“Caroline. This is a surprise.”
During the trial, when she had stayed with the Merrivales, Grace had sensed a growing hostility in Caroline. John, darling John, had been staunch in his support from first to last. But Caroline, whom Grace had once thought of as such a dear friend, almost a surrogate mother, had been aloof, even cruel at times, as if she were enjoying Grace’s suffering. She had not bothered to hide her irritation about the unwelcome press attention Grace’s presence in the house attracted. “It’s intolerable, like living in a cage at the zoo. When is all this going to end?” The deference she had once shown Grace as Lenny’s wife had been replaced by a haughty coolness. Grace tried not to resent it. After all, if it weren’t for Caroline and John, she’d have been out on the streets. She wouldn’t have had the great Frank Hammond to defend her. She wouldn’t have had a thing. But Caroline’s bitterness still stung. She was the last person Grace expected to see at Bedford Hills.
Caroline looked around, like a nervous flier searching for the nearest emergency exit. “I can’t stay long.”
“That’s okay. It was good of you to come at all. Did John get my letter?”
Grace had written to John a week ago asking him about next steps: What should she do about an appeal, should she hire a new attorney, how long did he think it would be before they agreed to review her case, etc.? He had yet to reply.
“He did, yes.”
Silence.
“He’s been very busy, Grace. The FBI is still looking for the missing money. John’s been helping them as best he can.”
Grace nodded meekly. “Of course. I understand.” She waited for Caroline to say something else, to ask her how she’d been holding up, perhaps, or if she needed anything. But she didn’t. Desperate to prolong the encounter, her first with the outside world in weeks, Grace started babbling. “It’s not too bad in here. I mean, of course it’s bad, but you try to get used to it. The worst thing is how tiring the days are. It makes it hard to focus on anything. I keep thinking about Lenny. About how any of this could have happened. I mean, someone framed us, that much is obvious. But after that it all gets so tangled. Hopefully, once John starts my appeal, there’ll be some light at the end of the tunnel. But at the moment it’s so dark. I feel lost.”
“Grace, there won’t be any appeal.”
Grace blinked, like a mole in the sunlight. “I’m sorry?”
Caroline’s voice grew harsh. “I said there won’t be any appeal. At least, not with our help, or our money. Look, John stuck with you for as long as he could. But he’s had to face the truth now. We all have.”
“The truth? What do you mean? What truth?” Grace was shaking.
“You can stop with the Little Girl Lost act,” Caroline spat. “It won’t wash with me. Lenny ripped off his investors and his partners. He betrayed poor John. You both did.”
“That’s not true! Caroline, you must believe me. I know Lenny changed the partnership structure, and it’s true I don’t know why. But I know he would never have done anything to hurt John intentionally.”
“Oh, come on, Grace! How stupid do you think people are? Why don’t you come clean and tell the FBI where the money is?”
This was a nightmare. A sick joke.
“I don’t know where the money is. John knows that. John believes me!”
“No,” Caroline said brutally. “He doesn’t. Not anymore. He wants nothing more to do with you. I came here today to ask you to stop contacting him. After everything you and Lenny have done to him, to all of us, you owe us that much at least.”
She stood up to leave. Grace fought down the urge to throw herself into her arms and plead for mercy. Inside, her throat was hoarse from screaming: Don’t leave me! Please! Don’t take John away from me. He’s my only hope! Outwardly she kept her mouth clamped shut, afraid that if she opened it the screams would never stop.
“Here.” Caroline pressed a small, tissue-wrapped package into Grace’s hand while the guard’s back was turned. “John wanted me to give you this, weak, sentimental fool that he is. I told him you’re hardly likely to get much wear out of it rotting your life away in here!” She laughed cruelly. “But given that it’s hideous and of no earthly use to me, I suppose you may as well take it.” She turned on her heel and was gone.
