Mind Games (18 page)

‘I guess she needs some rest.’

‘I guess she does.’ There was a tightness in Cathy’s expression as she stepped out and pulled the door shut behind her.

‘You want to run first and talk later?’ Grace asked. ‘Or we could just run.’

‘You’re the boss,’ Cathy said.

‘No, I’m not,’ Grace told her firmly. ‘I’ve imposed on you today, so you get to choose the game plan.’

Talking while they ran was out of the question, certainly for Grace, though she gave breathless thanks, as they sprinted along Anastasia Avenue towards the country club, to her
gym and to Harry, who enjoyed accompanying her on fairly regular sandy jogs in Miami Beach. Grace was eighteen years older than Cathy, but in pretty good shape, and she knew more than Cathy did
about pacing herself. Still, she also knew damned well that Cathy could, at any moment, have put on a burst of speed and easily left her behind, but she chose – whether out of kindness or
because she wanted the company – to match and stay with Grace.

‘Okay?’ she asked somewhere around the ten-minute mark.

‘Great,’ Grace told her.

‘Okay?’ she asked again, about another ten minutes later, and this time it was tough for Grace to manage more than a nod and a painful smile. Her heart was hammering, her calf and
thigh muscles shrieking, she was wetter than she’d been from anything other than a shower for a long time and she suddenly realized that Cathy had been upping the pace for a while, steadily
forcing her into a higher physical gear than she was used to.

Less than two minutes later, without warning, Cathy stopped, and as sometimes happened with exercise, it was the ceasing that almost felled Grace. She wasn’t sure how long she stood, bent
double, struggling to get her breath and quivering legs under control, but when she straightened up she saw they were standing in a small wooded area, and Cathy was watching her face.

‘Want to sit for a while?’

Grace nodded, still not quite able to speak.

Cathy looked towards a tree stump, smoothed and rounded by time. ‘I’ll take the grass – you can have that.’

Grace mouthed thanks and sank on to the stump while Cathy got down on the ground a few feet away, bending her knees and circling her arms around them. Grace’s muscles were still throbbing,
but her heart was returning to something like its normal rate. She looked across at Cathy and saw that her eyes were closed. There had been things Grace had wanted to ask her: she’d wanted to
ask if she’d been at the Bal Harbour Shops last Saturday lunchtime when she’d had that odd sensation of being watched; and more importantly she had intended to press Cathy at least a
little harder about her memories of her father. But in the first place Grace was keenly aware that they were just two days away from the funeral, and in the second she suddenly felt certain that
the teenager had her own agenda today, so she decided to keep silent. She didn’t have long to wait.

‘This morning,’ Cathy said, her eyes still closed, ‘after the cops had gone, Aunt Frances asked me to swear that I wasn’t the killer.’

Grace felt a rush of pity, but said nothing.

Cathy opened her eyes. ‘If my own aunt doesn’t believe me, who else is going to?’

‘I will,’ Grace said.

Cathy shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ She paused. ‘It’s awful about Doc Becket.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Is he going to be okay?’

‘I hope so.’

‘But you’re not sure.’

‘Not yet. He came through surgery well, which means he’s pretty strong.’ Grace wasn’t going to snow her. ‘There’s every reason to be hopeful, Cathy, but
he’s still unconscious.’

For several moments, neither of them spoke. Birds were calling from the trees, and the darkening sky and rising breeze warned that one of those short, sharp south Florida downpours might be
imminent.

‘Grace, how could anyone think I might want to hurt Dr Becket?’

There was bewilderment in that question and Grace knew, without a shadow of doubt, that it was genuine. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I think, maybe, it’s because they
feel they have no choice but to consider the possibility. Mostly because they haven’t found anyone else to suspect.’

‘It’s crazy,’ Cathy said.

Grace waited another moment. ‘Is it any less crazy, do you think, to suspect you of hurting your mother and stepfather? Or Beatrice Flager?’

‘In a way,’ Cathy answered.

Grace sat very still.

‘I mean, with my parents, I was there, wasn’t I?’ Her voice had become hazier, her eyes more distant. ‘And no one knows what might have gone on with us. I can see that. I
mean, some families hate each other, don’t they?’

‘Yes,’ Grace said, quietly, ‘they do.’

