Insincere

by Joanne Clancy

  "You don't doubt that she killed herself?"

  He looked at her as if he didn't understand the question. "Who cares what I think? Hannah told me about the autopsy report. The newspapers reported this morning that the police are no longer looking for anyone in connection with her death."

  "Lucas believes that she was murdered."

  "I wouldn't listen to a word that bastard tells you. He's seriously messed up. Trust him to turn Natalie's death into a drama." He shook his head. "Remind me, what does any of this have to do with you?"

  "I found her body. She called me that night and asked to meet, but I never got the chance to find out what she wanted to tell me." Elizabeth didn't mention the part about someone trying to kill her. "I want to find out what really happened."

  "You were the one who found her?" He couldn't hide his surprise. "I heard on the news that a woman had found her, but I assumed it was someone local."

  "I asked for my name to be kept out of it."

  "At least they respected your request. It's more than they did for me." He poured more wine. He was already on his third glass. "I suppose that explains why her shrink was here too."

  "Dr. Brennan was here?"

  "He showed up yesterday, asking what I knew about Natalie's death. He said he was worried about some things that Lucas had mentioned. Brennan used to treat them both; you probably already know that."

  "Why's he digging around?" Elizabeth asked.

  "He said he was concerned about Lucas. I can't imagine why."

  Chapter Twelve

  Lucas Doyle was the last person Elizabeth expected to see when she finally arrived home. He was sitting on the floor outside her door waiting for her. She was in no mood to chat. Her head pounded from too much wine. Max had insisted she stay for dinner and he'd opened another bottle. It was difficult to keep up with him.

  She sighed, wondering what Lucas wanted. A man like him required sensitive handling, and he'd turned up at the wrong time to expect diplomacy.

  "How did you get into the building?" she asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

  "Your building manager let me in. I said we were friends."

  She made a mental note to have a serious word with Steve the next time she saw him. "Come in," she said, unlocking the door. She glanced around the apartment to check if it was respectable but quickly stopped herself, not caring what he thought. Clearly, she was picking up some civilised habits from Frank; that'd have to stop. "How's hotel life treating you?" she asked.

  "I don't really know what I'm doing there," he admitted. "Apart from running up an extortionate bill on my credit card, but I can't face being at the house without Natalie."

  "At least the body will be released shortly," said Elizabeth. "The Chief Superintendent says you've been chasing him about it."

  "My sister's body was collected from the morgue this afternoon." He ignored the hard edge to her voice. "That's the main reason I'm here. I wanted to give you this in person." He took a card from his pocket and passed it to her.

  "That was quick," she said, glancing at the funeral invitation.

  "There's no point dragging it out. I want to get it over and done with as soon as possible so I can start getting on with my life--if you can call it a life."

  Elizabeth didn't take his bait for sympathy. She was tired of hearing different versions of what he'd said. Her sympathy for him was leaking away in the gaps between his stories. "There was no need to bring this around personally."

  "I wanted to be sure you got it. I also wanted to know how your investigation was going."

  "I'm not sure that I can help you."

  He didn't make any effort to hide his disappointment. As much as he irritated her, she knew how it felt when no one would help, when no one would listen.

  "It's not that I don't want to help," she said. "There are so many unanswered questions surrounding her death. I can't get her phone call out of my head. I can't stop thinking that I could have done something to help her."

  "Why won't you continue your investigation?"

  "Because I don't trust you; you haven't told me the full story."

  "What do you want to know? Ask me anything."

  "Let's begin with Max Redmond, shall we?"

  A flash of temper crossed his face. "How did you find out about him?"

  "It wasn't difficult. You can't ask a private investigator to look into your sister's death and not expect them to discover that she had a lover."

  "He hadn't been a part of her life in months."

  "Did you make sure of that?"

  "You've spoken to him. I recognise his pathetic lies. Is that where you've been all afternoon?"

  "It's none of your bloody business where I've been."

  "I didn't like Max," he said, carefully. "I told Natalie exactly what I thought of him, that he was blatantly using her, that he was no good for her. She was a grown woman. She made up her own mind in the end."

  Elizabeth knew that it wasn't that simple. Two people in as long and complicated a relationship as Natalie and Lucas could make demands of each other without saying anything; the thought of upsetting the other, of pushing them away, of losing them and being alone, could be enough. "Why did you not even mention Max?"

  "It's been almost a year since they broke up. I had no reason to think that her death had anything to do with him, and I certainly didn't want him back in my life. Max Redmond is a rather unpleasant man. He was jealous of how close Natalie and I were."

  "He says it was the other way around."

  "What?"

  "There's no delicate way to phrase this, so I'll come straight out with it. Max thinks that you and Natalie were on closer terms than is appropriate for a brother and sister. He says you couldn't stand the thought of her being with anyone else."

  "More lies. Did he tell you how he put us through hell when she ended their relationship? Late-night phone calls, abusive letters, stalking?"

  "Do you think he was dangerous?"

  "Potentially."

  "Surely that was a good reason to tell me about him?"

  She watched his face shut down again. "I'm not saying that he had anything to do with her death."

