The Beginning (23 page)

“You never asked, did you, Sally? You were caught up with your own career, all your fancy parties and wild friends. You didn't really care what I did. You never asked.”

“I asked, but you never came right out with it. You told me it was a law firm and left it at that. I remember asking you, but you wouldn't give much out, ever.”

Quinlan felt the ripple beneath the flesh of her hand. He squeezed slightly but kept quiet. She was doing fine. He was pleased and optimistic. He was fast getting the measure of all three people. Soon, he thought, soon now.

Sally paused a moment, then said calmly, “I certainly didn't care after I found out you were having an affair.”

“That's a lie! I wasn't having an affair. I was faithful to you. I've always been faithful to you, even during these past six months.”

Noelle cleared her voice. “This is leading nowhere. Sally, you're saying that you're sane, that indeed your father abused you in the sanitarium—”

“So did Dr. Beadermeyer. He had this creepy little attendant called Holland who liked to bathe me, strip me, fix my hair, and sit on the side of my bed staring at me.”

Noelle turned to Beadermeyer. “Is this true?”

He shrugged. “A bit of it. She did have an attendant named Holland. He's gone now. Perhaps once he might have been out of line. These things happen, Noelle, particularly when a patient is as sick as Sally is. As for the rest of it, it's part of her illness—the delusions, the dark fantasies. Believe me, just as you believed your husband and Scott. Scott lived with her. He saw the disintegration. Isn't that right, Scott?”

Scott nodded. “It was frightening. We're not lying, Noelle.”

Noelle St. John believed them. Quinlan saw it on her face, the look of new resolve, the new certainty, the profound pain she felt.

She said to her daughter, “Listen, Sally, I love you. I've loved you forever. You will get better. I don't care what it costs. You'll have the best care. If you don't like Dr. Beadermeyer, we'll find you another doctor. But for now, please, go back with him to the sanitarium so you can be protected.

“You were judged mentally incompetent by Judge Harkin. You don't even remember the hearing, do you? Well, no wonder. You were so ill, you sat through the whole thing, didn't say a thing, stared straight ahead. I spoke to you, but you looked through me. You didn't even recognize me. It was horrible.

“I'm your guardian now that your father is dead. Both Scott and I are, as a matter of fact. Please trust me, Sally. I only want what's best for you. I love you.”

Scott said, “Agent Quinlan, you could hold her for a day, maybe, but that's all. The judge has already ruled that she isn't responsible for her actions. You can't do anything to her. No one would consider having her stand trial for the murder of her father.”

She kept her head, though Quinlan knew that shook her. This was some group. He still couldn't make up his mind about her mother. She seemed so sincere, so caring, but…Now they seemed certain she'd murdered her father? It was almost time for him to intervene, but not yet.

Sally said, raising her hand to stem her mother's words, “Noelle, did you know that Dr. Beadermeyer kept me drugged all the time? I told you that my father came and beat me twice a week, but did you know that Dr. Beadermeyer watched? Oh, yes, Doctor, I know about that two-way mirror. I also know you let others look through the door window when my father was fondling himself while I was lying naked on the bed.”

She jumped to her feet, and Quinlan was sure she was going to attack Beadermeyer. He lightly touched her arm. Her muscles were frozen. She yelled, “Did you enjoy it, you filthy slug?”

She whirled around to face her mother. “I don't remember the hearing because he kept me drugged up so I wouldn't fight him or any of his keepers. Don't you understand? There was no way they could let up on the drugs. I would have blown them out of the water. Did you also know that sometimes my father would have him lighten the dosage so I'd be more alert when he came to abuse me? That's right, Noelle, believe it. My father, your husband. I'm not lying to you. I'm not making this up to defend my shattered ego. My father was a monster, Noelle. But you know that, don't you?”

Her mother screamed at her, “No more of that, Sally! No more of your crazy lies. I can't stand it, I just can't.”

Scott Brainerd shouted, “That's right, Sally. That's more than enough. Apologize to your mother for those horrible things you're saying about her husband.”

“But they're all true, and you know they are, Scott. Father couldn't have had me committed without your being in on it. Why did you want me put away, Scott?”