‘And then, with Beatrice, I guess someone might think I hated her. If they already thought I’d killed my parents. If they thought
I
was crazy.’ Cathy paused.
‘Maybe they do think that – after all, I got sent to a therapist, didn’t I?’

Grace kept silent again.

‘What are you thinking, Grace?’ Cathy asked.

‘About how logical you’re trying to be.’

Cathy got off the ground. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think. About how it might be looking to the police.’ She did some muscle stretches. ‘To people who don’t know
me.’

‘But your aunt does know you,’ Grace said.

‘I thought she did.’ She stopped stretching. The faraway look and tone were gone now, and suddenly all the logic was gone too and she was a bewildered teenager again. ‘I
couldn’t believe she was
asking
me that.’ Her fists were clenched and tears sprang to her eyes. ‘I’m not crazy, Grace. How could she
think
that about me?
She knew how Mom and I were together – how great Arnie was to me. How could she think I could ever hurt them?’

The rain began to fall, great warm drops that would turn into sheets of water any second, but Grace stayed put on the tree stump. ‘I expect she doesn’t really think that,
Cathy.’ She had to raise her voice against the sound of the shower. ‘I expect she’s just feeling very confused and mixed up.’

‘That’s what she said.’

‘Then it’s probably the truth.’

Wet as they both were, they walked slowly back to the house where Frances was awake and waiting for them. Having dispatched Cathy to dry herself and change her clothes, Frances
offered Grace some tea. It was the first overture of something approaching friendship that she’d offered since she had virtually threatened to fire her as Cathy’s psychologist on
Friday. Grace was more than happy to accept.

‘How do you think she is?’ Frances poured out tea, passed a cup. Her voice was low, and it was obvious she didn’t want Cathy to hear.

‘Distressed,’ Grace answered.

‘Did she tell you I upset her this morning?’

‘She told me you asked her to swear that she wasn’t the killer.’

Frances sat back wearily, her eyes distraught. ‘I shouldn’t have asked her, I know that. But I —’

‘You felt you needed to know,’ Grace said, gently.

Frances stirred her tea. ‘She’s been going to the house, you know. She’s been twice, on her own, not telling me till afterward.’

‘Since she and I went together?’ Grace was surprised. ‘Have the police given her permission to do that?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ Frances put down the spoon, but made no attempt to pick up her cup. ‘But if they know about it, no one seems to have stopped her.’

‘I’d imagine they do know.’ Grace was damned certain they knew, was pretty sure by now that the police were keeping a fairly close watch on Cathy. She hadn’t been aware
of any presence during their run this afternoon, but then again, psychologists weren’t the world’s greatest experts on checking for tails.

‘She says she doesn’t go inside,’ Frances went on. ‘She says she just likes being in the backyard.’

‘That was where she seemed most comforted when I took her back.’

‘So you don’t think it’s a problem?’

‘Do you think it’s a problem, Frances?’

‘I seem to feel that everything’s a problem these days, Grace.’ She leaned forward, her whole manner fatigued, and picked up her teacup.

‘I know about the drugs Broderick gave Marie and Cathy,’ Grace said, softly, hoping to get some questions answered before Cathy came back down.

In the midst of raising the cup to her lips, Frances stopped, and her hand trembled, forcing her to put it down again. ‘Who told you?’

‘David Becket.’ Grace saw the older woman’s eyes widen at the mention of his name. ‘He spoke to a contact at Lafayette Hospital in Tallahassee. I know that Broderick gave
Marie and Cathy sedatives, and I know about the progestogen and phenobarbitone.’ She paused. ‘What I don’t really know is why.’

‘Does it matter?’

‘I think so.’ Grace lowered her voice even further. ‘Frances, I know the funeral’s on Wednesday – I know the timing couldn’t be worse. But Cathy could be in
terrible trouble. I wish you’d understand that if I’m to try and help her, I need to know everything you can tell me. I don’t know what more I can say to convince you of
that.’

‘Jealousy,’ Frances said, swiftly, abruptly. ‘John was irrationally jealous of Marie, long before Cathy was born. He was always accusing her of having love affairs with other
men. There were no other men. The very idea was anathema to my sister.’ She paused. ‘Marie hoped the pregnancy might help matters, but they just got worse. You may find it hard to
believe, Grace, but John Broderick even seemed jealous of his own child.’

‘It happens,’ Grace said quietly, willing her to go on.

