Page 104 of Paternal Instincts
Nothing.
“Benedict has been paying your daughter hush money for years to keep her mouth shut, hasn’t he? Explain to me why?”
Diane looked at Benedict, who refused to acknowledge her and stared lasers at Quaid. Beads of sweat peppered his forehead, and I sensed that Quaid was onto something. The ground under Benedict’s feet was crumbling.
To Benedict, Quaid said, “Why are you shielding Nixon from the truth and covering for your other son, who you loathe? There’s a piece missing, and I can’t sort it out. Hundreds of thousands of dollars to bury an affair makes no sense.”
“I’m an important man. I move in important circles. I don’t expect you to understand, nor do I need to explain myself. You’re supposed to be finding Crowley, not poking into private affairs.”
“Maybe at one time you were an important figure in society. Now, you’re an old, broke man who’s burned through his retirement savings and is secretly dipping into his son’s business to continue covering secrets. Help me make sense of this.”
“Do your job, Detective. Find my grandson.”
“You don’t care about Crowley, or you would help us get to the bottom of this.”
Benedict was on his feet in a flash, fists clenched. “How dare you? This has nothing to do with my grandson.”
I stepped up beside Quaid, forming a stronger line of defense. It occurred to me at that moment that this man didn’t have the full picture. He didn’t know about the last note received by our unsub or about the DNA results claiming Nixon wasn’t Crowley’s father.
Benedict said nothing, nostrils flaring.
I turned to Diane. “Don’t you care about Crowley?”
“Of course I do.” She stared at her hands, shoulders folding inward.
“Imogen told you everything, didn’t she?”
Diane nodded. “My daughter asked me not to say anything. She loves Nixon and doesn’t want to ruin her marriage. She didn’t think Flynn would harm the boy.” Diane pressed a fisted hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.
“What is she talking about?” Benedict snarled, attention skipping between Quaid and me.
Quaid remained focused on Diane with a look of disgust. “I hope you’re happy. Your grandson is in danger, and your daughter put herself in labor at barely thirty weeks.”
Diane looked away, tears freely falling.
Benedict seemed confused.
Still, no one explained what we were missing.
Quaid huffed and glanced between the grandparents. “You people are unbelievable.”
“Flynn got my sister pregnant when she was thirteen.” The quiet confession came from the side of the room we’d been ignoring. Odelia stared at her mother. “Instead of filing charges of rape against Flynn, who was nineteen at the time, my mother took a bribe. The Davises didn’t want their name tarnished. It would have ruined Benedict’s practice having a son accused of statutory rape.”
“Genie begged me,” Diane snapped, tears and mascara running in rivers down her cheeks. “She didn’t want anyone to know.”
“She was thirteen, Mother. You were supposed to protect her.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t.”
Diane turned to Quaid and me and pleaded, “You have to believe me. Genie told me it was consensual, and yes, I know she was thirteen, but I know what it means to be a thirteen-year-old girl and think you’re in love. We talked. I took her for an abortion and made a deal with Benedict. I thought this vile man could at least cushion her future. I didn’t know Genie would decide to date Nixon when she got to high school. I was horrified, but I’d promised.”
Quaid studied the sobbing woman before glancing at Benedict. “I assume you didn’t know that Flynn was Crowley’s father.”
Benedict tipped his head back and closed his eyes. The man looked suddenly exhausted.
Diane lowered her head in shame. She’d known all along. Imogen’s affair with Flynn didn’t end with an abortion. Whether it had been continual or had been revived years later was something we would need to ask Imogen.
