Chapter 59 #2
“I first met Dr. Lane when she was a young student at Harvard, and we reconnected when she was in her fellowship at MGH. She was an adult by then, but still a curious individual, fascinating, really.” He breaks eye contact with Tara to look longingly toward the door. “She was special. She is special.”
“And what is your professional opinion of Dr. Lane?” Tara follows up as Graham lights up at the opportunity to talk about his obsession.
“She’s exquisite. Child prodigies are always fascinating, along with what they are able to accomplish in their lifetime compared to a typical individual, and Harlow was no exception. She is passionate about her field, cautious and thorough, and it has been thrilling to watch over her.”
“What do you mean by watching over her? Like … following her professionally?” Tara leads the question without accusing Graham of anything—yet.
“Well, yes, of course. But it’s more than that, and it’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t understand our connection.”
“And what is that?” Tara asks.
His expression is still guarded. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Tara places her forearms on the table, gently laying her hands on the table, leaning forward slightly. “Then would you help me understand? I know you’re a great teacher.”
The statement causes Graham to still. “Did my Harlow tell you that?” A slow grin spreads across his face.
“I really did help her become who she is today. Our connection is something that transcends the mediocre. It’s beyond inconvenient that we have to deal with all of this,” he waves his hand around the room, “but I know she sees me.”
“That’s interesting, Dr. Tremblay, because Harlow described you and your relationship quite differently,” I casually mention as though I’m not trying to poke the bear.
“What did she say?” he demands sitting up ramrod straight.
“You were a professional colleague, who at one point, asked her out, and she declined.”
“No. I mean, yes, she declined, but it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to go out with me—the timing just wasn’t right.” He adamantly shakes his head as the version of reality he convinced himself starts to crack ever so slightly. “She knew we were inevitable.”
“You helped her when she was designing the Case Prioritization Matrix, right?” Tara’s animated expression and bright tone are enough to create a false sense of ease and redirect Graham’s attention back to her.
“Indeed. I’ve been a mentor for her and her career for years.” Graham lifts one shoulder as though he is humble about his stalking of her over the years. “But it’s her mind that’s remarkable. It’s an outlier, and that differentiator is not just a fact, it’s … it’s everything.”
Tara nudges him a little more. “How so?”
“People tend to be impressed by brilliant people, but in my experience, brilliance does not equate exceptionalism. No, Harlow has a caring, sensitive heart that is precious and rare, and paired with her brilliance? Now, that is exceptional.”
Tara tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
“The true beauty of this world is not found in the common, Agent White. No, no. True beauty is found in the outliers of this world. The rare expressions that stand out from the crowd.”
“And Dr. Lane stands out?” I ask, as Graham’s gaze snaps to meet mine.
“Indeed. It’s the typical that surrounds us every day versus the exceptional that stand out.
” His gaze slides back to Tara. “The rudimentary drawing compared to a masterpiece from the hand of a true artist. The bland compared to something exploding with flavor. The standard bouquet from the supermarket sharing counter space next to an artistic arrangement.”
“But aren’t all flowers beautiful?” Tara seamlessly latches on to the opening we needed to steer this conversation closer to the case.
Graham sneers in disgust. “Psh. Hardly.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Tremblay. I’m not sure I follow; can you explain that for me, please?
” She scrunches her eyebrows faintly, but it accomplishes the goal.
We want Graham to assume she’s confused and needs him to explain things.
We don’t want him to realize she’s subtly feeding his ego and the desire he has to be seen as the expert in the room.
Graham’s shoulders straighten as Tara defers to him. “Take roses, for example. They are beautiful and extraordinary flowers.”
“What about … a daisy, or a carnation? Are they less beautiful than a rose?” Tara replies nonchalantly.
“Of course.” Graham laughs. “There’s no comparison between those and roses. In fact, my mother worked in genetic research. She was incredible, really, cold and cruel, but my God was she brilliant.”
I pause to let Graham continue his commentary, which is exactly what we want right now.
“Mother used to say that an exquisite rose and a basic carnation aren’t nearly as different as most people would assume.
They have similar genetic foundations, but the differences matter.
” He exhales deeply before looking off, lost in his thoughts.
“One becomes exceptional, and the other? It just remains … common.”
