could see more
pictures of Shipley, infant, boy and man.
As the pictures in the bedroom had demonstrated, William
Shipley, Jr. was clearly the dominant person in his mother's mind. That obvious
fact, coupled with the evidence that there was not a single picture of the much
photographed Madeline Newton, even at moments when she would be logically
present, such as the ceremonies of marriage and inauguration and important
social events, telescoped the undeniable message of friction between them. It
was a cliché of course, possessive mother locked in a tug of war with
strong-willed equally possessive, albeit famous wife. But the logic of the
evidence was undeniable.
Fiona pushed away the edge of suspicion. It was absurd, she
thought. If such antagonism were a motive, the world would be strewn with
corpses.
"The autopsy will tell us more about the sexual
assault," the Eggplant said. Fiona felt her stomach knot.
"Sexual assault?" Shipley asked, puzzled, turning
to his wife, then to Fiona.
"You didn't mention that," he muttered angrily,
the words barely able to pass his lips. He had been pale when he arrived. Now
he was ashen.
"I'm sorry," the Eggplant said looking at Fiona,
obviously regretting his revelation. "You didn't tell him?"
Fiona shook her head.
"We weren't absolutely certain," Fiona replied
tamping down her indignation.
"It's a good bet, I'm afraid," the Eggplant said
cutting a glance at Shipley. He felt not the slightest hesitancy in sharing
this information with Shipley. "It's awful, I know. I'm sorry."
"She was seventy-seven years old," Shipley said,
his voice hoarse. He turned to Fiona, glaring. "So she didn't suffer did
she?"
"I was trying to spare you, Governor. Besides, the
sequence is not confirmed."
"Sequence?" Shipley said, his expression shocked,
indignant, obviously trying to contain his rage.
"It could have happened after...."
"It's sick," Madeline Newton said. She appeared to
be equally shaken by the revelation.
"Very," the Eggplant agreed, glaring at Fiona.
There was, after all, no way of hiding the information. Sooner or later they
would know. She felt remiss, her indignation misplaced. She had let compassion
intercede.
"Must the world know this?" Madeline Newton asked
looking at her husband, who glared back at her.
"We're public servants, Mrs. Shipley," the
Eggplant said self-righteously, invoking, Fiona supposed, the public's right to
know, normally the media's mantra. "Anyway, it's impossible to hide these
things."
"May I remind you, Captain," Madeline said.
"We.... my husband is a public servant as well."
"No insult intended, Mrs. Shipley," the Eggplant
said, feigning humility.
"I didn't mean cover-up, Captain," Madeline said
pointedly. "I'm talking about the so-called tabloids, those vicious
newspapers and TV shows. It's so.... so lurid. A seventy-seven year old woman.
Let her have her last moment of dignity. At one time in this town she was an
institution. She had the world's most powerful people in this house." She
paused, removed her sunglasses, her powerful violet eyes glance roaming the
room, her thespian training kicking in. "She was celebrated."
"I can't control what the media does, Mrs.
Shipley," the Eggplant sighed, his own not unsubstantial thespian
abilities activated.
"But surely, Captain." Madeline turned to her
husband. "You could evade providing the information. I mean
really...."
"I certainly will try," the Eggplant said.
"He can, can't he William?" Madeline Newton
persisted, ignoring the Eggplant's comment, treating him with the arrogance of
her own perceived superiority. "I mean I'm not asking him to break any
rules or suppress evidence or anything like that. I'm trying to protect your
mother's reputation ... her image if you will. This is, after all, the capital
of the United States of America, not Hollywood."
Same rules, Fiona thought. The cult of celebrity. Her being
on the scene only made it worse. The marriage of politics and entertainment, a
perfect