Naked in Death - J. D. Robb [111]
She’d stopped denying it was personal. She didn’t want a tricky, media blitzed trial. She wanted a confession.
“You were engaged in an incestuous affair with your granddaughter, Sharon DeBlass.”
“My client has not confirmed those allegations.”
Eve ignored the lawyer, watched DeBlass’s face. “I have here a transcript of a portion of Sharon DeBlass’s diary, dated on the night of her murder.”
She shoved the paper across the table. DeBlass’s lawyer, a trim, tidy man with a neat sandy beard and mild blue eyes picked it up, studied it. Whatever his reaction was, he hid it behind cool indifference.
“This proves nothing, lieutenant, as I’m sure you know. The destructive fantasies of a dead woman. A woman of dubious reputation who has long been estranged from her family.”
“There’s a pattern here, Senator DeBlass.” Eve stubbornly continued to address the accused rather than his knight at arms. “You sexually abused your daughter, Catherine.”
“Preposterous,” DeBlass blurted out before his attorney lifted a hand to silence him.
“I have a statement, signed and verified before witnesses from Congresswoman Catherine DeBlass.” Eve offered it, and the lawyer nipped it out of her fingers before the senator could move.
He scanned it, then folded his carefully manicured hands over it. “You may not be aware, lieutenant, that there is an unfortunate history of mental disorder here. Senator DeBlass’s wife is even now under observation for a breakdown.”
“We are aware.” She spared the lawyer a glance. “And we will be investigating her condition, and the cause of it.”
“Congresswoman DeBlass has also been treated for symptoms of depression, paranoia, and stress,” the lawyer continued in the same neutral tone.
“If she has, Senator DeBlass, we’ll find that the roots of it are due to your systematic and continued abuse of her as a child. You were in New York on the night of Sharon DeBlass’s murder,” she said, switching gears smoothly. “Not, as you previously claimed, in East Washington.”
Before the lawyer could block her, she leaned forward, her eyes steady on DeBlass’s face. “Let me tell you how it went down. You took your private shuttle, paying the pilot and the flight engineer to doctor the log. You went to Sharon’s apartment, had sex with her, recorded it for your own purposes. You took a weapon with you, a thirty-eight caliber Smith & Wesson antique. And because she taunted you, because she threatened you, because you couldn’t take the pressure of possible exposure any longer, you shot her. You shot her three times, in the head, in the heart and in the genitalia.”
She kept the words coming fast, kept her face close to his. It pleased her that she could smell his sweat. “The last shot was pretty clever. Messed up any chance for us to verify sexual activity. You ripped her open at the crotch. Maybe it was symbolic, maybe it was self-preservation. Why’d you take the gun with you? Had you planned it? Had you decided to end it once and for all?”
DeBlass’s eyes darted left and right. His breathing grew hard and fast.
“My client does not acknowledge ownership of the weapon in question.”
“Your client’s scum.”
The lawyer puffed up. “Lieutenant Dallas, you’re speaking of a United States Senator.”
“That makes him elected scum. It shocked you, didn’t it, senator? All the blood, the noise, the way the gun jerked in your hand. Maybe you hadn’t really believed you could go through with it. Not when push came to shove and you had to pull the trigger. But once you had, there was no going back. You had to cover it up. She would have ruined you, she never would have let you have peace. She wasn’t like Catherine. Sharon wouldn’t fade into the background and suffer all the shame and the guilt and the fear. She used it against you, so you had to kill her. Then you had to cover your tracks.”
“Lieutenant Dallas—”
She never