Eola Sr. paused, his voice drifting off. He had lost his clipped, emotionless tone. A mood had settled over his face. Dark, angry, depressed. Bobby leaned forward. He could feel his stomach muscles tightening, steeling him for what was coming next.
"Natalie changed first," Eola Sr. said, his voice far away. "Became moody, withdrawn. She would sit in silence for long periods of time, then suddenly lash out over the tiniest thing. We thought it was adjustment issues. She was fourteen, a difficult age. Plus, for over a year she'd had the house to herself, been like an only child. Maybe she resented Christopher's return.
"He, if anything, seemed to indulge her tantrums. He brought her flowers, her favorite sweets. He called her silly nicknames, invented outrageous little songs. The more she pushed him away, the more he lavished attention on her, taking her to the movies, showing her off to his friends, volunteering to walk her to school. Christopher had grown into a fine young man while he was away. He'd filled out, settled into himself. I think more than a few of Natalie's friends had a crush on him, which of course he used to his advantage. Pauline and I, we thought perhaps his travels had done him good. He was finally coming around.
"The day after Christopher's birthday dinner, I received a call from a client in New York. Something had come up, I needed to meet with him. Pauline decided to join me, perhaps we could catch a show. We didn't want to pull Natalie away from school, but that wasn't a problem, Christopher was home. So we left him in charge and went away."
That pause again. A heartbeat's hesitation while Mr. Eola fought with his memories, struggled to find words. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse and low, hard to hear.
"My emergency meeting turned out to not be such an emergency after all. And Pauline could not get tickets for the show she wanted to see. So we returned. A day early. We didn't think to call.
"It was after eight o'clock at night. Our residence was dark, the help gone for the night. We found them right in the living room. Christopher was sitting in my favorite leather chair. He was buck naked. My daughter… Natalie… He was forcing her to perform… a sex act. She was sobbing. And I heard my son say, in a voice I'd never heard before, 'You stupid fucking cunt, you had better swallow, or next time I'll ram it up your ass.'
"Then he looked up. He saw us standing there. And he just smiled. This cold, cold smile. 'Hey Dad,' he said. 'I owe you my thanks. She's much better than Gabrielle.'"
Eola Sr. broke off again. His eyes found some spot on the burnished wood table, locking in. Beside him his wife had collapsed, her shoulders shaking spasmodically as she rocked back and forth.
D.D. moved first. She retrieved a box of tissues, handing one silently to Mrs. Eola. The older woman took it, tucked it into her folded hands, and resumed her rocking.
"Thank you for talking to us," D.D. said softly "I know this is terrible for your family. Last few questions, then I think we can wrap things up for the day"
"What?" Eola Sr. asked tiredly.
"Can you give us a description of Gabrielle?"
Whatever he'd been expecting, this wasn't it. Eola Sr. blinked. "I don't… I hadn't really thought about her… What do you want?"
"The basics would be fine. Height, weight, eye color. Overall appearance."
"Well… she was about five foot six. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Slender, but not that rail-thin you see so much these days. She was… robust, vivacious. Like a Catherine Zeta-Jones."
D.D. nodded, while Bobby made the same mental connection she probably had. In other words, Gabrielle's general description could also be applied to Annabelle.
Sinkus cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him. It was time to wrap things up, but the detective appeared troubled.
"Mr. Eola, Mrs. Eola, if you don't mind… after you caught Christopher, he went with you willingly to Boston State Mental?"
"He didn't have a choice."
"How so?"
"My money is my money Detective Sinkus. And you can be quite sure after that… incident, I wasn't giving Christopher one red cent. Christopher, however, did have his own resources. A trust left to him by his grandparents. By the terms of that trust, he was not eligible to collect until he turned twenty-eight. And even then he would need the cooperation of the trustee. Which would be me."
Bobby got it the same minute D.D. did.
"You threatened to cut him off. Deny him his inheritance."
"Goddamn right," Eola Sr. spat. "I let him live that night, that was generosity enough."