Part 7
Mara sat on the piano bench at a distance from him.
“Where did her husband get it?”
“His phone, apparently. It was uploaded automatically to a family cloud account. Eileen found it while trying to close his subscriptions.”
“Why give it to you?”
“Because he sent me warnings before he died.”
Mara stared at him.
Julian’s hands rested between his knees.
“I didn’t answer them,” he said.
“Why?”
“The first message came during negotiations. He said the support assemblies were unsafe and that the inspection contractor had been pressured to downgrade the risk. I sent it to operations.”
“And?”
“They said he was angry about being passed over for promotion.”
“Did you believe them?”
“I wanted to.”
The answer carried no defense.
“The second message included photographs,” he continued. “I asked Mother about them. She said repairs were scheduled. She said if I started interfering with engineering decisions, I would create liability where none existed.”
“So you did nothing.”
“I forwarded the photographs to legal.”
“The same lawyers who drafted the settlements?”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“They told me the matter was being handled.”
Mara looked at the cracked line in the photograph. Even in poor light, it was obvious enough to frighten someone without technical training.
“You were on the risk committee.”
“I know.”
“You signed the minutes.”
“I know.”
“Two men died.”
“I know.”
She wanted him to raise his voice. She wanted something to push against. His quietness made every accusation fall into a space where he had already placed a worse one.
“Did you send me the memory card?” she asked.
“No.”
“Did your mother?”
He gave her a tired look.
“Who else had access?”
“Operations. Legal. The external auditors. Two engineers. One is dead.”
“And the other?”
“Robert Vale. He left Strathairn three months after the accident.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you try to find him?”
“No.”
She stood.
Julian looked down at the keys hidden beneath the piano lid.
“I loved you,” he said.
The past tense stopped her.
He did not look at her. “Not well. Not bravely. But it wasn’t all arranged.”
Mara’s hand tightened around the back of the bench.
“That may be the cruelest thing you’ve said tonight.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to offer love as mitigation.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because you took off the ring, and I wanted one true thing said before everything became statements and evidence.”
She stared at him.
Outside, the sea was invisible, but she could hear it beneath the rain.
“Did you throw the stopper?”
His head came up.
“No.”
“Did you see who did?”
He looked at the envelope.
“Julian.”
His silence changed shape.
Mara understood.
“You saw.”
He stood too quickly, knocking the bench against the piano.
“I saw movement.”
“Whose hand?”
“I’m not certain.”
“Whose?”
He turned away.
She stepped between him and the door.
“You looked at your mother immediately afterward.”
“I always look at her when something goes wrong.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No. It’s the reason I can’t trust what I think I saw.”
Mara studied him. His breathing had quickened, though his voice remained low.
“What do you think you saw?”
He pressed both hands against the piano lid.
“She had the stopper.”
“Before dinner.”
“During dinner.”
Mara felt her pulse against the scratch.
“When?”
“After you said you had copies of the draft report. She reached behind the flowers. I thought she was putting it down.”
“Then?”
“I looked at you.”
“And?”
“It was in the air.”
Mara waited.
Julian’s face tightened.
“I did not see it leave her fingers.”
“But no one else was holding it.”
“Not that I saw.”
“Why didn’t you speak?”
His answer came as a whisper. “Because she is my mother.”
Mara stepped back.
The words were ordinary. That made them worse.
He picked up the envelope and held it out.
“Take the photograph.”
She did not.
“You give it to the police.”
“They will ask where it came from.”
“Tell them.”
“They will ask why you ignored it.”
“I know.”
“They may investigate you.”
“I know.”
“You may lose your position.”
A small, broken smile appeared. “I believe the wedding is already in difficulty.”
Mara almost laughed. The sound rose and died in her throat.
Julian looked at her temple.
“I’m sorry.”
“For the scratch?”
“For all the times I mistook not choosing for innocence.”
She took the photograph.
Downstairs, Isobel was standing in the entrance hall with her coat around her shoulders. A police officer blocked the front door while one of her lawyers argued into a satellite phone.
Adrian stood near the staircase. When Mara appeared, he looked first at the paper in her hand and then at Julian behind her.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Evidence that the Dunrath defect existed before the accident.”
Isobel turned.
For a fraction of a second, the control left her face.
Then it returned.
“Where did you get it?”
“Eileen MacRae.”
Isobel looked at Julian.
He descended the stairs slowly.
The house seemed to listen with them.
“I gave it to her,” he said.
Isobel’s voice softened. “You are exhausted.”
“No.”
“You have been drinking.”
“One glass.”
“You are upset about the engagement.”
“It is over.”
“That is not a decision to make tonight.”
Julian reached the bottom of the stairs.
“It was over before tonight. I just didn’t say it.”
Mara watched his mother absorb the sentence. Isobel’s hands tightened beneath the folds of her coat, invisible except for the change in the fabric.
Adrian took the photograph. “Who took this?”
“Calum MacRae,” Julian said. “Three weeks before he died.”
The police officer approached. “We will need to record where that came from.”
“Yes,” Mara said. “And Mr. Strathairn would like to amend his statement.”
Julian looked at her.
She held his gaze.
He could still refuse. She would not speak for him.
After a long pause, he nodded.
May you like
Isobel made a small sound. Not a cry. Something nearer disgust.
“You weak, ungrateful boy.”
