“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 Doctor Beadermeyer or else you’ll wind up behind bars.”
“Ah, yes,” said Quinlan. “The good Doctor Beadermeyer, or should I call you Norman Lipsy, from the fair nation of Canada to our north?”
“I prefer Doctor 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 just 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 Doctor 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 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.”