Last to Die

SEVEN

MAURA DROVE WITH HER WINDOWS OPEN AND THE SMELL OF SUMMER blowing into the car. Hours ago she had left the Maine coast behind and headed northwest, into gently rolling hills where the afternoon sun leafed hay fields in gold. Then the forest closed in, the trees suddenly so dense that it seemed night had instantly fallen. She drove for miles without passing any cars, and wondered if she’d taken a wrong turn. Here there were no houses, no driveways, not a single road sign to tell her whether she was headed in the right direction.

She was ready to turn around when the road suddenly ended at a gate. On the archway above it was a single word, spelled in gracefully entwined letters: EVENSONG.

She stepped out of her Lexus and frowned at the locked gate, which was flanked by massive stone pillars. She saw no intercom button, and the wrought-iron fence extended deep into the woods in both directions, as far as she could see. She pulled out her cell phone to call the school, but this deep in the forest she couldn’t get a signal. The silence of the woods magnified the ominous whine of a mosquito, and she slapped at the sudden sting on her cheek. Stared down at the alarming smear of blood. Other mosquitoes were closing in on her in a hungry, biting cloud. She was about to retreat into her car when she spotted the golf cart approaching on the other side of the gate.

A familiar young woman stepped out of the golf cart and waved. In her early thirties, dressed in slim blue jeans and a green windbreaker, Lily Saul looked far healthier and happier than the last time Maura had seen her. Lily’s brown hair, pulled back in a loose ponytail, was now streaked with blond, and her cheeks had a healthy glow, so different from the pale, thin face that Maura remembered from that blood-splattered Christmas when they’d met during the course of a homicide investigation. Its violent conclusion had nearly claimed both their lives. But Lily Saul, who’d spent years running from demons both real and imagined, was a canny survivor, and judging by her happy smile Lily had finally outrun her nightmares.

“We expected you here earlier, Dr. Isles,” said Lily. “I’m glad you made it before dark.”

“I was afraid I’d have to climb this fence,” said Maura. “There’s no cell signal out here, and I couldn’t call anyone.”

“Oh, we knew you’d arrived.” Lily punched in a code on the gate’s security keypad. “There are motion sensors all along this road. And you probably missed them, but there are cameras as well.”

“That’s a lot of security for a school.”

“It’s all about keeping our students safe. And you know how Anthony is about security. There’s never enough.” She met Maura’s gaze through the bars. “It’s not surprising he feels that way. When you consider what we’ve all been through.”

Staring into Lily’s eyes, Maura realized the young woman’s nightmares had not entirely been laid to rest. The shadows still lingered.

“It’s been nearly two years, Lily. Has anything else happened?”

Lily pulled open the gate and said, ominously, “Not yet.”

That was just the sort of statement that Anthony Sansone would make. Crime left permanent scars on survivors like Sansone and Lily, both of them haunted by violent personal tragedies. For them, the world would always be a landscape riddled with danger.

“Follow me,” said Lily as she climbed back into the golf cart. “The castle’s another few miles up the road.”

“Don’t you need to close the gate?”

“It will close automatically. If you need to leave, the keypad code this week is forty-five ninety-six, for both the gate and the school’s front door. The number changes every Monday, when we announce it at breakfast.”

“So the students know it, too.”

“Of course. The gate isn’t here to keep us in, Dr. Isles. It’s to keep the world out.”

Maura climbed back into the Lexus, and as she drove past the twin pillars, the gate was already starting to swing shut. Despite Lily’s assurance that the gate wasn’t meant to lock her in, the wrought-iron bars made her think of a high-security prison. It brought back the sound of clanging metal and the sight of caged faces staring at her.

Lily’s golf cart led her down a single-lane road carved through dense woods. In the gloom of those trees, a shockingly brilliant orange fungus stood out, clinging to the trunk of a venerable oak. High in the forest canopy, birds fluttered. A red squirrel perched on a branch, its tail twitching. This deep in the Maine woods, what other creatures would emerge once darkness fell?

The forest gave way to open sky, and a lake stretched before her. In the distance, beyond impenetrably dark waters, loomed the Evensong building. Lily had referred to it as the castle, and that was exactly what it looked like, mounted on barren granite. Constructed of that same gray rock, the walls rose up as though thrust from the hill itself.

