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“The house was quiet, and we presumed everyone was either out or in bed. We went to bed and ... well ...” He smirked. “You know.”
Yeah.
“But you can’t confirm your father or your brother were home.”
“I cannot.”
“The three of you, four counting your then wife, lived in the house. The same house you and your father live in now.”
“That’s right. My daughter was there, too, she was just a toddler then. It was the homeplace. My grandfather built the house for more than one generation to share. The way it used to be.”
Finley would throw herself off a bridge if she had to share a house with the Judge.
“You have children?” She knew the answer already but liked hearing her interviewee’s version of the answer.
“Two daughters, one in high school, one in middle school. They live with my ex.”
“Going back to the day after Lucy was murdered, when did you see Ian or your father next?”
“At breakfast. We have breakfast together—or we did—every morning.”
“How did Ian seem?”
“Weird. Off.” He made a noncommittal face. “Not himself. Hung over, maybe.”
“What about your father?”
“He was his usual grumpy self. Pop has never been a morning person, though he has been up by six every day of his life. Anyone who sleeps beyond that hour is plain lazy, in his opinion. He used to kick me and Ian out of bed at six oh one if we weren’t up.”
Sounded like a total asshole. Finley kept that to herself.
“Ian never mentioned anything about Lucy or that night?”
“Nope. He just acted strange after that.” Raymond’s forehead puckered. “But I’ll tell you like I told the cops back then, as far as I know, he never even knew her. None of us did. To our knowledge, she was just another rich girl who got herself murdered.”
Finley chose to ignore his insensitive conclusion about Lucy. “You said Ian was acting strange. How do you mean?”
“Too quiet. Withdrawn. Combative. I thought it was drugs. But I got one of those home drug tests and made him take it, and nothing showed up. He never acted the same after that. Three days later he was gone. Pop and I searched far and wide for him and never found him. He was just gone.”
He wasn’t the only one who disappeared after that case. Lucy’s mother seemed to have vanished without a trace as well. Coincidence? Maybe.
“But you’re certain he never said anything. Never gave any indication that he knew Lucy. Her murder was on the news. You didn’t notice a particular reaction during any of that?”
“I can’t say that I did. I was busy doing my work and his. Trying to keep him out of trouble with Pop.”
“After he disappeared, did you find anything in his room that suggested he knew Lucy or that he had other concerns that might have prompted his disappearing act?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. After he’d been gone for a while, we tore his room apart. Found nothing. We even hired a PI, and he got nothing. Not a single lead. Ian just vanished ... like into thin air.”
Except he didn’t. Dead or alive, he was somewhere.
“Did you find the name of that PI for me?”
He snapped his fingers. “Damn it. I forgot to look into that.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I swear I will get the information to you.”
Mildly annoyed but moving on, Finley asked, “Do you believe your brother—who was, according to your earlier statement, twenty-three at the time—would have been capable of cold-blooded murder?”
“Maybe. I can’t say for sure. You know, I think he saw me as the enemy since I was always following Pop’s rules and doing the work. He didn’t share a lot with me. Frankly, we weren’t that close.”
