IRENE - BLACKBIRD book 6

16. family portrait

They found Brock and Russell at the field office, talking to Barnes and the SAC. Aldana joined them as Gillian headed to the lab, where Hank waited for the baby's swab. He still worked on the blood samples from the shed, but paused when she came in. He gave her a clipboard in exchange for the swab.

"Irene's tox screen," he said.

Gillian didn't look at it. "Clean as a whistle."

Hank smirked. "Next time you make me work on a Sunday for nothing... How'd you know?"

"You don't want my love, don't ask for my secrets."

"Fair enough." He nodded at the clipboard. "What I did find was traces of lots of vitamin supplements and a drug to stimulate lactation. That'd explain part of the prolactin in her system."

"She wanted to breastfeed her child once she got'im back."

"Any idea where those needle marks came from, then?"

"There's a picture of her in bed with an IV, during pregnancy."

"That figures..." Hank trailed off and frowned. "Didn't the family say she was a junkie?"

"Yeah, they did."

He sighed, looking away. "Everything about this case sucks, Reg."

"Don't say."

Doctor Nowak showed at the door. "Excuse me, Doctor Schwarz, d'you have a minute?"

"Sure, I'll be right there."

The woman left with a glance at Gillian, who scoffed.

"Changing sides, Doc?"

Hank scowled. "What?"

"She's wearing makeup. On a Sunday morning. At work."

"C'mon," he grunted, heading out.

"And she's wearing a skirt in this weather."

Hank stopped at the door. "What...?"

"Does the word 'quickie' ring a bell?"

"Oh, shut up."

"She's gonna ask you about me. Mark my words. And then, you better watch out for your pants."

Hank rolled his eyes on his way to another room of the lab, as Gillian chuckled behind him.

Back to the main office, she saw only Brock with the SAC. And he shook the man's hand as soon as she approached them.

"Coleman and Miles went to the police station," he said, anticipating her questions. "To wrap up the paperwork and bring over Bennett and Poole."

Those bastards, they'd left her alone with Brock. Again. "Oh... So I'm afraid I'm in for a ride with you, sir." As usual, whenever it's up to Russ.

"Sure. I'm done here. Shall we?"

Gillian recalled her own words to Hank when the doors jingled open to an empty elevator. The ventilator system spread a scent smelling of something like sandal, but it didn't mask Brock's cologne for Gillian's nose—used to smell it even from a couple of yards away.

"I found a picture I want to show you," he said, all business and only business to Gillian's relief.

"A picture?"

"Irene's family, from her Facebook."

She couldn't fight her curiosity and turned to face him. "What will I find?"

"Maybe the secret you're looking for." He almost smiled at her anticipation. "Or at least a very interesting context."

In the SUV, while Gillian fastened her seatbelt, Brock retrieved a tablet from the backseat. He let the engine warm up as he looked for the picture.

"Here," he said, giving her the tablet. "Take your time."

"Okay..." she muttered.

Gillian put on her readers and let Brock drive. It was a picture of Irene's and Senator Graff's families together, taken at a wealthy garden on a sunny day. The two middle-age couples stood together behind four chairs, where their children sat. It was easy to figure who was who.

Irene's younger sister was the first on the left, her older brother came next, then Irene, and a teenage boy—Graff's only son, Gillian assumed. Behind them, from left to right, stood Irene's father, her mother, Graff and his wife.

The secret, Brock said. And an interest context. Gillian paid attention to their positions, their faces, the distance between them.

First of all, she noticed Irene's arm was stuck to his brother's, and their heads tilted toward each other. There was love and understanding there. They were more than siblings—they were friends. Irene's brother could be a good source of information, Gillian thought. And while she still studied the siblings, she saw the hand on Irene's shoulder. As if trying to keep her from leaning closer to her brother. An imposing, possessive grasp. And it was Graff's hand. She silenced the multitude of questions popping up in her mind and moved her eyes up from Irene to her uncle.

Graff's smile was carved in stone, the same from all his campaign ads. Composed, calculated, bulletproof charming. His right hand on the girl's shoulder like a bear trap, his left hand in his pocket. His wife was on his left, her arm wrapped tight around his and her other hand resting on the back of her son's chair. She wore a low-collar white blouse, and she was half turned toward Graff, pressing her chest to his arm. Graff only needed to glance down to see most of her breasts.

Gillian refrained herself from jumping to conclusions and turned her attention to Irene's parents. Her father was the first on the line, behind his younger daughter, and his arm circled tight his wife's waist. Keeping her against his side. Yet, for some reason, Irene's mother looked as if trying to put a little distance between them. Almost as if pulling away from her husband. Toward Graff, standing only a few inches to her left. Gillian narrowed her eyes, scanning for the woman's hands.

Brock pursed his lips when he heard Gillian gasp.

She'd just spotted the glimpse of a female hand brushing the right side of Graff's slacks, near his pocket.

"Holy shit," she growled in disbelief. Both adult women seemed to seek physical contact with Graff. He couldn't stop them from doing so while posing for the picture. But the only contact he sought was Irene's.