They drove under a stone arch into the courtyard, and Maura parked her Lexus beside a moss-covered wall. Only an hour ago, the day had been summery, but when she stepped out the air felt cold and damp. Looking up at towering granite walls, at the steeply sloping roof, she imagined bats circling the turret high overhead.

“Don’t worry about your suitcase,” said Lily, taking it out of the Lexus trunk. “We’ll just leave it here on the steps, and Mr. Roman will bring it up to your room.”

“Where are all the students?”

“Most of the students and staff have left for summer break. We’re down to only two dozen kids and a skeleton crew who stay year-round. And next week you and Julian will find it really quiet around here, because we’ll be taking the rest of the kids on a field trip to Quebec. Let me give you a quick tour, then I’ll bring you to see Julian. He’s in class right now.”

“How is he doing?” Maura asked.

“Oh, he’s really blossomed since he got here! He’s still not crazy about classroom work, but he’s resourceful, and he notices things that everyone else misses. And he’s protective of the younger kids, always watching out for them. A true Guardian personality.” Lily paused. “It did take him a while to trust us, though. You can understand that, after what he went through in Wyoming.”

Yes, Maura did understand. Because she and Julian had lived through it together, both of them fighting for their lives, not knowing whom to trust.

“And you, Lily?” Maura asked. “How are you doing?”

“I’m right where I should be. Living in this beautiful place. Teaching these amazing kids.”

“Julian told me you built a Roman catapult in class.”

“Yes, during our unit on siege warfare. The students really got into that one. Broke a window, unfortunately.”

They climbed stone steps and came to a doorway so tall it could have admitted a giant. Lily punched in the security code again. The massive wooden door swung open easily with just a push, and they stepped across the threshold into a hall where soaring archways were framed in old timbers. Hanging overhead was an iron chandelier, and set in the arch above it, like a multicolored eye, was a circular stained-glass window. On this gloomy afternoon, it admitted only a faintly muddy glow.

Maura stopped at the foot of a massive stairway and admired the tapestry hanging on the wall, a faded image of two unicorns resting in a bower of vines and fruit trees. “This really is a castle,” she said.

“Built around 1835 by a megalomaniac named Cyril Magnus.” Lily gave a disgusted shake of the head. “He was a railroad baron, big-game hunter, art collector, and all-around mean bastard, according to most accounts. This was built as his private castle. Designed in the Gothic style that he admired during his trips to Europe. The granite was quarried fifty miles from here. The timbers are good old Maine oak. When Evensong purchased this property thirty years ago, it was still in pretty good shape, so most of what you see here is original. Over the years, Cyril Magnus kept adding to the building, which makes it a little confusing to navigate. Don’t be surprised if you get lost.”

“That tapestry,” said Maura, pointing to the weaving of the unicorns. “It actually looks medieval.”

“It is. It comes from Anthony’s villa in Florence.”

Maura had seen the treasure trove of sixteenth-century paintings and Venetian furniture that Sansone kept in his Beacon Hill residence. She had no doubt that his villa in Florence would be as grand as this building, and the art even more impressive. But these were not the warm, honey-hued walls of Tuscany; here the gray stone radiated a chill that even a sunny day would not dispel.

“Have you been there yet?” Lily asked. “To his home in Florence?”

“I haven’t been invited,” said Maura. Unlike you, obviously.

Lily gave her a thoughtful look. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time,” she said, and turned toward what looked like a paneled wall. She pushed against one of the panels; it swung open to reveal a doorway. “This is the passage to the library.”

“Are you trying to hide the books?”

“No, it’s just one of the peculiar features of this building. I think old Cyril Magnus liked surprises, because it’s not the only door in this house that’s disguised as something else.” Lily led her down a windowless corridor, the gloom accentuated by dark wood paneling. At the far end, they emerged into a room where tall arched windows admitted the last gray light of day. Maura stared up in wonder at gallery upon gallery of bookshelves that soared three stories to a domed ceiling where the plaster had been decorated with a painting of fluffy clouds in a blue sky.

“This is the beating heart of Evensong,” said Lily. “This library. Anytime, day or night, the students are welcome to come in here and pull any book from the shelves, as long as they promise to treat it with respect. And if they can’t find what they’re looking for in the library …” Lily crossed to a door and opened it, revealing a room with a dozen computers. “As a last resort, there’s always Dr. Google.” She shut the door again with a look of distaste. “But really, who wants the Internet when the real treasures are right here.” She gestured to three stories of books. “The collected wisdom of centuries, under one roof. It makes me salivate, just looking at them.”