  "Aren't you?"

  "No."

  She put her fingers to her temples. Her head felt fuzzy. She badly needed to lie down and have some peace and quiet. She was sick of playing his games. "Great, so you're back to monosyllabic answers. You see, that's our problem right there, Lucas. You can't expect me to help you if you refuse to cooperate."

  "It's not my intention to be uncooperative. I just don't want to say anything that will damage Natalie's reputation."

  "I understand that, but surely it's more important to find out what really happened to her, even if it means revealing some of her secrets."

  "Don't you think I want to know?" he demanded.

  "I don't think you know what you want, but you're digging, I'm digging, and now Adam Brennan's digging."

  "What's my psychiatrist got to do with this investigation?" he exploded.

  "He visited Max looking for information."

  "Dr. Brennan never mentioned it to me. I know he cared about Natalie. Maybe he doesn't believe that she killed herself either."

  "Actually, he told the detectives that Natalie's death by suicide was not unexpected."

  "That's outrageous. He, of all people, should know that she wasn't suicidal."

  "She'd had a breakdown."

  "There's a big difference between a breakdown and suicide."

  "Tell that to Dr. Brennan."

  "I certainly will. He has no right to speak to the police about Natalie. He was her doctor. He's bound to her by his oath."

  "Maybe he wasn't looking into Natalie's state of mind." She knew she should take it easy; she needed him on her side if she wanted to find out more about Natalie, but he was really starting to get on her nerves.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Maybe he was trying to find out about you. Maybe he was trying to work out
why you told me that she was murdered, and told Hannah Moynihan that she killed herself."

  "Is that what Hannah said?"

  "Hannah said that you told her I was bothering you, that I was making up wild stories about Natalie's death, and that I was messing with your head."

  He looked confused. "I don't know why she said that. It's not true. I told Hannah that Natalie had been murdered, but she said I was being ridiculous, and that I wasn't thinking straight. I hope you believe me."

  "Honestly, I don't know who to believe. I don't know what secrets you might be hiding, which makes it even more difficult to put the pieces together."

  "I thought we could be friends," he said quietly. "I was wrong. I won't bother you again if you think I'm a liar."

  "That's not what I said."

  "You didn't need to."

  "Lucas, don't be daft. Come back." He slammed the door behind him. She considered running after him, but she knew there was no point. She was sick of Lucas, sick of Natalie, sick of everything. She wished she'd never heard of the Doyles, and more than anything she wished that Natalie had never called her that night.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "You look good in black," said Frank as he watched Elizabeth getting dressed on the morning of Natalie's funeral.

  "It matches my mood."

  She hated funerals, not that anyone particularly enjoyed them, but she hated them to the point where she'd leave town to avoid them. On the day her brother was buried, she'd left town for a week. A psychiatrist had once told her that she avoided funerals because she was afraid of her own mortality, but that wasn't true; she was afraid of having to witness other people's grief or strong emotions of any kind, including her own.

  She went into the kitchen and poured a mug of strong, black coffee. "What time is it?" she asked.

  "You've asked me that question a hundred times this morning. It's five to ten. You have an hour. Stop worrying, you're starting to make me nervous." He shoved files into his briefcase. "You'll be grand."

  "I don't know anyone who's going."

  "Lucas will be there. You know him."

  "I'm not sure if the invitation still stands; he hasn't been returning my calls. What if he starts asking again about Natalie?"

  "Tell him the truth."

  "If only it were that simple."

  The funeral was being held at a church in the city-centre, just a five-minute walk from her apartment. She was the first to arrive. She wandered through the graveyard, reading the epitaphs and thinking of the long forgotten dead.

  She looked up at the stained-glass windows of the ancient church and wondered why Lucas had chosen to have his sister buried in such a dreary, shabby place. She shivered as a dark cloud hid the watery sun. She hadn't been inside a church since she was a child, even then she had to be dragged inside.

  By the time she made her way to the front of the church, others had begun to arrive. Reporters and photographers lingered near the gates, waiting for people to turn up to pay their respects to Natalie. Elizabeth nodded at a few familiar faces in the press pack, before heading inside, where she took a seat at the back of the dimly lit church, trying her best to be inconspicuous.

  She recognised some people from the newspaper, others from the television, as well as a few police officers. There was no sign of Max Redmond. Hannah Moynihan wore her trademark fur coat with the collar turned up. She sat at the front, chatting loudly to the other mourners.

  Fifteen minutes later, Lucas arrived. He didn't glance around as he walked up the aisle, where he took a seat beside Hannah. He was dressed in a black, tailored suit. He didn't look like he had been crying, but his face was pale.

  Elizabeth was relieved when the mass began. Hannah and an art critic delivered the eulogies. They spoke about how respected Natalie was in the art world. There were words were cold and mechanical. Lucas had chosen not to speak. He just stared straight ahead.

  Elizabeth remained seated as the coffin was carried outside and the church emptied. She wished she hadn't come. There was no reason for her to be there. She closed her eyes and laid her head on the back of the pew. A few minutes later, the click of the church door opening and the sound of footsteps made her jump. A shadow, lengthened by the sun, tapered down the middle of the aisle. "Lucas?" She swung around.

