wife, full access to his multimillion-dollar house, maybe even access to his fortune. “What happened to your relationship with your brother once he knew about you and Shauna?” Clevenger asked.
“We went from being inseparable to being cordial.” He stopped, pressed his lips together, rubbed his eyes. “That really is bullshit He barely put up with me. He could hardly lode at me.”
Groupmann was finally showing some emotion.Clevenger wanted to push him, to see how much anger might have brewed beneath the surface of his strained relationship with his brother. “You were trading your relationship with Jeff for the love of a woman, who happened to be his wife. Putting up with you could be seen as heroic.”
“There’s no excuse for what I did,” Groupmann said plainly. “None. Maybe we just were too much alike. Maybe that explains it. Like I said, I don’t know.”
“Say more.”
“We both loved her,” he said. “He loved her enough to betray his nature, have kids with her, stay with her almost fifteen years. And I loved her enough to betray him. Bottom line: I’m straight; he was gay. So maybe in some terrible way, what happened made some kind of sense.”
“And now that he’s dead...” Clevenger pushed.
“I never wished for that,” Groupmann shot back. “Never.” He looked away, shook his head. “But I have to believe he would have wanted his family taken care of.”
“Are you two planning to move in together?” Clevenger asked him.
“Not right away.”
“I see.”
He looked Clevenger in the eyes. “There’s no sense pretending anymore. Shauna and I were meant for each other. She and my brother weren’t. So who gets the blame? God?”
EIGHT
Loren and Lexi Groupmann hugged their uncle David as he left the library, then took seats on the couch across from Clevenger. Loren hadn’t wanted to be interviewed without his older sister present, which seemed entirely normal for a ten-year-old, especially one who had just lost his father.
“Mom said you’re a psychiatrist?” Lexi asked Clevenger.
She had her mother’s sense of decorum, but her features were all Groupmann—the thick, brown hair, the brown-black, impenetrable eyes. “That’s right,” Clevenger said.
“But you work for the FBI,” she said.
“I help them understand violent people. Sometimes I help them find violent people.”
“Like whoever... hurt Dad,” she said. “And the others.”
“Yes,” Clevenger said.
Loren started to tap his foot on the floor. He was agaunt, pale boy with his mother’s dirty-blond hair, green eyes, and fine features. “A profiler,” he whispered.
“Are you okay?” Lexi asked him, laying a hand on his thigh.
Loren glanced at Clevenger, shrugged.
“Do you have something to say, Loren?” Clevenger asked gently.
The boy half-squinted at him. “Are any of us in trouble?”
Lexi smiled a nervous smile. “No one’s in trouble, Lore. Mom said he needs to know more about Daddy to—”
Clevenger held up a hand. “Why would you think that, Loren?” he asked. “Are you worried someone here could be in trouble?”
“I’ve just sera stuff on TV,” Loren said.
“He watches way too many crime shows,” Lexi told Clevenger.
“They always think it’s somebody in the family” Loren said ‘Then, half the time, they find out they were wrong. But it’s too late, because the person already committed suicide or got executed or killed by the real killer or—”
“This isn’t TV,” his sister said. She grinned at Clevenger. “He’s such a weirdo, sometimes.” She mussed up Loren’s hair. “You’re so weird.”
Lexi was displaying the same odd sense of detachment from tragedy that Clevenger had seen in her mother and uncle. There was certainly no shortage of unusual grief reactions in the family. “Are you scared of anyone here?” Clevenger asked Loren.
The boy started tapping his foot again. “Kind of,” he said.
“Who?” Clevenger asked.
He shrugged.
“We went from being inseparable to being cordial.” He stopped, pressed his lips together, rubbed his eyes. “That really is bullshit He barely put up with me. He could hardly lode at me.”
Groupmann was finally showing some emotion.Clevenger wanted to push him, to see how much anger might have brewed beneath the surface of his strained relationship with his brother. “You were trading your relationship with Jeff for the love of a woman, who happened to be his wife. Putting up with you could be seen as heroic.”
“There’s no excuse for what I did,” Groupmann said plainly. “None. Maybe we just were too much alike. Maybe that explains it. Like I said, I don’t know.”
“Say more.”
“We both loved her,” he said. “He loved her enough to betray his nature, have kids with her, stay with her almost fifteen years. And I loved her enough to betray him. Bottom line: I’m straight; he was gay. So maybe in some terrible way, what happened made some kind of sense.”
“And now that he’s dead...” Clevenger pushed.
“I never wished for that,” Groupmann shot back. “Never.” He looked away, shook his head. “But I have to believe he would have wanted his family taken care of.”
“Are you two planning to move in together?” Clevenger asked him.
“Not right away.”
“I see.”
He looked Clevenger in the eyes. “There’s no sense pretending anymore. Shauna and I were meant for each other. She and my brother weren’t. So who gets the blame? God?”
EIGHT
Loren and Lexi Groupmann hugged their uncle David as he left the library, then took seats on the couch across from Clevenger. Loren hadn’t wanted to be interviewed without his older sister present, which seemed entirely normal for a ten-year-old, especially one who had just lost his father.
“Mom said you’re a psychiatrist?” Lexi asked Clevenger.
She had her mother’s sense of decorum, but her features were all Groupmann—the thick, brown hair, the brown-black, impenetrable eyes. “That’s right,” Clevenger said.
“But you work for the FBI,” she said.
“I help them understand violent people. Sometimes I help them find violent people.”
“Like whoever... hurt Dad,” she said. “And the others.”
“Yes,” Clevenger said.
Loren started to tap his foot on the floor. He was agaunt, pale boy with his mother’s dirty-blond hair, green eyes, and fine features. “A profiler,” he whispered.
“Are you okay?” Lexi asked him, laying a hand on his thigh.
Loren glanced at Clevenger, shrugged.
“Do you have something to say, Loren?” Clevenger asked gently.
The boy half-squinted at him. “Are any of us in trouble?”
Lexi smiled a nervous smile. “No one’s in trouble, Lore. Mom said he needs to know more about Daddy to—”
Clevenger held up a hand. “Why would you think that, Loren?” he asked. “Are you worried someone here could be in trouble?”
“I’ve just sera stuff on TV,” Loren said.
“He watches way too many crime shows,” Lexi told Clevenger.
“They always think it’s somebody in the family” Loren said ‘Then, half the time, they find out they were wrong. But it’s too late, because the person already committed suicide or got executed or killed by the real killer or—”
“This isn’t TV,” his sister said. She grinned at Clevenger. “He’s such a weirdo, sometimes.” She mussed up Loren’s hair. “You’re so weird.”
Lexi was displaying the same odd sense of detachment from tragedy that Clevenger had seen in her mother and uncle. There was certainly no shortage of unusual grief reactions in the family. “Are you scared of anyone here?” Clevenger asked Loren.
The boy started tapping his foot again. “Kind of,” he said.
“Who?” Clevenger asked.
He shrugged.