Her time would come.
“This appears to be a funeral,” Kathryn said, her voice steady.
“Who is, who are”—Lee leaned over, tracing a finger across the second row of mourners to the far side of the graveyard, until she came to a middle-aged man and a young girl, standing side by side—“those two people?” she asked.
Kathryn made a show of putting on her reading glasses and squinting at the photo.
“Is that you, Judge Conroy?”
“Hmm, that does look like me. Yes, I think that’s me.”
“What was your relationship to the man whose funeral this was?”
“I can’t answer that unless you tell me whose funeral it is.”
“Lieutenant Edward Wallace of the Boston PD? Also known as Fast Eddie or Eddie the Shark. A cop with a gambling addiction who was known to be an enforcer for the Boston mafia.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t recall who that was.”
“We believe you do,” Lee said.
“Don’t tell me what I remember from my own childhood.”
“If you don’t know Eddie Wallace, then why are you at his funeral?” Martin put in.
“It was common in my neighborhood to attend funerals. Also, christenings, confirmations, weddings, and so on. The Irish Catholic community in South Boston is very tight. You’re expected to show your face, even if you’re not that close to the family.”
“Who is the man standing beside you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Did you know a Raymond Logue?”
“I know a Raymond Logue now. He’s a criminal defense attorney.”
“Did you know him when you were a child?”
“Are you saying that’s him next to me? The man in the photo is so much younger. Thinner. More hair. I can’t be sure.”
“That is him. How did you know Ray Logue?”
“My mother at one time worked in his office as a receptionist.”
“Your mother was Sylvia Conroy.”
“Yes.”
“And she passed away?”
She paused, marshaling her best poker face for the lie.
“Yes, a couple of years ago, of leukemia.”
“Mr. Logue was a friend of hers?”
“I wouldn’t say friends. He was her employer.”
“And is that her in the photo in the row behind you? The woman in dark sunglasses?”
“Um.”
Kathryn looked. Was it? Sylvia had returned to her life that same day, so many years ago, but she had not attended Eddie’s funeral as far as Kathryn knew. She held up the photo to the light. The woman in dark glasses didn’t look like Sylvia at all. It was somebody else.
“No.”
“No?”
“Definitely not. I know my own mother, and that’s not her.”
“Oh. Hmm. But— Okay. Did your mother have a relationship with Eddie Wallace?” Lee said, regrouping, coming back in for the attack.
“A relationship? You mean, a romantic one?”
“Yes.”
“Ms. Lee, my mother was a lady. She did not speak to her daughter about her private affairs.”
“Maybe you saw them together? Or he came to your house? I can show you a photo of Eddie—”
“Don’t. Really, I mean it. This is a highly improper line of questioning, and it needs to end. I’d heard good reports of your professionalism, Ms. Lee, but apparently they were mistaken.”
The color heightened in Brooke Lee’s cheeks. “I’m not trying to imply—”
“Yes, you are. You’re asking about my mother’s sex life. How am I supposed to take a question like that? Is it because she was a single mother?”
“No. I—”
“Would you expect to come into my courtroom, Ms. Lee, and have me ask about your mother’s sex life?”
“I did not mean to offend you, Your Honor.”
“Well, you succeeded. My mother was very dear to me. I miss her every day. I resent your suggestion that she was some dirty cop’s paramour.”
“I apologize. I’ll just note for the record that you’re claiming to be unaware of your mother’s relationship with Eddie Wallace.”
“Claiming? Are you suggesting that I’m lying? You need to put that photo away and apologize, or else I’m leaving.”
“I do apologize for any offense given. And I will put it away. In a minute. But first. If you could tell me, who is that?”
Lee jabbed a finger at the image of a tall, sullen, redheaded boy standing next to Mrs. Wallace.