  "Elizabeth. I thought it was you."

  "Shouldn't you be out there?"

  "I couldn't watch them lowering her body into the ground. This show is the last thing I need. It was all Natalie's idea. I didn't even know this was what she had planned until her solicitor showed me her will. She'd always said she wanted to be cremated. This must have been her idea of a joke." He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, as if he'd heard something, but it was just the door creaking shut after his entrance. He edged into the pew beside Elizabeth and lowered his voice. "I'm sorry about the other day."

  "I should be the one apologising. I was frustrated with the half-truths and loose ends. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

  He shook his head. "You were right. I should have told you about Max from the beginning. I'd still like us to be friends. I have no right to expect you to have the same interest in what happened to Natalie as I have, but the whole thing doesn't add up."

  Before Elizabeth could admit that she'd been thinking about little else, the door slammed open and a voice called out sharply: "Lucas?" Bear-like, Hannah Moynihan appeared around the pillar. "There you are," she said, holding out her hand in a gesture of impatience. "Everyone's wondering where you've gone. Why are you in here with her?"

  "We were talking."

  Hannah looked Elizabeth up and down stonily. "You've been here half an hour."

  "Don't exaggerate, Hannah." Lucas sighed. "Stop fussing." He got up and turned to Elizabeth. "I'll call you."

  "I'd like that." She waited a little longer before leaving. By the time she finally emerged, the mourners and the press pack had drifted away.

  A single figure stood waiting by the gate. He smiled as soon as Elizabeth emerged from the church. "You took your time. Did it take that long to confess your sins?"

  "Ken Williams. What the hell are you doing here?"

  Chapter Fourteen

  "How do you know Dr. Adam Brennan?" asked Elizabeth.

  It was early evening, and she, Frank, and Ken Williams had decided to have an early dinner. It was chilly, so the tables outside were mostly empty. People walked by huddled into their coats, some stopped occasionally to check out the menu.

  "We went to university together," replied Williams. "He was a gifted student. We were good friends for a while, but our paths diverged: his into a lucrative private practice and mine into criminal profiling. Sometimes I wonder if I would have been wiser to have chosen the former more lucrative option."

  "His job may be more lucrative, but yours is more worthwhile," said Elizabeth.

  "I try my best." Williams was overworked and underpaid, but he was passionate about what he did. However, that passion hadn't stopped his hair turning whiter than she remembered since they'd last met on the Tear Drop case.

  Elizabeth liked the fact that he didn't pretend he was doing anything other than blundering his way through, doing his best; his best was as good as it got. He didn't think he was infallible or that the bad guys could ever be cured, which made her like him even more. Most psychologists believed that if they could work out what traumas lay in a killer's childhood that their subsequent distorted development could be understood and fixed. She didn't believe it, nor did Williams.

  "We've kept in touch," he continued. "We send each other Christmas cards and enjoy the odd phone call and occasional dinner if we're at the same conference. The last time we spoke, he mentioned that one of his patients had committed suicide. I think her death has really affected him. I wanted to offer my support. Unfortunately, dealing with suicide is an occupational hazard."

  "Did you know that Natalie Doyle was Dr. Brennan's patient?" asked Frank.

  "Not initially, but after her
death there wasn't the same need to protect her privacy, and that's when Adam mentioned that Natalie confessed to being the Shooter."

  Frank stared at him in amazement. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

  "I realise it sounds bizarre," said Williams, "but that's what she told him. I couldn't believe it either. I've been following the case in the newspapers."

  "Did she say why?"

  "She said she just felt like it."

  "It's absurd," said Frank.

  "Adam didn't know what to do; on the one hand, he had to respect client-patient confidentiality; on the other hand, he couldn't simply ignore what she'd told him. He also realised that he could be in danger, especially if she was delusional and potentially violent. Adam isn't the type to flirt with danger. He became a therapist out of a genuine desire to help people, albeit the more neurotic type than the downright crazy and dangerous."

  "So he turned to you."

  "Not at first. Mostly because he knew that I'd tell him to go straight to the police, so he waited. He only told me after Natalie was dead."

  "What was he doing in the meantime?" asked Frank.

  "Some amateur detective work of his own," grinned Williams. "He found as many details as he could on the Shooter, and then cross-referenced them with what Natalie had told him."

  "What did he find out?"

  "He discovered that when the first victim was killed, Natalie was in London."

  "So she couldn't have been the killer?"

  "Precisely. He was relieved that she wasn't the Shooter, but he couldn't understand why she had confessed. Now he has a new dilemma: was she killed because she had known the Shooter's identity? Had she been trying to tell him all along in her own way?"

  "Why didn't she come to us?" asked Frank.

  "She probably didn't want the bad publicity," replied Williams.

  "Do you think Natalie knew something and was killed because of it?" asked Frank.

  "Elizabeth already told me about the autopsy report, and I've spoken to Adam about her depression. I realise there's nothing to suggest that she didn't shoot herself, but it's intriguing all the same."