Catherine Coulter - The Cove

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. 1 just never considered that he'd be Canadian, not with a name like Beadermeyer. I wasn't getting into the right databases."

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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.

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"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?"

"Yeah," Dillon said. "I'd say that's plain not good. It's a good thing that Quinlan here doesn't look like anybody except himself."

"I came home at random times. He knew I would. Once when I'd been visiting Noelle, after I left to go back to my apartment, I realized I'd forgotten my sweater. I went back into the house and there he was, kicking my mother. I went to the phone to dial 911. As far as I was concerned, it was the last straw. I just didn't care anymore. He was going to pay. You won't believe it, but my mother crawled to me, grabbed my leg, and begged me not to call the cops. My father stood there in the library doorway and dared me to do it. He dared me, all the while watching my mother sobbing and pleading, on her knees, her nails digging into my jeans. Jesus, it was horrible. I put down the phone and left. I never went back. I just couldn't. Nothing I did mattered, not really. If I was there for a while, he just waited until I left. Then he probably beat her more viciously than if I'd never been there at all. I remember I wondered if he'd broken her ribs that time, but I never asked. What good would it have done?"'

"But he didn't take his revenge until six months ago," Dillon said. "He waited-what?-some five years before he went after you."

"That's not quite true. He started his revenge with Scott. I'm convinced of that now. Yes, he was behind my marriage to Scott. There weren't any men in my life before that. I worked for Senator Bainbridge right out of college. I was happy. I never saw my parents. I had friends. I'd see my father every once in a while, by accident, and I could tell that he still hated my guts.

"I remember once at a party, I ran into my mother in the women's room. She was combing her hair and her long sleeve had fallen away. There was a horrible purple bruise on her arm. I remember just looking at it and saying, 'What kind of monster in you allows you to let that bastard beat you?'

"She slapped me. I guess I deserved it. I didn't see her again until that night I went to her for money when I was running away from you."

"You do remember actually going to your parents' house the night your father was killed?"

"Yes, but nothing else is clear. How was I sure my father was dead? I don't know. But I did know, and I guess I must have believed that Noelle finally couldn't stand the beatings any more. Yes, that's what I must have thought, although all that isn't particularly clear."

She began to rub her temples with the palms of her hands. "No, I don't know, James. I think I remember screams, I think I can see a gun, but nothing else, just these images. And maybe blood. I remember blood. But my father? Dead? Was Noelle there? I just can't swear to anything. I'm sorry. I'm no help at all."

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But Quinlan wasn't worried. He looked over at Dillon whose fingers were tap-dancing on his laptop, nary a furrow of worry on his brow. He knew that Dillon was hearing everything they said. He also knew that Dillon wasn't worried either.

Quinlan had pulled this off before. They had lots to work with. Sally was ready.

He said slowly, more to himself really, so she would get calm again, "So your father bided his time."

"Yes. It wasn't until after we were married that I found out my father was Scott's boss. He'd never told me what firm he was with. He was vague and I didn't really pay attention. It was all downhill from there, once I found out."

Quinlan paced his living room, not nervous pacing, just rhythmic strides. Dillon worked MAX's keyboard. Sally rubbed the dust off the small rubber tree that sat in a beautiful oriental pot next to the sofa.