“It nearly killed me to have you committed,” Scott said. “Nearly killed me. But we had to. You were going to harm yourself.”

To Quinlan's relief, Sally actually managed to laugh. “Oh, that's really good, Scott. You're a wretched liar. Now, Noelle, when my father was beating me, or just holding me down while he stood over me, he'd laugh, tell me how he finally had me right where he wanted me, where I deserved to be.

“Goodness, I remember it all now. He said it was his revenge for all the years I tried to protect you, Noelle. He said being in this nice place would keep my mouth shut about the other, but I don't know what he meant by that.”

“I do,” Quinlan said. “We'll get to that later.”

She smiled at him and nodded, then turned back to her mother. “Did he tell you how much he hated me? But I guess locking me away wasn't enough for him. I guess he wasn't beating you enough, Noelle, since he had to come and beat me as well. Twice a week. Like clockwork. He was a man of disciplined habits. I was so drugged I sometimes didn't even know, but Holland, that pathetic little creep, he would say, ‘Yep, every Tuesday and Friday, the old guy's here to knock you around and beat off.'

“Of course, I do remember many of the times, particularly when they lightened the drugs. It pleased him that I knew it was him and I was helpless to stop him doing anything he wanted to do.”

Noelle St. John turned on Dr. Beadermeyer. “She is sick, isn't she, Alfred? This can't be true, can it? And not just Amory but Scott too. Why, he's sworn to me that she's very ill. Just as you have.”

Beadermeyer shrugged. It was the man's favorite response, Quinlan thought. “I think she believes what she's saying is true. She really is very ill. Because she believed he did this to her, she had to murder him to assuage her own guilt. I told you how she managed to hide the sedatives beneath her tongue and escape the sanitarium. She came straight here, like a homing pigeon, took her father's gun from his desk, and when he came in, she shot him. You heard the shot, Noelle. So did you, Scott. By the time I got here she was standing over him, watching the blood leak out of his chest, and all of you were staring at her. I tried to help her, but she turned that gun on me and escaped again.”

Quinlan sat forward on the sofa. Ah, now it would come out. It was time. None of this surprised him. In a few minutes it wouldn't surprise Sally either.

Beadermeyer turned to Sally, and his voice was gentle as a soft rain on the windowpanes. “Come, my dear, I'll protect you from the police. I'll protect you from the FBI, from the press, from everyone. You must leave this man. You don't even know who he is.”

“Susan,” Scott said, “I'm sorry for all this, but I know you couldn't help yourself. All those delusions, those dreams, those fantasies, Dr. Beadermeyer told us you had. You did shoot Amory; you had the gun in your hand. Noelle and I saw you holding that gun, leaning down over him. We only want to help you, protect you. We didn't tell the police a thing. Dr. Beadermeyer left before they even came. No one accused you. We've been protecting you all along.”

“I didn't kill my father.”

“But you told me you didn't remember anything,” Noelle said. “You told me you were afraid I'd done it and that was why you ran away. To protect you, I made the police suspect me, acted as guilty as I could, even though I hadn't killed him. What saved me was that they couldn't ever find the gun. Neither Scott nor I ever told the police that we were practically witnesses to the shooting. In fact, Scott didn't even tell them he was here. That made me a better suspect. They couldn't find you. The police are certain that you know I did it and that's why you ran. But I didn't, Sally, I didn't. You did.”

“And I know she didn't, Susan,” Scott Brainerd said, his pipe dangling loose in his right hand, cold now. “I met her in the hallway, and we came into the living room together. You were there, leaning over him, the gun in your hand. You have to go with Dr. Beadermeyer or else you'll wind up behind bars.”

“Ah, yes,” said Quinlan. “The good Dr. Beadermeyer, or should I call you Norman Lipsy, from the fair nation of Canada to our north?”

“I prefer Dr. Beadermeyer,” the man said, with exquisite calm. He lounged more comfortably in his chair, a man without a care, relaxed, at ease.

“What's he talking about?” Scott said.

“Your good doctor here is a fake,” Quinlan said. “That little hideaway of his is nothing more than a prison where he keeps folks that family or others want out of the way. I wonder how much money Sally's father paid him to keep her? Maybe you know, Scott? Maybe some of it was your money. I'll bet it was.”

