She said nothing to that.
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Brammer really didn't know why he was doing it, but this thin young woman who'd been through more than her fair share for a lifetime, who didn't know the first thing about getting information out of people, had made him spill his guts-and she hadn't said a thing.
Actually, he wanted to take her home with him and feed her and tell her jokes until she was smiling and laughing all the time.
He said, impelled by all the protective instincts she fostered in him, "I've known Quinlan for six years.
He's an excellent agent. He's smart and he's intuitive. He's got this sort of extra sense that many times puts him nearly in another person's head-or heart. Sometimes I'm not sure which. Sometimes I have to rein him in, yell at him because he plays a lone hand, which we don't like to have happen. Bureau agents are trained to be team players, except for those in New York City, of course, and Quinlan down here at the Metro office. But I always know when he's doing it, even though he thinks he's fooling me.
"He also has this knack for making people remember things buried deep in their brains. He did that with you tonight, didn't he?"
"Yes. But, on the other hand, Mr. Brammer, you got even more out of me."
"Ah, but that's just because Quinlan opened the spigot, so to speak. Now, in addition to being one of the best agents in this office, he's a very talented man. He plays the saxophone. He's from a huge family sprawled out all over the East Coast. His father retired two years ago, one of the best chiefs the bureau has ever had. His first wife, Teresa, was a big mistake, but that's over with. He hunkered down for a while, rethought lots of things, and then he came out of hibernation, and he got well. Now he's met you, and all he can do is smile and rub his hands together and talk about the future. Treat him well, Sally."
"As in be gentle with him?"
Marvin Brammer laughed. "Nan, beat on him, give him a run for his money, don't let him pull any of his smart-ass pranks on you."
"Pranks?"
He gave her a surprised grin, then just shook his head. "You haven't known him all that long. You'll see, once you're married, Sally. Maybe even before you're married. Quinlan's daddy was just the same. But Quinlan has something his daddy didn't have."
"What's that?"
"You," Marvin Brammer said. He touched his palm lightly to her cheek. "Don't worry, Sally. We'll get your father, and he'll pay big time for what he's done. Quinlan was talking a mile a minute to bring me up-to-date. He told me about your father calling you twice and his face appearing in your bedroom window when you were staying at your aunt's house in this small town called The Cove. Of course, he thought it was someone mimicking your father, that or a spliced tape. He said you knew it was your father. And that scared you. He told me he'd never doubt you about anything again. Now, Sally, let's get honest here. It's not just the murder of that unknown man, it's not just what he did to you, although that turns my stomach-it's the dirty dealings he's been pulling for several years now, the arms sales to very bad people. The feds will chew him up for that, and that, naturally, is why we got involved in the first place after his murder. I'm sorry he had to be your father. We believe that's another reason he Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
locked you away in Beadermeyer's sanitarium. He did believe, according to Scott Brainerd, that you had seen some compromising papers. You don't remember seeing any papers that could have implicated your father in the arms dealing?"
She shook her head. "No, really, Mr. Brammer. But you do believe this was one of the reasons my father had me admitted to Doctor Beadermeyer's sanitarium?"
"It sounds probable. The other thing-the revenge angle-it seems reasonable, but frankly I don't think it's enough of a motive in itself. No, I think it was a bunch of things, but primarily that he knew Scott was losing you, and thus he, Amory St. John, was losing control. And he believed you'd seen some incriminating papers about the arms deals. There's more than enough there, Sally. What was uppermost in your father's mind? I don't know. We'll never know."
"You don't know how much he hated me. I'll bet even my mother believes it's enough of a motive."
"We'll find out when we catch him," Marvin Brammer said. "Then we'll make him pay. I'm sure sorry about all this, Sally. Not much of a decent childhood for you, but there's rottenness in some people, and that's just the way it is."
"What will happen to Doctor Beadermeyer?"
"Ah, Norman Lipsy. If only we'd thought to put Dillon on him earlier. That man can make a computer tap-dance. We all laugh that he's not a loner like Quinlan because he's always got his computer tucked under his arm, a modem wrapped around his neck like a stethoscope. He can get into any system on the planet. He's amazing. We kid him that he sleeps with the bloody thing. I think that even if someone gave him a turn-of-the-century telephone, he could invent a modem that would work. Agents in the bureau don't have partners like cops do, but Quinlan and Dillon, well, they always do well together.
"Good Lord, why'd I get off on that? You wanted to know about Norman Lipsy. He'll go to jail for a very long time. Don't spend any time worrying about him. He refused to say a thing. Said that Holland was a moron and a liar. But it doesn't matter. We've got the goods on him."
She shivered, her arms wrapped around herself. He wanted to comfort her somehow, but he didn't know what to do.
He said, "Believe me, Lipsy is going down hard. We don't as yet know all the people he's holding there against their will. Our people will interview each one, look at each one's file, speak to all the relatives. It'll shake out soon enough. I think when it's all over, lots of very rich, very famous folk aren't going to be happy.
"Also, Lipsy's an accessory to murder. He's gone for good, Sally. No need for you to worry about him."
Jesus, what had that man done to her? He couldn't imagine. He really didn't want to be able to.
When Quinlan walked up, his eyes alight with pleasure at the sight of Sally, all skinny and pale, her hair mussed, her own eyes bright with the sight of him, Marvin Brammer wandered back into his office thinking that he couldn't remember the last time he'd talked so much.
She would pry every secret out of Quinlan and he wouldn't even know what she was doing. Better yet, she didn't even realize the effect she had on people.
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Good thing she wasn't a spy, they'd all be in deep shit. He was also mighty relieved that her mama hadn't been in on the nastiness.
25
QUINLAN BROUGHT HER home, to his apartment, to his bedroom, to his bed, and now he was holding her, lightly stroking his hand up and down her back.
She was so very thin. He could feel her pelvic bones, the thinness of her arms through her nightgown. He had the urge to phone out for Chinese food-lots of sugar in Szechwan beef and pot stickers-but he decided he'd rather be doing what he was doing. Besides, he'd already stuffed her to the gills with spaghetti, lots of Parmesan on top, and hot garlic bread that wasn't nearly as good as Martha's.
"James?"
"You're supposed to be asleep."
“Mr. Brammer was very nice to me. He told me a thing or two about you, too."
Quinlan stared at her. "You're kidding. Brammer is the biggest closed-mouth in the FBI. If they gave awards for it, he'd win hands down."
"Not tonight. Maybe he was tired or excited, like you were. Yep, he told me lots of things. You've got a big family. You're a lot like your father, just for starters."
This was interesting. Quinlan cleared his throat against her hair. "Urn, was all he talked about-it was all the case and the players?"