Chương 6
The conservatory appeared from above the doors. The angle was wider than Julian expected. It showed the chaise, the central aisle, part of the fountain, and a section of the windows. Audio came from a separate ceiling microphone installed for after-hours alarms. Conversation blurred until Eli’s quiet accusation caused the nearest guests to fall silent.
Julian watched his son raise the torn photograph.
On video, the clenched fist looked alarming for less than a second. Then Eli shifted, and the camera caught his face. Fear was unmistakable.
Celeste leaned down. “Give it to me.”
Her hand rose.
Julian entered from the right. He caught her wrist. She pulled. Her heel slid. She sat beside the chaise.
There was no push.
Samir played it once. He did not offer to replay it.
“It is clear,” he said.
“Yes.”
“The recording also supports that she was uninjured immediately afterward.”
Julian watched Celeste’s face as his recorded self pointed toward the camera. The change was even more visible from above: anger, calculation, then fear.
“Search backward,” he said.
“For what?”
“Celeste said she tore the photograph after speaking with Lydia in the blue salon. The photograph ended up in her dressing-room trash wrapped in floral paper. The arrangements were assembled here yesterday.”
Samir’s fingers paused above the keyboard. “That is broad.”
“Search her motion events in this room.”
They found three clips from the previous afternoon. In the first, Celeste supervised florists. In the second, she returned alone carrying a silver frame. She sat on the green chaise and removed the photograph.
For nearly a minute, she only looked at it.
She touched Mara’s face with one finger.
Then she turned the frame over, opened the backing, and removed the print. Her mouth moved, but the room microphone had been disabled during event setup because staff were playing music. Whatever she said went unheard.
She began to tear the photograph, stopped halfway, and pressed it against her lap.
Julian leaned toward the screen.
Celeste was crying.
Not dramatically. She wiped beneath one eye with the heel of her hand, annoyed by the tear. Then she finished tearing the picture in two.
She placed the pieces inside discarded floral paper and carried them out.
Samir closed the video window.
Julian stood and walked to the dark window. His reflection looked like his father’s—controlled, severe, older when silent.
“She knew the camera was there,” he said.
“Most people stop seeing cameras in familiar rooms.”
“She had access to the system.”
“She may not have known the setup microphone was disabled, or what portion of the chaise was visible.”
Julian turned. “Are you defending her?”
“No. I am separating what the footage proves from what you feel it proves.”
Rebecca would have approved of the distinction.
Julian sat again. “Preserve both clips.”
“I will.”
A message arrived from Celeste.
The examination was normal. She was going to her mother’s house, not the guesthouse. She needed space. Her attorney would contact him in the morning.
A second message followed.
Do not turn Eli against me.
Julian read it twice.
He typed, He witnessed your actions himself, then deleted the sentence.
He wrote, I am glad the examination was normal. Eli is safe. We will communicate through counsel tomorrow.
The reply came almost immediately.
You sound relieved.
He did not answer.
After Samir left, Julian went upstairs.
Eli’s door was open. The boy lay on top of his blankets fully dressed except for his shoes. The photograph rested beside him in the plastic sleeve. A small wooden lockbox sat on the floor near the bed.
Julian knocked on the frame.
“You said you would knock,” Eli murmured.
“I did.”
“You were already looking in.”
“You’re right.”
Julian stepped back into the corridor, knocked again, and waited.
“Come in.”
He entered and sat in the desk chair rather than on the bed.
Eli watched him. “Is the baby okay?”
“The doctor says yes.”
“Is Celeste coming back?”
“Not tonight.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I don’t know.”
The boy nodded as though uncertainty were easier to accept than reassurance.
Julian looked at the lockbox. “May I ask what you keep in there?”
“No.”
“All right.”
Eli’s eyebrows drew together. He had expected pressure.
After a moment, he said, “You can see one thing.”
He slid from the bed, found a key taped beneath the desk, and opened the box. Inside were crackers, two birthday cards from Mara’s parents, a blue ribbon, a small bottle of hotel shampoo, and several printed photographs. One showed Mara holding Eli as a baby. Another showed Julian asleep in a chair with Eli on his chest.
The hotel shampoo seemed strangely ordinary among the rest.
“What is that from?” Julian asked.
“Boston.”
“When we went to the aquarium?”
Eli nodded. “Celeste laughed because you used all hers.”
“I did not know there was a proper amount of shampoo.”
“You used the whole little bottle.”
“My hair was longer.”
“It wasn’t.”
Julian smiled despite himself. “You have evidence?”
Eli held up the sleeping photograph. Julian’s hair was exactly as short as it was now.
“You planned that,” Julian said.
The boy almost smiled.
Then he lifted one of the birthday cards. “Celeste said Grandma Claire and Grandpa Owen forgot this year.”
Julian recognized the handwriting of Mara’s mother.
The envelope had been opened.
“Where did you get it?”
“Her drawer.”
“Celeste’s?”
Eli nodded. “It was with two others.”
Julian took the card only after Eli handed it to him. Inside, Claire had written that they hoped to speak with him soon and that messages left with Celeste had not been returned.
“What date did you find this?”
“Before school ended.”
June. It was now September.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Eli’s face changed.
Julian stopped. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”
“You were in London.”
“I came home.”
“You and Celeste had the dinner.”
The foundation dinner. Then a weekend in Connecticut. Then Julian had left for Chicago.
May you like
“I should have asked more when I came home.”
Eli rolled the ribbon between his fingers. “She said they made you sad.”