“I am a doctor, sir. You are insulting. I will sue you for libel.”

“I have been to the sanitarium,” Noelle said. “It's a clean, modern facility. The people there couldn't have been nicer. I didn't get to see Sally simply because she was so ill. What do you mean, people pay for Dr. Beadermeyer to hold their enemies prisoner?”

“It's true, Mrs. St. John, the simple truth. Your husband wanted Sally out of the way. Was it his final revenge against her for trying to protect you? I'll bet that's sure one part of it.”

Quinlan turned to Sally. “I think you might have wasted your time protecting your mom, Sally. It seems to me that she would as soon throw you right back to the hounds.”

“That's not true,” Noelle said, twisting her hands now. “Don't believe him, Sally.”

Quinlan just smiled at her. “In any case, your husband, Mrs. St. John, paid Norman Lipsy here a ton of money every month to keep his daughter drugged to her ears, to let him come visit his little girl and abuse her. Oh, yes, he did abuse her, humiliate her, treat her like a little sex slave. We have a witness.”

Dr. Beadermeyer didn't change position or expression.

Scott actually jumped. As for Noelle, she turned as white as the walls.

“No,” she whispered. “A witness?”

“Yes, ma'am. FBI agents picked up Holland. Before we came here, they called. He's singing, Norman. His little lungs are near to bursting with all the songs pouring out of his mouth.

“It's not only Sally who was kept there. There's a senator's daughter. Her name is Patricia. Dr. Beadermeyer gave her a lobotomy—and botched it, by the way.”

“That isn't true, none of it.”

“Now, Norman, the FBI will be at the sanitarium shortly with a search warrant, and they'll go through that office of yours like ants at a picnic lunch. All your dirty little secrets will be out. I have a friend at the
Washington Post.
All the world will soon know your secrets. All those poor people you've kept at your prison will be free again.

“Now, given all this, Noelle, do you still want to put any stock in this guy's word?”

Noelle looked from Quinlan to Dr. Beadermeyer. “How much did my husband pay you?” It was suddenly a new Noelle—straight shoulders, no longer pale and fragile-looking, but a strong woman whose eyes were narrowed now, whose jaw was locked and hard. He saw rage in those soft blue eyes of hers.

“It was only for her care, Noelle, nothing more. Her case is complex. She's paranoid schizophrenic. She's been mentally ill for some time. We tried a number of drugs to relieve her symptoms. But we were never fully successful. This thing she dreamed up about her father—it gave her enough to focus to escape and come to kill him. It's that simple and that complex. I did nothing wrong.

“This Holland—poor fellow—I took him in. He's very simple in the head. It's true he attended Sally. He was very fond of her in his moronic way. Only a fool would believe anything he said. He'd say whatever anyone wanted him to say. They'll realize quickly enough that he'll say anything, just to please them.”

“For someone who's not a shrink, you're not bad, Norman,” James said.

“What do you mean he's not a shrink?” Scott said.

“He's a cosmetic surgeon. He deals with the outside of the head, not the inside. He's a fake. He's a criminal. And he watched your husband hurt his own daughter. I have no reason to lie to you, Mrs. St. John.”

Dr. Beadermeyer said, “All right, Noelle, if you no longer believe me, no longer trust my word, then I won't take Sally back with me. I'll leave. I've got nothing more to say. The only reason I came here was to help Sally.”

He took a step forward, but James was up in an instant. Three steps and he had Dr. Beadermeyer's tie in his fist. He said very softly, right in his face, “Who is paying you to hold Sally now that her father's dead? Scott here? If so, why? Why was she put away? It wasn't just revenge, was it?” Quinlan knew, but he wanted to hear it out of Beadermeyer's mouth.

“Noelle is paying me only for her regular treatment, the same as I've always received.”

“You still want to lie, do you? Well, I'll be able to tell you, Mrs. St. John, exactly the amount your dear husband was paying this little bastard as soon as the FBI finishes going through all his crooked little books.”

“I'm calling my lawyer. You can't do this. I'll sue you, all of you.”

