On Harrow Hill

Her gaze moved from the fireplace to one of the windows looking out over the flower garden. “Billy was always unbalanced. Predictably unpredictable. Almost certainly suffered from an impulse control disorder, plus a handful of other psychiatric conditions. It’s surprising he’s survived as long as he has. But murder?” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have said that was likely. Especially not Mary Kane. Everyone loved her. Even Billy, I think.”

“But if she recognized him the night of Angus’s murder . . . well, self-­preservation can be a powerful motive.”

“Yes. I know.”

“I was told that allegations were made in the past regarding the disappearance of individuals who were involved in conflicts with Angus.”

She remained focused on some point in the garden.

“Did those allegations shock you?”

She sighed. “‘Shock,’ like ‘miracle,’ is a much-overused word.”

“Did you find the accusations credible?”

“I believe that whoever was said to be missing was missing. Why they were missing is a different matter. Was Angus instrumental in that? I have no particular reason to believe that he was.”

That, thought Gurney, was far from a wholehearted defense of her brother’s innocence. He was about to pursue that point when she addressed it herself. “Angus and I were not especially close. The downside of that is the absence of the familial warmth that some siblings enjoy. The upside is objectivity, seeing people for who they are. Angus’s values and ambitions were never mine. I know he could be a dangerous man if cornered. His personal desires were paramount in his life, and he had the means to achieve them. Did he have the means to arrange for his enemies to disappear? Certainly. Did he ever do so? I don’t know. Perhaps I don’t want to know.”

Gurney got out of his chair and walked over to the nearest window. A breeze was swaying the thin branches of the weeping cherry trees. “How about Lorinda? What can you tell me about her?”

“Apart from the fact that she’s an obvious symptom of Angus’s greatest weakness?”

“Lust?”

“Lust was only part of it.”

He turned from the window. “Part of what?”

She met his gaze and held it. “His supreme confidence in his own desires. Angus never wanted something because it was good. It was good because he wanted it—and wanting it meant he had to have it, at any cost.”

“And Lorinda came at a high cost?”

“Lorinda Strane Russell is what the mindless media would call a trophy wife. She is also a vial of poison, a sociopath, and—if I may use a term from an era long past—a slut.”

Gurney returned to his chair. “Meaning she had affairs outside her marriage?”

“She has that reputation.”

“Affairs with whom?”

“People who might be useful to her.”

“For example?”

“In the absence of proof, it would be slanderous to name names.”

Gurney refrained from mentioning that the absence of proof hadn’t deterred her from naming Lorinda.

Perhaps sensing the inconsistency, she added, “Sit down with her for an hour. Ask questions. Watch her. Listen to her. You’ll quickly discover the kind of animal you’re dealing with.”

“What can you tell me about Selena Cursen?”

Russell moistened her lips and seemed to relax a bit. “Space cadet.”

“That’s it?”

“Involved in some Wiccan nonsense. Attracted to bad boys. Besotted with Billy. But underneath it all, an airhead. If it wasn’t for the trust fund from her parents, she’d be living in a homeless shelter, staring at profound messages in a kaleidoscope.”

“How about Dr. Fallow?”

“Decent enough. Too fond of his country club. Too fond of his single-malt scotches. There’s an unfortunate public record of that problem, which I assume you’re aware of. Bad luck, his getting caught, especially for a man in his position. So many reckless drunks get away with it again and again. Men a lot worse than Fallow. Unfairness of life.”

“What can you tell me about Danforth Peale?”

“W. Danforth Peale the Third—to use the full name—is not nearly as simple as Fallow. He seemed normal enough as a small child. Then he was sent to a snobby elementary school, and the Peale gene for icy arrogance began to assert itself. It grew worse in high school. And by the time he came home from Princeton, he’d reduced his Christian name, William, into that pretentious first initial and was insisting on being addressed by his middle name. He’d also contracted the family disease of entitlement. The one positive thing to be said about him is that he doesn’t seem as horrible as his late father, Elton Peale, the coldest man I’ve ever met. But maybe Danforth is just better at concealing it.”

“Sounds charming.”

“The Peales are one of the oldest New York families. They amassed a fortune in shipbuilding and slave-trading. They once owned Rolling Hills Preserve, one of the state’s largest private land holdings, along with a dozen or so exclusive funeral homes and cemeteries—catering to those very special individuals who demand to be buried with people of their own class. The Peales were the equals of the Russells in wealth and close allies in greedy pursuits.”

“Partners in crime?”