“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 just 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.”

23

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. Just 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 just Sally who was kept there. There’s a senator’s daughter. Her name is Patricia. Doctor 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 just 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,” Quinlan said.

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

“He’s a plastic 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.”

“Bastard,” 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 Quinlan 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.”

“Bullshit. Who’s paying you? 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, just 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 just 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?”