Numbly, Grace followed the guard back to her cell. She’d slipped the package inside her sleeve and kept it hidden till she was safely back on her bunk. Her hands trembled as she opened it, carefully unfolding the tissue paper. John Merrivale had been Grace’s last true friend. My only friend. Whatever this package contained, he had wanted her to have it.
It was a brooch. A butterfly brooch, in rainbow-colored glass. Grace’s eyes welled up with tears. Lenny had bought it for her last Christmas from a secondhand store in Key West. When the police froze Quorum’s assets, they’d seized all of Lenny’s personal effects, including Grace’s jewelry. The brooch must have slipped through the net, perhaps because it was valueless. But it could not have been worth more to Grace if it had been made of solid diamonds.
It was a last piece of Lenny. A last symbol of happiness, of hope, of everything that she had lost forever. It was her passport to freedom.
Eternal freedom.
Gently, lovingly, Grace released the brooch’s pin from its clasp and started slashing her wrists.
ELEVEN
SHE WAS SURROUNDED BY BRILLIANT WHITE LIGHT. Not the peaceful kind. The blinding, painful kind that burned her eyes, shining into the darkest recesses of her memory, leaving her nowhere to hide.
She heard voices.
Frank Hammond: “Someone framed Lenny and set you up to take the fall. Someone with inside information on Quorum.”
John Merrivale: “Trust Frank. D-do everything he tells you and you’ll be fine. Don’t worry about the FBI; I’ll d-deal with them.”
The light faded.
WARDEN MCINTOSH FELT BEADS OF SWEAT trickle down his back as he watched the flat green line on the heart monitor.
Please, God, let her live.
If Grace Brookstein succeeded in killing herself on his watch, his career would be over. He could wave good-bye to his pension, his retirement, to everything he’d worked so hard for these past eight years. None of his achievements, his good intentions, would count for a damn. In that moment, James McIntosh hated Grace Brookstein more than he had ever hated another human being.
The doctors applied shock paddles to Grace’s heart. Her tiny body leaped off the bed. The green line flickered, then jumped to life, pulsing in a slow but steady rhythm.
“She’s back.”
THE HEAD OF THE NEW YORK State Department of Corrections took the call at his golf club.
“I should be firing you, James. No questions asked. You do realize that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If word got out we’d allowed Grace Brookstein access to a sharp object in her own cell…”
“I know, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”
“Damn right it won’t! And what was she doing on A Wing in the first place? We sent her to Bedford Hills so she could be protected.”
Warden McIntosh fought down his irritation. Grace Brookstein didn’t deserve to be protected. Even now that she was in jail, she was getting special treatment. It stuck in his craw.
“When she’s well, I want her on twenty-four-hour suicide watch. She gets psychotherapy, she gets decent food. What’s her work detail?”
Warden McIntosh braced himself. “She’s been on the farm, sir. Early shifts.”
“She’s been what? Are you out of your fucking mind, James? I want her in the children’s center, with the nuns, as soon as she’s well enough. Capisce? Whatever you may feel about her personally, from now on I want you walking on eggshells with Lady Brookstein. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir. Clear as crystal.”
GRACE WOKE UP TO A WORLD of pain. It came in waves.
The first wave was physical: the throbbing in her wrists, the parched dryness of her throat, the dull ache in her limbs. Whoever had inserted the needle in her arm had clearly done so in a hurry. Whichever way Grace turned, she felt a sharp stabbing in her vein. The entire surrounding area was badly bruised.
The second wave was emotional: she’d tried to kill herself, and she had failed. She was not in heaven with her darling Lenny. She was here, in Bedford Hills, living the nightmare. Depression washed over her.
But it was the third wave—the mental anguish—that made Grace sit bolt upright in bed and tear at her hair until the doctors came and sedated her. Somewhere deep in her unconscious mind, between death and life, darkness and dawn, the truth had jumped out and grabbed her by the throat. In her mind, she heard Caroline Merrivale’s voice, smug and spiteful. There will be no appeal. John wants nothing more to do with you.