“If Mrs. St. John was paying you only for Sally's care, then why did you come to The Cove, knock both Sally and me on the head, and haul her back to your sanitarium? Did you bill Noelle for the airfare? And your little excursion to the
Bonhomie Club
with those two goombas—will you send Noelle a bill for their services? How about that rear window I shot out? Don't you bill for overtime, Norman? No comment this time? Don't you even want to insist that you're such a dedicated doctor that you'll do anything to help your poor patients?” Quinlan turned to Noelle, who looked as if she'd love to have a knife. She was looking at Dr. Beadermeyer with very new eyes. “When I got to Sally in the sanitarium she was so drugged it took more than a day to clear her out. That sounds like great treatment, doesn't it, Noelle?”

“Oh, I believe you, Mr. Quinlan. I believe you now.”

Dr. Beadermeyer shrugged and looked down at his fingernails.

“Maybe,” James said, “it's Scott here who wants his wife kept under wraps?”

“That's ridiculous,” Scott Brainerd yelled. “I never did anything. All I did was tell her father how worried I was about her.”

Noelle said very calmly, “No, Scott, that isn't true. You're lying as well. All of you lied to me. If it had been just Amory, I wouldn't have bought it for a minute, but no, all of you were like a Greek chorus, telling me the same thing over and over until I believed you. I allowed you to put my little girl in that damn institution!”

Quinlan quickly stepped out of the way when he saw her coming. She dashed to Beadermeyer and slammed her fist into his jaw before he even had a chance to twitch. He reeled back against the mantelpiece. Noelle stepped back, panting. “You bastard.” She whirled around to face Scott. “You vicious little worm, why did you do this to my daughter? How much did my husband pay you?”

Sally rose from the sofa. She walked to her mother. She put her arms around her. “Thank you,” she said against her mother's hair. “Thank you. I hope I can hit Beadermeyer myself before this is all over.”

Sally wiped her damp hands on her pants legs. She felt such a surge of relief that it made her mouth dry. She actually smiled as she said to Scott, “I'm divorcing you. It shouldn't take long, since I don't even want my poor ivy plant that's probably already dead anyway. My lawyer will serve the papers on you as soon as I can arrange it.”

“You're crazy. No lawyer is going to do a thing you say.”

“If you take another step toward her, Brainerd, I'll have to kill you. That or I'll let Noelle at you. Look at poor Norman, his lip is bleeding. You know, I like the thought of Sally as a widow.”

James walked calmly up to Scott Brainerd, pulled back his fist, and rammed it into his stomach. “That's for Sally, Noelle, and me.”

Scott yelped, bent over, breathing like he'd been shot, his arms clutching his middle.

“Sally,” James said, rubbing his knuckles, wanting to hit Scott Brainerd again but knowing it wouldn't be smart, “one of my sisters-in-law is a lawyer. She'll handle the paperwork on the divorce. Severing ties with this slug shouldn't be difficult. It takes six months. Maybe I should kill him. You want to try running away, Scott?

“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you guys, the FBI is also all over the private books in Amory St. John's firm. They've been doing that for a while now. That's the real reason the FBI got involved in the first place. It's all delicate stuff, so that's why we've kept it under wraps, but there's no reason for you not to know.

“Selling arms to places like Algeria, Iran, and Syria—well, we do tend to frown on stunts like that. And that's got to be the other reason, Sally, that your father and your husband locked you away. They must have believed that you would say something incriminating, something to prove that they were traitors.”

“But I never saw a thing, never,” Sally said. “Is that it, Scott?”

“No, damn you. I didn't have a thing to do with that.”

“And her father manipulated you into coming on to Sally, into marrying her?”

“No, that's not true. All right, so I did agree to have her put away. That's because I believed she was sick.”

“Why did you believe I was sick, Scott?”

He didn't say anything, waved his pipe at her. “You weren't a good wife. Your dad swore to me your career was something for you to do until you got married. He said you were like your mother, a woman who really wanted a husband to take care of and children to look after. I wanted a wife to stay home and take care of me, but you wouldn't do it. I needed you there, to help me, to understand me, but no, you never stayed there for me.”

“That doesn't make her sick, Scott,” Quinlan said.

“I refuse to say anything more about it,” Scott said.

