
"I got home from work around six, like I always do," he says. "Lena was in the shower and I went to look for Claire. I found her lying on the floor of her room, covered in blood. She wasn't breathing. I thought someone might have broken in. I called the police."
"Mrs. Cabot, do you know how Claire got hurt?"
Lena shakes her head, but I can tell she's lying, and I interject, "Mr. Cabot, did you ever hit Claire?"
He shakes his head indignantly. "I loved my daughter!"
"You never spanked her?" I press.
"Sometimes kids are hard to deal with," sympathizes Elliot. "Are you sure you never just lost it and gave her a smack?"
"No," he says firmly. "Never."
Feeling slightly uncomfortable at having to ask, I ask, "Why are you out of touch with your other daughters?"
George shrugs. "They're busy, I'm busy. We're not close. We never were."
"You know, my brother is coming over in a few moments and I need to clean up the house," cuts in Lena quietly.
Elliot and I exchange glances. He hands George Cabot his business card. "Thank you for your time," he says. "Call us if you think of anything else."
We get up and walk out the door. On our way down to the car, Elliot turns to look at me. "Well, they're definitely not hiding anything."
"They're Alex's parents."
"They're suspects."
I shrug.
"Anyway, we need to talk to Alex. She knows her father better than anyone and I have a bad feeling about the guy."
"She's not going to want to talk to us."
"She trusts you, Liv. Why don't you talk to her one-on-one?"
I sigh. "I'll try."
I invite Alex over to my apartment that evening, fully expecting that she'll decline. Surprisingly, she doesn't. And even more surprisingly, the first thing she says when she arrives is, "Liv, I'm sorry about earlier. I was upset."
Well. That's new. I've never heard Alex genuinely apologize for anything before! "That's okay. I understand."
She manages a small smile, twisting her limp blonde hair into a messy bun. She looks downright exhausted and I wish that the invitation I'd extended to her had no ulterior motives. But honestly, I need to know about her father and this is how to do it.
We order in Chinese food and silently munch on chicken balls and noodles. Well, I eat, she just picks at her food. Finally, she wraps up the remaining food and puts it in my fridge. "What do you eat, Liv?" she asks, the first hint of any emotion that I've seen all night. "Your fridge is practically empty."
"You know, there's this amazing thing known as take-out," I tell her.
She rolls her eyes.
"Well, I'm sure your fridge is stocked full with vegetables and fruits and milk that didn't go bad a month ago. All organic, of course."
There it is, the beautiful smile that I've been waiting all night for. Breathing a sigh of relief, I flip on the television and start aimlessly changing channels. Alex perches on the couch beside me and wraps herself in a blanket. The tension in the air is so thick that you could cut it with a knife, but I know I have to ask her the next question, much as I don't want to. "What are you so scared of, Alex?"
Her head snaps to the side so her bottomless blue eyes are locked on mine. "I'm leaving," she says deliberately, getting to her feet and folding the blanket. In typical Alex fashion, anything less than organized and pristine is unacceptable, and every time she comes to my apartment she either cleans it or badgers me about cleaning it.
"Alex, wait!" I call after her, but she whirls around, her eyes flashing.
"No, Liv. You asked me to come over because you wanted to weasel information out of me. That's not how we work."
I watch her storm out, helpless to stop her. I know I've brought this on myself.
Hmm . . . what's wrong with Alex? Review to find out!