“Spoken like a true teacher of the classics,” said Maura as she scanned the titles. Napoleon’s Women. Lives of the Saints. Egyptian Mythology. She paused as one title caught her eye, stamped in gold on dark leather. Lucifer. The book seemed to call to her, demanding her attention. She pulled out the volume and stared at the worn leather cover, with its tooled illustration of a crouching demon.

“We believe that no knowledge is off limits,” said Lily quietly.

“Knowledge?” Maura slid the book back on the shelf and looked at the young woman. “Or superstition?”

“It helps to understand both, don’t you think?”

Maura walked down the room, past rows of long wooden tables and chairs, past a series of globes, each representing the world as known in a different age. “As long as you don’t teach it as fact,” she said, stopping to examine a globe from 1650, the continents misshapen, vast territories unknown and unexplored. “It’s superstition. Myth.”

“Actually, we teach them your belief system, Dr. Isles.”

“My belief system?” Maura looked at her in puzzlement. “Which one would that be?”

“Science. Chemistry and physics, biology and botany.” She glanced at the antique grandfather clock. “Which is where Julian is right now. And his class should just be ending.”

They left the library, returning through that dark-paneled corridor to the entrance hall, and climbed the massive stairway. As they passed beneath the tapestry, Maura saw it flutter against the stone wall, as if a draft had just swept into the building, and the unicorns seemed to come alive, trembling beneath the lushly fruited trees. The steps curved past a window, and Maura paused to admire the view of wooded hills in the distance. Julian had told her his school was surrounded by forest, that it was miles from the nearest village. Only now did she see how isolated Evensong truly was.

“Nothing can reach us here.” The voice, so soft, startled her by its nearness. Lily stood half hidden in the shadow of the archway. “We grow our own food. Raise chickens for eggs, cows for milk. Heat with our own wood. We don’t need the outside world at all. This is the first place I’ve truly felt safe.”

“Here in the forest, with bears and wolves?”

“We both know there’s a lot of things more dangerous than bears and wolves beyond the gate.”

“Hasn’t it gotten any easier for you, Lily?”

“I still think about what happened, every single day. What he did to my family, to me. But being here, it’s helped me a great deal.”

“Has it? Or does this isolation just reinforce your fears?”

Lily looked straight at her. “A healthy fear of the world is what keeps some of us alive. That’s the lesson I learned two years ago.” She continued up the steps, past a shadowy painting of three men in medieval robes, no doubt another contribution from Anthony Sansone’s family collection. Maura thought of unruly students stampeding past this masterpiece every day, and she wondered how many milliseconds this art would survive intact in any other school. She thought, too, of the library with its priceless volumes bound in gold-stamped leather. The students of Evensong must be an unusual group indeed to be entrusted with such treasures.

They reached the second floor and Lily pointed upstairs, toward the third floor. “Living quarters are on the next level. Student dormitories in the east wing, faculty and guests in the west. You’ll be staying in the older part of the west wing, where the rooms have lovely stone fireplaces. In the summer, it’s the choicest spot in the whole building.”

“And in winter?”

“It’s not habitable. Unless you want to stay up all night throwing logs on the fire. We close it off when the weather turns cold.” Lily led the way down the second-floor hallway. “Let’s see if old Pasky’s finished yet.”

“Who?”

“Professor David Pasquantonio. He teaches botany, cell biology, and organic chemistry.”

“Rather advanced subjects for high school students.”

“High school?” Lily laughed. “We start those subjects in middle school. Twelve-year-olds are a lot smarter than most people give them credit for.”

They walked past open doorways, past deserted classrooms. She glimpsed a human skeleton dangling on a stand, a lab bench and test tube racks, a wraparound wall chart with a time line of world history.

“Since it’s summer break, I’m surprised you still have classes in session,” said Maura.

“The alternative is two dozen students going stir-crazy with boredom. No, we try to keep those gray cells humming.”

They turned the corner and confronted an enormous black dog stretched out in front of a closed door. At the sight of Maura, his head instantly perked up, and he bounded toward her, his tail wagging furiously.