“Why am I not surprised that Amory was a traitor?” said Noelle. “But I'm not. Then maybe one of his clients murdered him. Maybe it wasn't Sally after all. Such a pity it wasn't Scott who murdered him. That's what you were, isn't it, Scott, you pathetic jerk?”

Good, Quinlan thought, she was trying to explain her husband's murder another way. He was pleased. He said, “That's what he was, Mrs. St. John. Now, you said you walked in here with Scott and found Sally literally standing over him with the smoking gun.”

Noelle was frowning, her mouth working. She was thinking real hard. “Well, yes, but she said that she'd heard the shot and come running. She said she had picked the gun up. She said she was here to get money from me and leave.”

Quinlan pulled a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket. He unfolded it and scanned it. “This is your statement to the cops, Noelle. No mention of Sally. Too bad a neighbor reported seeing her running from the house. But you tried, Noelle, you tried.

“Were you really with Scott that night? Did you really run in here with him to see Sally over your husband's body?”

Scott threw his pipe at the fireplace. It fell with a loud crack against the marble hearth. “Of course I was with her! I was with her all evening.”

Scott was still rubbing his belly, and that made Quinlan feel good. That bloody little worm. He turned back to Noelle.

“I'm pleased you tried to protect Sally. But I did wonder if you weren't in it along with these other sterling characters.”

“I don't blame you,” Noelle said. “I'd think I was a jerk too. But I'm not. I'm just plain stupid.”

Sally smiled at her mother. “I'm stupid too. I married Scott, didn't I? Just take a good look at him.”

Quinlan said, “Listen, Noelle. Only a real bad person would turn on her daughter after what she tried to do for you since she was sixteen. She was just a girl, and yet she tried to protect you. I want you to tell me this isn't true. Tell me you didn't kill your husband. Tell me you didn't kill that monster who'd been abusing you.”

“I didn't kill him, I didn't. You believe me, don't you, Sally? You don't believe I killed your father, do you?”

There was no hesitation. Sally took her mother in her arms. “I believe you.”

“But there's so much more, Sally,” Quinlan said, his voice soft and smooth, the promise of truth in that voice. “It's time now to get it all out. I want you to think back now. Look at Noelle and think back to that night.”

Sally drew back, her eyes on her mother. Then, slowly, she turned to Quinlan. “I now have a clear picture of my father, lying right over there, blood all over his chest. I'm sorry, James, but I don't remember anything else.”

“Your mother said you had a gun. You don't remember taking the gun with you, Sally?”

She started to shake her head, then she stared down at her brown boots.

Quinlan said, “It was an antique Roth-Steyr pistol your father probably bought off an old English soldier from World War One. It has a ten-round clip, ugly devil, about nine inches long.”

“Yes,” Sally said slowly, moving away from him, walking toward the spot on the floor where she'd found her father's body, right in front of his huge mahogany desk. “Yes, I remember that pistol. He was very proud of it. The English ambassador gave it to him back in the 1970s. He'd done him a big favor.

“Yes, now I can see it clearly. I remember picking it up now, holding it. I remember thinking it was heavy, that it weighed my hand down. I remember it felt hot, like it had just been used.”

“It is heavy. The sucker weighs a bit more than three pounds. Are you looking at it, Sally?”

She was standing there, apart from him, apart from all of them, and he knew she was remembering now, fitting those jagged memory pieces together, slowly, but he'd known she could do it.

“It's hot, Sally,” he said. “It's burning your hand. What are you going to do with it?”

“I remember I was glad he was dead. He was wicked. He'd hurt Noelle all those years and he'd never paid for it. He'd always done exactly what he'd wanted to do. He'd gotten me. There'd never been any justice, until now.

“Yes, I can remember that's what I was thinking. ‘You're dead, you miserable bastard, and I'm glad. Everyone is free from you now. You're dead.'”

“Do you remember Noelle coming in? Do you remember her screaming?”

She was looking down at her hands, flexing her fingers. “The gun is so hot. I don't know what to do with it. I can see you now, Noelle, and yes, there's Scott behind you. But you have your coats on. You weren't here at the house, you'd been out. Just Father is here, no one else.

“You started screaming, Noelle. Scott, you didn't do a blessed thing. You looked at me like I was some sort of wild dog, like you wanted to put me down.”