The Cove

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, Doctor 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 just want to help you, protect you. We didn't tell the police a thing. Doctor 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 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