Page 9 of The Lost Heiress
The senator was silent. He’d clearly never been treated as a potential suspect before, and he bucked at being treated like one now.
There were two things that made Church a great detective—he listened more than he talked, and he didn’t trust anyone, ever. (His granny, of course, was exempt from this. As far as he was concerned, that woman walked on water.) Church’s first talent meant that he could sit cool as a cucumber in an awkward, uncomfortable silence. He didn’trush to fill it; he could wait it out. And the longer the silence—the more uncomfortable—the better, even. It never ceased to amaze Church what the suspect would rush to fill it with. Not once but twice, a person he’d been interviewing had implicated themselves in a serious crime just to fill a lengthy pause in the conversation. Social awkwardness—it was a much more effective interrogation technique than torture, and it didn’t break any federal laws.
“To my room,” the senator said finally. “I went to my room to smoke a cigar and read a book and escape the noise. Parties aren’t really my thing. I’d made an appearance, played my duty as host, met my obligations for the night. I watched the fireworks from my balcony and went to bed.”
“So you were in your room the rest of the evening,” Church said, “alone?”
“Yes,” Senator Towers said.
Which meant, of course, that there was no one who could corroborate his alibi that he had been asleep in his room when Saoirse went missing.
“What about the next morning?” Church asked. “Take me through the next day.”
The senator thought for a moment. “I suppose I did my usual routine,” he said. “Woke up early, exercised, showered, ate breakfast, read the papers. Did some work here in my office.”
Controlled,Church noted.Methodical.
“Then, later in the morning,” the senator went on, “I went down to the ballroom to greet the guests as they came down for brunch. Around noon, a few of us decided to take the boat out. We didn’t get back until late in the afternoon. By then, the whole house was in a frenzy.”
Was it odd, Church wondered, that the senator had left the house with a few of his friends for such a length of time when there were so many guests at his home to attend to? Seeking a respite from a large group of people was perhaps within his character, but shirking hisresponsibilities as host didn’t seem to be. Perhaps he didn’t want to be present when people discovered that Saoirse was missing?
“When you returned, did you join in the search for your sister?” Church asked.
“No,” the senator said. “I called the police. They arrived shortly after.”
“And how would you describe your relationship with your sister, Senator?” Church asked. “Did she confide in you anything that might shed some light on her mindset that night?”
The senator was silent for a moment. “We were very different people,” he said. “I was not in her confidence, no.”
“So the two of you didn’t really get along?” Church prompted. He already knew the answer to this, but he wanted to see if the senator would cop to it. From what Church had read in the case files, Saoirse was a loudly leaning liberal. She’d attended the Gay Pride Parade in San Francisco and a feminist pro-abortion rally in Los Angeles. She had once even claimed to be a Buddhist. And it wasn’t just that Saoirse and her brother didn’t see eye to eye when it came to politics; Saoirse liked to make a scene. She was photographed once at the Troubadour as a minor—a gin and tonic in one hand, a joint in the other—and another time stumbling out of the Whisky a Go Go at two in the morning, barefoot, strappy heels bunched in one hand, mascaraed racoon eyes blinking sleepily into the paparazzi’s lenses. Saoirse provided unending fodder for the gossip rags and Page Six. Maybe the senator had seen her as a liability, an embarrassment, that he couldn’t sustain.
“We didn’t always see eye to eye on what was in Saoirse’s best interest,” Senator Towers said.
A very apt answer for a politician,Church noted.
“I understand you pulled her out of school the year before her disappearance. Is that correct?” Church asked.
Senator Towers shifted in his chair. “Saoirse’s health had taken a turn,” he said. “She suffered from long QT syndrome, a dangerous arrhythmia.”
“And how did Saoirse respond to being removed from school?”
“Poorly,” the senator said, “as most teenage girls might. But I had to weigh the risks, and ultimately, I felt that Cliffhaven was the safest place for her.”
“And that decision caused a rift between the two of you?”
“There was some friction, yes,” Senator Towers said. “But I had to behave like a parent, not a friend, not an older brother. I made a decision that I felt was in Saoirse’s best interest, and if I had to go back, I’d make the same decision again.”
Church was silent a beat. “And the money,” Church went on. “Saoirse’s inheritance. Whatever happened to that?”
The senator was quiet a moment. “Her trust reverted back to the family,” he said. “To her next of kin.”
“To be clear, that would make you the sole beneficiary, since your brother and parents are deceased?” Church asked.
“It would, yes,” the senator said.
“And in order to do that, you had your sister legally declared dead?” Church said.
“I did, yes,” Senator Towers said, “about five years after she disappeared. It was a legal formality at that point.”