“But, Dr. Tremblay, wouldn’t you say the challenge then is to find the beauty in common things?” Tara leans forward as she speaks, letting Graham subconsciously think she is genuinely interested in what he has to say.
She is—we both are—but not for the reasons that his pride is assuming.
I do love an incorrect assumption.
Graham waves his hand or tries to until the cuffs prevent his movement. The sound causes another crack in the illusion of Graham’s control.
“If one is willing to put in the effort, it is theoretically possible to find beauty in most things, even something common, I suppose, despite what my mother believed. If you take something mundane and typical, but then add intentional details, hypothetically, it could enhance the beauty.”
“Like a common flower in a vase would be more beautiful than the common flower on its own?” Tara supplies.
Graham hums in agreement. “Exactly. It’s still a common flower, but the details matter.”
“Speaking of details, Dr. Lane told me one about you just this morning. She suspects it matters quite a bit, and I have to admit, like usual, I think she’s on to something,” I comment as Tara leans back in her chair, letting me push the conversation closer to Graham’s breaking point.
“I love how her brain works. I can’t wait to hear her latest hypothesis. Go on now, do tell.” Graham’s eyes dance with delight as though I am going to tell him she said something complimentary about the man.
“I’d love your insight first before I share her thoughts, although I have to admit, I do agree with her hypothesis. Dr. Tremblay, in your professional opinion, do you think it’s plausible that your actions actually have everything to do with one individual?”
His head rears back as his eyes dart around the room. “My actions?”
“Dr. Tremblay, as your attorney, I'm advising you not to respond to that question. Anything you say here can be used as evidence against you in a court of law,” Graham’s attorney injects for the second time, but Graham immediately dismisses him.
“Stop interrupting our discussion, Daniel. I thought you were the best.”
His attorney huffs in frustration. “I am, but you need to be aware of your rights, and—”
“Who exactly are you referring to, Mr. Bennett?” Graham cuts his attorney off and locks his gaze on mine. He’s trying to be intimidating, but his efforts are falling marvelously short.
“It’s actually Special Agent Bennett. Like you said, the details matter, right?” His nostrils flare as his hands clench tight enough that his knuckles go white. “In this case, she is the critic you can never impress, and a brilliant woman who was less than impressed with you.”
Graham slams his fist down on the table, losing his composure, but keeping his voice steady. “That is not true! Harlow is very impressed with me!”
“I’m not speaking about Dr. Lane,” I calmly reply, as I pick up my manilla folder of documents and photographs, leafing through them for one specific image.
“I’m talking about your mother, Dr. Stephanie Tremblay.
” I set down a photo of his mother that was featured in a magazine after she won an international award.
Graham quickly lifts his gaze away from the photograph and narrows his eyes at me. “My mother has nothing to do with Harlow or this conversation.”
Graham’s attorney leans forward, holding his hand between his client and us. “Dr. Tremblay, please, defer to me—”
“Daniel. Do I need to fire you? Shut. Up!” Graham yells at his attorney, raising his voice for the first time.
“Your mother didn’t have any documented mobility issues; she was only fifty-two years old and was an avid runner, right?
” The metallic links of his handcuffs clash against the table as he reaches over and tugs at the cuff of his sweatshirt, as though to straighten it under the handcuff.
He squares his shoulders and lifts his head slightly before meeting my gaze again before I continue on.
“This morning, Dr. Lane relayed a very interesting comment that you made yesterday. Dr. Tremblay, do you realize you said something to Ryan about how your mother never thought you’d push back, but you got the last laugh? ”
Graham shakes his head slightly. “What does that have to do with anything? He doesn’t matter. He’s nothing.”
“Well, here’s the thing, Graham.” I purposefully use his first name instead of his title because it’s time to shake this interview up.
I pull the photos from the folder of Dr. Stephanie Tremblay’s death, displaying his mother’s body at the bottom of a flight of stairs in her home, surrounded by a shattered vase of flowers suspected to have been in her hands but was discovered under her body.
“It matters quite a bit if you pushed your mother to her death.”
Graham’s face reddens with rage, but before he can fully explode, his attorney interrupts, “We’re done here! This is ridiculous, my client will not sit here—”