“Whoa! Bear!” Maura laughed as he rose up on hind legs. Two giant paws landed on her shoulders, and a wet tongue slathered her face. “I see your manners haven’t improved.”

“He’s obviously happy to see you again.”

“And I’m glad to see you, too,” Maura whispered as she gave the dog a hug. He dropped back to all fours, and she could swear he was smiling at her.

“I’ll leave you here then,” said Lily. “Julian’s been anxiously awaiting your arrival, so why don’t you go on in?”

Maura waved goodbye, then slipped so quietly into the classroom that no one noticed her entrance. She stood in the corner and watched the bald and bespectacled teacher write the week’s schedule on the chalkboard in a thin and skittery hand.

“Eight A.M. sharp, we will gather at the lake,” he said. “If you’re late, you will be left behind. And you’ll miss your chance to see a rare specimen of Amanita bisporigera, which just popped up after the last rain. Bring boots and rain gear. It could get muddy.”

Even from behind, Julian “Rat” Perkins was easy to spot among the two dozen students gathered around Professor Pasquantonio’s demonstration table. At sixteen, he was already built like a man, with broad shoulders that had grown even more muscular since she’d last seen him. She’d relied on those same shoulders last winter, when together they’d struggled to survive in the Wyoming mountains, a battle that had forged a deep and lasting bond between them. Julian was as close to a son as she would ever know, and she saw with pride how straight he stood, how attentive he seemed, even as Professor Pasquantonio droned on in a voice that whined like a mosquito.

“I want all your plant toxicity reports turned in by Friday, before most of you leave for the trip to Quebec. And don’t forget we have the mushroom identification quiz on Wednesday. Class dismissed.”

Turning to leave, Julian glimpsed Maura and his face lit up with a grin. In two steps he crossed to her, his arms already spreading to give her a hug. But at the last instant, aware that his classmates were watching, he seemed to think better of it and she had to settle instead for a quick peck on the cheek, a clumsy clap on the shoulders.

“You finally got here! I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon.”

“Well, now we have two whole weeks together.” She brushed the dark forelock off his face and her hand lingered on his cheek, where she was startled to feel the first hint of a beard. He was growing up far too fast.

He blushed at her touch, and she realized that some of the students had not left the room but were standing around, watching. Most teenagers ignored the very existence of adults, but Julian’s classmates seemed intrigued by this alien visitor to their world. They ranged from middle school to high school age, and their clothing ran the gamut as well, from a blond girl with torn blue jeans to a boy wearing dress slacks and an oxford shirt. All of them were staring at Maura.

“You’re the medical examiner,” said a girl in a miniskirt. “We heard you were coming.”

Maura smiled. “Julian mentioned me?”

“Like, just about all the time. Are you going to teach a class?”

“A class?” She looked at Julian. “I hadn’t planned to.”

“We wanted to hear about forensic pathology,” piped up an Asian boy. “In biology, we dissected frogs and fetal pigs, but that was just normal anatomy. It’s not like the cool stuff you do with dead people.”

Maura glanced around at the eager faces. Like so much of the public, their imaginations were probably fueled by too many TV cop shows and crime novels. “I’m not sure that topic would be appropriate,” Maura said.

“Because we’re kids?”

“Forensic pathology is a subject usually taught to medical students. Even most adults find the subject disturbing.”

“We wouldn’t,” the Asian boy said. “But maybe Julian didn’t tell you who we are.”

What you are is odd, Maura thought as she watched Julian’s classmates exit, their exodus marked by shuffling shoes and creaking floors. In the silence that followed, Bear gave a bored whine and trotted over to lick Julian’s hand.

“Who we are? What did he mean by that?” asked Maura.

It was the teacher who answered. “Like far too many of his classmates, young Mr. Chinn often engages his mouth before his brain. There’s little point trying to decode any deeper meaning to adolescent babbling.” The man peered sourly at Maura over his spectacles. “I’m Professor Pasquantonio. Julian told us you would be visiting this week, Dr. Isles.” He glanced at the boy, and his lips twitched in a half smile. “He’s a fine student, by the way. Needs work with his writing skills, hopelessly bad at spelling. But better than anyone at spotting unusual botanical specimens in the woods.”

Laced though it was with criticism, the compliment made Julian grin. “I’ll work on my spelling, Professor.”

