The Cove
Page 88

“Better yet,” Dillon said, looking back down at his computer screen, “let’s get all three of them together—your mother, your husband, and Doctor Beadermeyer. You think the time is right, Quinlan?”
“I don’t know,” Quinlan said. “Maybe it’s too soon.” He gave Sally a worried look. “You really sure about this, Sally?”
She looked strong, her thin shoulders back, those soft blue eyes of hers hard and steady. She looked ready to take on the bear. “I’m sure.”
It was all he needed. Yeah, it was time to find out the truth. He nodded.
“Maybe they’ll be tired,” Dillon said. “Hot damn. Finally I’ve found it.” He gave them a big grin. “I’m good,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Real good.”
“What are you talking about?” Quinlan said, striding over to Dillon. He leaned down to look at the screen.
“Everything we ever wanted to know about Doctor Alfred Beadermeyer. His real name is Norman Lipsy and he’s Canadian. He did go to medical—McGill in Montreal.
“My, my, he has a specialty in plastic surgery. And there’s lots more. Sorry it took me so long. I just never considered that he’d be Canadian, not with a name like Beadermeyer. I wasn’t getting into the right databases.” He rubbed his hands together. “I found him on a cosmetic surgeons roster, along with a photo. Said he graduated from McGill.”
“This is incredible,” Quinlan said. “Excellent, Dillon.”
“Bet your ass. Now, before we’re off, let me try just a couple more things on Scott Brainerd. Where’d he get his law degree, Sally?”
“Harvard.”
“Yeah, it does show him graduating Harvard in 1985 with honors. Too bad. I was hoping maybe he’d lied about that.”
Quinlan said, “You’re still sure, Sally? You ready to see Scott? Beadermeyer? After what he tried tonight? You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. No more. It’s crazy. It’s got to end. If I killed my father, I want to know. If Noelle or someone else did, then let’s find out. I won’t fall apart, James. I can’t stand this fuzziness anymore, this constant mess of blurred images, the voices that are all melting together.”
Quinlan said very slowly, in that wonderful soothing voice of his, “Before we leave I want to go over some more things with you. You up to it?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I’m ready. We already talked about Scott and my father.” She stopped, her fingers rubbing the pleats in her corduroy slacks.
“What is it?”
“It’s about my father. And my mother.” She looked down at her hands. Thin hands, skinny fingers, short fingernails. At least she hadn’t bitten them since she’d met James.
“What is it, Sally? Come now, no more secrets.”
“He beat my mother, viciously. I caught him doing it when I was just sixteen. That was when I moved back from the girls’ school in Virginia. I tried to protect her—”
Dillon’s head came up. “You’re saying your father, the senior legal counsel of TransCon International, was a wife beater?”
“Why am I not surprised?” Quinlan said. He sat beside her and took one of her hands and waited, saying nothing more, just holding her hand. She’d lived through that?
“My mother—Noelle—she wouldn’t do anything about it. She just took it. I guess since he was so well known and respected and rich, and she was part of it, she couldn’t bear the humiliation or losing all she had.
“I remember I always looked forward to parties, diplomatic gatherings—he was invited to all of them—those lavish lobbyist banquets, intimate little power lunches where wives were trotted out to show off, magazine interviews, things like that, because I knew he wouldn’t dare hit Noelle then—there’d be photos taken of the two of them together. He knew that I knew, and that made him hate me even more.
“When I didn’t leave the District to go to college, I thought he would kill me. He’d really counted on my leaving. He hadn’t dreamed that I’d still be at home, watching him. He actually raised his hand, but then he lowered it, very slowly.
“I’ll never forget the hatred in his eyes. He was very handsome, you know, thick, dark hair with white threaded through, dark-blue eyes, tall and slender. High cheekbones, sculpted elegantly to make him look like an aristocrat.
“Actually, he’s just an older version of Scott. Isn’t that strange that I thought I fell in love with a man who looked like my father?”