‘He was never a good father,’ Frances said. ‘I don’t think he was ever really normal. He was clever, of course, or else I don’t suppose he could have become a
physician, but he was not a normal husband or father.’

‘The records at Lafayette Hospital mentioned something about his having given them sedatives to keep them in order.’ Frances nodded. ‘That sounds like John.’ She leaned
forward, picked up her teacup again and, though her hands were still trembling a little, she managed to drink some. ‘He was the one having affairs, though Marie didn’t suspect him back
then, but by the time Cathy was two, he was rubbing her nose in his infidelity, saying it was all her fault.’

‘I gather Marie wanted more children.’

‘John put paid to that,’ Frances said bitterly.

‘The progestogen injections.’

She nodded again. ‘Another way of controlling her. Maybe of punishing her.’

‘What about the phenobarbitone?’ Grace knew she was pushing hard, but she also knew that Frances would stop as soon as Cathy appeared.

‘John told Marie one day – Cathy was about four, I think – that she’d had a seizure, and he was treating her with an anticonvulsant drug. Marie asked him if it was safe
or necessary, and he said it was.’ Clearly, Frances felt the same urgency. Now that she had begun, she wanted, needed, to get it all said. ‘When Cathy’s teachers at her
kindergarten said they were concerned about the child’s lack of concentration, Marie asked John if it might have something to do with the medication he was giving her. He said those symptoms
just proved how much she needed the drug.’

‘Didn’t Marie suggest a second opinion?’

‘John said that if she didn’t trust him as a physician, then she was welcome to go elsewhere. Marie didn’t dare go against him. She was too afraid of wrecking her
marriage.’ Frances shook her head. ‘He walked out on her anyway. I thought that was the best thing he’d ever done. Marie didn’t agree with me, of course.’

‘Not even when she found out what he’d been doing to her and Cathy?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Frances said. ‘She agreed then. She hated him then. She got a court order to keep him away from the little one. John fought it, put all kinds of pressure on
Cathy.’ She paused. ‘There was nothing he wouldn’t stoop to, Grace. Even suicide attempts.’

Grace was startled. ‘You mean he’d tried before?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Frances said again. ‘Twice. Once, by slashing his wrists.’ She stopped, hesitating.

‘And the next time?’

‘He cut his throat.’

Grace thought about Marie and Arnold Robbins. The possible implications of what Frances had just said made her feel ill.

Cathy came into the room. She’d showered and changed into a white sleeveless dress. ‘Talking about me?’ The question was posed lightly, but the resentment beneath was plain
enough.

‘Not really,’ Frances said, nervously.

‘You didn’t tell me you’d been back to your house again,’ Grace said.

‘I didn’t know I had to tell you,’ Cathy said.

‘You didn’t,’ Grace agreed easily.

‘You were talking about my first father.’ Cathy’s voice became jerky and tense. ‘I heard you.’

‘I was asking your aunt some questions about your childhood.’

‘We’re not supposed to talk about that,’ Cathy accused Frances. ‘You know Mom didn’t want us to talk about it.’

‘I thought you didn’t remember anything to talk about,’ Grace said, gently.

‘I don’t,’ she said.

‘Why don’t we all just have some tea?’ Frances suggested.

‘Why don’t you just betray my mother some more?’ Cathy was getting wilder, more bitter. ‘Just tell Grace all our private stuff, and then maybe she’ll understand why
you think I killed Mom and Arnie and Beatrice —’

‘I
don’t
think that!’

‘Yes, you
do
– you think I’m crazy or something – you think I’m like him, like my father —’

‘Cathy, I don’t think anything of the kind.’ Frances was up on her feet, more wretched than ever. ‘You’re
nothing
like him – you’re a sweet,
good, normal girl —’

‘So why do I have to keep seeing a shrink?’ Cathy demanded.

‘Because you’ve been through a terrible ordeal.’ It was time to calm things down, Grace felt, before they got too far out of control – though in one sense she was glad to
see the well-mannered, orderly, unnatural atmosphere of Frances Dean’s house being tossed around a little. ‘Because most people need a little help sorting through their emotions and
reactions at a time like this.’

‘Maybe I don’t need help.’

‘Maybe you don’t,’ Grace said.

‘Maybe
I
do,’ Frances said. There were tears in her eyes. ‘I’ve lost my sister, Cathy, you seem to forget that. Your mother was my closest friend. I loved her
very much – and I was very fond of Arnold, too.’