“Enjoy your visit with us, Dr. Isles,” said Pasquantonio gathering his notes and plant specimens from the demonstration table. “Lucky for you, it’s quiet this time of year. Not so many noisy feet clomping up and down the stairs like elephants.”

Maura noticed the clump of purple flowers the man was holding. “Monkshood.”

Pasquantonio nodded. “Aconitum. Very good.”

She scanned the other plant specimens he’d laid out on the table. “Foxglove. Purple nightshade. Rhubarb.”

“And this one?” He held up a twig with dried leaves. “Extra credit if you can tell me which flowering shrub this comes from?”

“It’s oleander.”

He looked at her, his pale eyes lit up with interest. “Which doesn’t even grow in this climate, yet you recognize it.” He gave a deferential nod of his bald head. “I am impressed.”

“I grew up in California, where oleander’s common.”

“I suspect you’re also a gardener.”

“Aspiring. But I am a pathologist.” She looked at the botanical specimens arrayed on the table. “These are all poisonous plants.”

He nodded. “And so beautiful, some of them. We grow monkshood and foxglove here, in our flower garden. Rhubarb’s growing in our vegetable garden. And purple nightshade, with such sweet little blossoms and berries, springs up everywhere as a common weed. All around us, so prettily disguised, are the instruments of death.”

“And you’re teaching this to children?”

“They have need of this knowledge as much as anyone else. It reminds them that the natural world is a dangerous place, as you well know.” He set the specimens on a shelf and scooped up pages of notes. “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Isles,” he said before turning to Julian. “Mr. Perkins, your friend’s visit will not serve as an excuse for late homework. Just so we’re clear on that matter.”

“Yes, sir,” said Julian solemnly. He maintained that sober expression until Professor Pasquantonio was well down the hall and out of earshot, then he burst out in a laugh. “Now you know why we call him Poison Pasky.”

“He doesn’t seem like the friendliest of teachers.”

“He’s not. He’d rather talk to his plants.”

“I hope your other teachers aren’t quite as strange.”

“We’re all strange here. That’s why it’s such an interesting place. Like Ms. Saul says, normal is so boring.”

She smiled at him. Touched his face again. This time he didn’t shrink away. “You sound happy here, Rat. Do you get along with everyone?”

“Better than I ever did at home.”

Home, in Wyoming, had been a grim place for Julian. In school he’d been a D-minus student, bullied and ridiculed, known not for any academic achievement but for his scrapes with the law and his schoolyard fistfights. At sixteen, he’d seemed bound for a future prison cell.

So there was truth to what Julian had just said, about being strange. He was not normal, and he never would be. Cast out by his own family, thrust alone into the wilderness, he’d learned to rely on himself. He had killed a man. Although that killing was in self-defense, the spilling of another’s blood changes you forever, and she wondered how deeply that memory still haunted him.

He took her hand. “Come on, I want to show you around.”

“Ms. Saul showed me the library.”

“Have you been to your room yet?”

“No.”

“It’s in the old wing, where all the important guests go. That’s where Mr. Sansone stays whenever he visits. Your room has a big old stone fireplace. When Briana’s aunt visited, she forgot to open the flue, and the room filled with smoke. They had to evacuate the whole building. So you’ll remember that, right? About the flue?” And you won’t embarrass me was the unspoken message.

“I’ll remember. Who’s Briana?”

“Just a girl here.”

“Just a girl?” With his dark hair and piercing eyes, Julian was growing into a handsome young man who’d one day catch many a woman’s eye. “Details, please.”

“She’s no one special.”

“Did I just see her in class?”

“Yeah. She had long black hair. A really short skirt.”

“Oh. You mean the pretty one.”

“I guess.”

She laughed. “Come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Well, yeah. But I think she’s kind of a jerk. Even if I do feel sorry for her.”

“Sorry for her? Why?”

He looked at her. “She’s here because her mom got murdered.”

Suddenly Maura regretted how blithely she’d pried into his friendships. Teenage boys were a mystery to her, hulking creatures with big feet and simmering hormones, vulnerable one moment, cold and remote the next. As much as she wanted to be a mother to him, she would never be good at it, would never have a mother’s instincts.

