"Selling arms to places like Algeria, Iraq, and Libya- 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, just waved his pipe at her. "You weren't a good wife. Your dad swore to me that your career was just something for you to do until you got married. He said you were just 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 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
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 he 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. "Damn you! 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 damned 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. Oh, God, 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.
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"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 I. 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 1970's. 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 that 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 that 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 then.
"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."
"We thought you'd killed him," Scott said. "He wasn't even supposed to be at home that night. He was supposed to be in New York, but he came back unexpectedly. You grabbed that gun and you shot him."
But Sally was just shaking her head, looking not frightened but thoughtful, her forehead furrowed. "No, I remember that when I got here I tried the front door. I didn't expect it to be unlocked, but it was. Just as I turned the knob, I heard a shot. I ran into this room and there he was, on the floor, his chest covered with blood.
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"I remember-" She paused, frowning ferociously. Then she pressed her knuckles against her forehead.
"It's so vague, so fuzzy. Those damned drugs you gave me- God, I could kill you for that."
Quinlan said, "He's in so much trouble now, Sally, that killing him would be letting him off lightly. I want to see him spend all his money on lawyers. Then I want to see him rot in prison for the rest of his miserable life. Don't worry about him. You can do this. It's all vague, but it's there. What do you see?''
She was staring down at where his body had sprawled, arms flung out, his right palm up. So much blood.
There had been so much blood. Noelle had laid a new carpet. But there'd been something strange, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, something...
"There was someone else there," she said. "Yes, there was someone else in the room."
"How did you get the gun?"
She said without hesitation, "It was on the floor. He was bending down to pick it up when I came into the room. He straightened up real fast and ran to the French doors."