Amory St. John would kill you. Of course, he could have killed Sally too, but that would have raised questions inevitably.
"No, better for him to just keep paying you off until he came up with a bright idea to rid himself of you.
Have I gotten anything wrong, Norman? I love real-life wicked plots. Novels can't even come close."
Dr. Beadermeyer waved the gun. "Come here, Noelle."
Scott stirred on the floor, shook his head, and slowly sat up. He moaned and rubbed his ribs. "What's going on here? What are you doing, Doctor Beadermeyer?''
"I'm leaving, Scott. If you want to come along, you can. We've got Noelle. The cops won't take a chance of shooting because they just might hit her. Come here, Noelle." He pointed the revolver at Sally. "Now."
Noelle walked slowly to where he stood. He grabbed her left arm and pulled her tightly against him.
"We'll just go out through the French doors. Nice and slow, Noelle, nice and slow. Ah, Scott, why don't you just stay put? I really never liked you, always thought you were a no-account worm. Yes, you just stay here."
"What you're doing isn't smart, Norman," Quinlan said. "Believe me, it isn't smart at all."
"Shut up, you bastard." He kicked open the French doors and pulled Noelle through them. Quinlan didn't move, just shook his head. Dillon said, "You did warn him, Quinlan."
There were voices, two shots. Then dead silence. Dillon ran outside.
"Noelle!" Sally ran through the open French doors onto the patio, yelling her name over and over.
They turned to see Noelle stumble toward her daughter. The women embraced.
"I love happy endings," Quinlan said, "Now, Scott, why don't you tell us which woman is your lover-Jill or Monica?"
"Neither, damn you. I'm gay!"
"Jesus, that's a kicker," Quinlan said.
Dillon came back in. There was a huge grin on his face. "Poor old Norman Lipsy just got a nick in the arm. He'll be just fine."
"I'm glad about that," Quinlan said.
"Scott is gay, James?" Sally stared at her husband. "You're gay and you married me?"
"I had to," Scott said. "Your father's ruthless. I'd done just a little fiddling with some clients' accounts, but he discovered it. That's when he got me into the arms deals and told me I had to marry you. He also paid Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
me, but believe me, it wasn't enough to bear you for those six months."
Quinlan laughed and pulled Sally against him. "I hope this doesn't depress you too much."
"I think I'll kick up my heels."
They heard Dr. Beadermeyer cursing outside, then moaning, complaining loudly that his arm was bleeding too much, that he'd die from blood loss, that the bastards wanted him to die.
They heard Dillon laugh and say loudly, "Justice. I do like to see justice done."
Sally said, "There's no justice yet. James, where is my father?"
He kissed her on the mouth and hugged her. "We'll check first to see if his passport is gone. If it isn't, we'll have him soon enough."
"Another thing," Dillon said, "where is that bloody Roth-Steyr pistol?"
"I remember running after my father out the French doors. I threw it in the bushes."
"The cops would have found it. They didn't."
“Then that means her father saw her throw it away and doubled back to get it," Quinlan said. And he smiled. "That pistol ID's him better than fingerprints."
"That poor man Doctor Beadermeyer operated on. I wonder who he was?"
"I don't think we'll ever know, Sally, unless Beadermeyer talks. He was cremated. Damnation, all the clues were there, staring me right in the face. Your father had made out a new will about eight months ago, specifying that he wanted to be cremated immediately. Norman Lipsy was a plastic surgeon. You were certain it was your father on the phone. I should have believed you, but I truly believed that what you heard was some sort of spliced tape recording of his voice. We'll get him, Sally. I promise."
Quinlan took her home and made her promise to stay there. He had to go to the office and see how the investigation was going.
"But it's after midnight."
"This is a big deal. The FBI building will be lit up from top to bottom, well, at least most of the fifth floor."
"Can I go with you?"
He pictured thirty men and women all talking at the same time, going over reams of paper, one group reviewing what they'd recovered from Amory St. John's office, another group delving into Dr.
Beadermeyer's papers.
Then there was Dr. Beadermeyer to interview-ah, he wanted to get Norman in a room alone, just the two of them and a tape recorder and go at it. He nearly rubbed his hands together.
"Yes," he said, "you can come, but agents will latch on to you and question you until you want to curl up in the fetal position and sleep."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"I'm ready to talk," she said and grinned up at him. "Oh, James, I'm so relieved. Scott is gay and my mother wasn't in on anything. There is someone here for me besides you."
Marvin Brammer, assistant director and head of the Criminal Investigative Division, wanted her examined by FBI doctors and shrinks.
Quinlan talked him out of it. Sally didn't get to see him do it, but she just bet he was very good.
She ended up talking at length to Marvin Brammer. He, without realizing it, was positively courtly with her.
By the end of the hour-long interview, he'd gotten even more details of that night from her. Brammer was one of the best interviewers in the FBI, an organization known for its excellent interview skills. Maybe he was even better than Quinlan, but she doubted if James would admit that.
When she came out of Marvin Brammer's office, Brammer behind her with his hand lightly holding her elbow, there was Noelle sitting in the small waiting area, asleep. She looked young and very pretty. She looked, Sally thought, just like she should look. But she was worried about her father. What if he got to Noelle again? What if he got to her? She'd said all that to Mr. Brammer, but he'd reassured her again and again that they would have guards on the two of them. There was no chance Amory St. John would get near either of them. Besides, he couldn't imagine the man being that stupid. No, everything would be all right.
"That's my mother," Sally said. "Isn't she beautiful? She's always loved me." She gave Brammer a smile that would have disarmed even a more cynical man.
Brammer cleared his throat. He ran his fingers lightly through his thick white hair. The word was that his interview skills had increased exponentially when his hair had turned white overnight after a shoot-out five years before in which he'd nearly been killed. You looked at him and you trusted him.
"From what Quinlan told me-he insisted on talking to Scott Brainerd-it seems that Scott did indeed embezzle client funds on a very small scale. But your father caught him, and that was it. He did some of your father's dirty work, so your father really had him. Ah, you were right, he did have a lover, a guy named Alien Falkes, in the British embassy. I'm sorry."
"Actually, all of this comes as quite a relief. I'm not hurt, Mr. Brammer," she said, and it was true. "I'm just surprised by all of it. I've really been used, haven't I?"
"Yes, but a lot of people are used every day. Not as grossly as you've been, but manipulated by those who are more powerful, those who are smarter, those who have more money. But as I said, that won't be a problem anymore, Mrs. Brainerd."
"Call me Sally. After all this, I don't think I ever want to have the Brainerd name attached to me again."
"Sally. A nice name. Warm and funny and cozy. Quinlan likes your name. He said it was a name that made him feel good, made him feel like he'd always get a ready smile, and probably a good deal more, but he didn't add that. Sometimes Quinlan has discretion, at least when he's on the job-or rather, when he's talking to me, his boss."