“I understand you and your brother were estranged.”

“That’s right,” he said, looking pained. “Thirteen years.”

“And why was that?”

“A difference of opinion that got out of hand. You know how these things happen.”

“Actually, I don’t. It wouldn’t occur to me to not speak to my sisters for thirteen years.”

“You have no right to judge him,” Diandra snapped.

“No judgment,” Sam said. “Just stating the facts, ma’am.” Turning back to Preston, she said, “You’ve had no contact with him since he was nominated for the Supreme Court?”

Preston glanced at his wife and then back at Sam. “No.” He cleared his throat. “Well, except for an email I sent to congratulate him.”

Diandra stared at her husband, shocked. “When?”

“The other day.” He seemed chagrinned. “I wanted him to know I was happy for him.”

“Did you get a reply?” Sam asked.

Preston shook his head. “I know he must’ve been so busy. He would’ve written back when he could.”

“Have you communicated with him by email before this?” Diandra asked, stealing Sam’s next question.

“Once or twice.”

Diandra’s eyes flashed with anger. “I can’t believe this!”

“He was my brother, Di. My only sibling.”

“He was a liar and a fraud.”

“He was my brother,” Preston whispered, wiping a tear from his face.

“Stop it,” she snapped, seeming appalled that he was crying over Julian’s death.

As Preston obediently mopped up his tears, Sam and Jeannie exchanged glances. This was one twisted relationship.

“Did you expect to see him while he was in town?” Sam asked.

“I’d hoped to. In the email, I offered to meet him, but like I said, I never heard back from him.”

“Unbelievable,” Diandra muttered, glaring at her husband.

Preston looked down at the floor like a chastened child whose mother is angry with him.

“Mrs. Sinclair, can you tell me how your husband and his brother came to be estranged?” Sam said.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Because I’m asking you.”

“Fine. I saw them—Julian and that fag he referred to as his ‘friend.’ They were kissing! Right out in public! And I’d allowed my children—my sons—to sleep at his home. He’d exposed them to his immoral lifestyle, and God knows what else.” She shuddered.

“He adored those boys,” Preston snapped. “You know he did! And they adored him.” To Sam he said, “They’ll be crushed by his death. They’d reestablished contact with him and saw him regularly.”

“They did not!” Diandra said, her face flat with shock.

“Yes, they did,” Preston retorted defiantly. “Once they were out of your house, they made their own decisions.”

Diandra sent him a venomous glare, and once again he wilted.

“Where were the two of you last night?” Sam asked, imagining the chewing out Preston was in for after they left.