She was silent as she followed him down the third-floor hallway, where the walls were hung with paintings of medieval villages and banqueting tables and an ivory-skinned Madonna with child. Her guest room was near the end of the hall; when she stepped inside she saw that her suitcase had already been delivered and was resting on a cherrywood luggage rack. From the arched window, she could see a walled garden adorned with stone statues. Beyond that wall the forest pressed in, like an invading army.

“You’re facing east, so you’ll get a nice view of the sunrise tomorrow.”

“All the views are beautiful in this place.”

“Mr. Sansone thought you’d like this room. It’s the quietest.”

She remained at the window, her back turned to him as she asked: “Has he been here lately?”

“He came about a month ago. He always comes for meetings of the Evensong school board.”

“When is the next one?”

“Not till next month.” He paused. “You really like him. Don’t you?”

Her silence was far too revealing. She said, matter-of-factly, “He’s been a generous man.” She turned to face Julian. “We both owe him a great deal.”

“Is that really all you have to say about him?”

“What else would there be?”

“Well, you asked me about Briana. I figured I’d ask about Mr. Sansone.”

“Point taken,” she admitted.

But his question hung in the air, and she didn’t know how to answer it. You really like him, don’t you?

She turned to look at the elaborately carved four-poster bed, at the oak wardrobe. Perhaps they were more antiques from Sansone’s home. Though the man himself was not here, she saw his influence everywhere, from the priceless art on the walls to the leather-bound books in the library. The isolation of this castle, the locked gate and private road, reflected his obsession with privacy. The one jarring note in the room hung above the mantelpiece. It was an oil portrait of an arrogant-looking gentleman in a huntsman’s coat, a rifle propped over his shoulder, one boot resting on a fallen stag.

“That’s Cyril Magnus,” said Julian.

“The man who built this castle?”

“He was really into hunting. Up in the attic, there’s a ton of mounted animal trophies that he brought back from all over the world. They used to hang in the dining hall until Dr. Welliver said all those stuffed heads ruined her appetite, and she told Mr. Roman to take them down. They got into this big fight about whether the trophies glorified violence. Finally Headmaster Baum had us all vote on it, even the students. That’s when the heads got taken down.”

She didn’t know any of these people he was talking about, a sad reminder that she was not part of his world here, that he now had his own life far away and independent of her. Already she felt left behind.

“… and now Dr. Welliver and Mr. Roman are fighting about whether students should learn to hunt. Mr. Roman said yes, because it’s an ancient skill, but Dr. Welliver says it’s barbaric. Then Mr. Roman pointed out that Dr. Welliver eats meat, so that qualifies her as a barbarian, too. Boy, did that get her mad!”

As Maura unpacked jeans and hiking boots, hung up blouses and a dress in the wardrobe, Julian chattered about his classmates and teachers, about the catapult they’d built in Ms. Saul’s class, about their wilderness trip when a black bear had sauntered into their camp.

“And I’ll bet you were the one who chased that bear away,” she said with a smile.

“No, Mr. Roman scared him off. No bear wants to tangle with him.”

“Then he must be a seriously scary man.”

“He’s the forester. You’ll meet him at dinner tonight. If he shows up.”

“Doesn’t he have to eat?”

“He’s avoiding Dr. Welliver, because of the argument I told you about.”

Maura closed the dresser drawer. “And who’s this Dr. Welliver, who hates hunting so much?”

“She’s our psychologist. I see her every other Thursday.”

She turned and frowned at him. “Why?”

“Because I have issues. Like everyone here.”

“What issues are you talking about?”

He looked at her in puzzlement. “I thought you knew. That’s the reason I’m here, the reason all the students were chosen for Evensong. Because we’re different from regular kids.”

She thought of the class she’d just visited, the two dozen students gathered around Poison Pasky’s demonstration table. They’d seemed like any other cross section of American teenagers.

“What, exactly, is different about you?” she asked.

“The way I lost my mom. It’s the same thing that makes all the kids here different.”

“The other students have lost parents as well?”

“Some of them. Or they’ve lost sisters or brothers. Dr. Welliver helps us deal with the anger. The nightmares. And Evensong teaches us how to fight back.”

She thought of how Julian’s mother had died. Thought of how violent crime ripples through families, through neighborhoods, through generations. Evensong teaches us how to fight back.

“When you say the other kids have lost their parents or sisters or brothers,” said Maura. “Do you mean …”

“Murder,” said Julian. “That’s what we all have in common.”