“There’s a DVD?” Kovac said. “Great. Do you know where we can find that?”
“He would have put it in his safe-deposit box at the bank. And the insurance agent has one, of course.”
“Great. That’ll be helpful. And we’ll be walking through your father’s collection with Ken Sato today, too.”
The kid didn’t seem to like that idea, either. He looked pointedly away from his sister. “I’d like to be there.”
“Sorry, but we can’t have a lot of people traipsing through the crime scene.”
“That’s our home.”
He didn’t want Diana with them off leash, Kovac thought, and he didn’t like Ken Sato. Did he have suspicions of one or the other? Or was it just habit to be protective of his wack job of a sister?
“We understand,” Taylor said. “But our first obligation is to protect the integrity of the scene. You wouldn’t want your parents’ killer getting off because someone had accidentally messed up evidence, would you?”
“No.” He got up to move, nibbling at a hangnail as the wheels in his mind turned. “What happens now? When can we make arrangements?”
“That’s up to the ME. It could be a few days before the autopsies are done—”
“Autopsies?” Diana said. “Why do there have to be autopsies? You know they were murdered. Isn’t that enough? You have to have them cut up like meat? That’s sick!”
“All violent deaths get autopsies,” Taylor explained. “There are a lot of things we can learn about the crime from the autopsy.”
Staring down at the floor, the brother pressed the heels of his hands into his temples like his head might be about to explode. “This is a nightmare,” he muttered to himself. “I just want it to be over.”
Kovac didn’t bother telling him they were only just getting started, or that the road ahead was probably going to get rougher before it got easier. He would be the one making it tougher for them, and he wasn’t going to ease into it, either. His obligation wasn’t to Charles and Diana Chamberlain, but to their brutally murdered parents lying on cold steel tables in the next room. Sympathy ranked far below manipulation on his list of job requirements. He could feel bad for them later if they deserved it.
Diana excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. Taylor escorted her out to the hall to show her where to go.
“So, Charlie— Can I call you Charlie?” Kovac asked, not to be a buddy, but to pick at the kid’s tight outer wrapper.
The boy wanted to say no, but didn’t, making a stiff half shrug. “I don’t care.”
But he did care. He didn’t like it, but he packed his annoyance down and kept it inside. All those years of dealing with a pompous father had taught him to control his own emotions with an iron fist.
“So, Charlie,” Kovac began again. “Is there a reason you don’t want your sister going to the house without you?”
“No!” he said too quickly, looking a little startled. He thought he’d hidden it better.
“You seem to have a calming influence on her. You two are pretty tight.”
“I know her.”
“You understand her. There’s a difference,” Kovac said. “I get the feeling you’ve spent a lot of time running interference for Diana, trying to head disaster off at the pass. You’re a good brother. That’s no small job, I’m thinking.”
“She’s my sister.”
“You’re protective of her. Why do you think you need to protect her from us? We’re not the bad guys here.”
He wouldn’t quite make eye contact. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“We’re not the bad guys,” Kovac said again. “I know she’s been in trouble with the police before, but that’s got nothing to do with what I need to accomplish, right?”
“Her juvenile record was expunged.”
“I imagine you helped her with that. Good idea. People shouldn’t have their lives ruined because they did some stupid shit as teenagers, right?”
“Why are you bringing it up, then? And how do you even know about it?”
“Having a juvenile record expunged means regular people can’t find it,” Kovac said. “I can find it. Arrest records stay in our system for donkey’s years.”
“Then why do you need me to tell you about it, if you already know?” the kid challenged, scowling.
“I know what happened—shoplifting, shoplifting, possession of weed, more shoplifting. I want to know why.”
“Then you should ask her.”
“I’m asking you for your opinion as her brother.”
“I already told you she’s bipolar.”
“I’m not asking for a medical diagnosis,” Kovac said patiently. “A lot of people are bipolar. They don’t all go around taking the five-finger discount at department stores. They don’t all get into hair-pulling catfights at sporting events. They’re not all in and out of rehab in their teens.”
The kid was stressing, breathing faster, wanting to get away. But it hadn’t occurred to him yet to say, “Fuck off.”
“It’s important for me to know who all the people close to the victims are,” Kovac explained.