Mind Games

by Hilary Norman

  ‘No State Attorney’s going to take that before a jury, Grace.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ she said. ‘But we need a resolution to this. An ending. Cathy needs an ending if she’s ever going to get through it all and move forward.’

  Chapter Eighty-one

  TUESDAY, AUGUST 25, 1998

  Broderick was out of hospital and in prison.

  Within a few days of his settling down in his maximum security cell, he made it known to his lawyer that he might now be willing to start talking, but that he had one condition.

  Sam thought about going over to Grace’s house to break the news to her, but he was on duty and he knew it was too important to wait till evening – and besides, there was no way of softening the impact of Broderick’s demand.

  ‘He wants to see Cathy,’ Sam told Grace on the phone.

  He knew, more or less, what she was going to say. Cathy had only been back home for a few days. She was in good shape physically, but emotionally she was fragile. How could she not be?

  ‘Over my dead body.’

  ‘The chief says we have to ask her.’

  ‘The hell we do.’

  Sam gave her a moment. ‘You could be with her.’

  ‘I don’t want her to be put through that, Sam,’ Grace said.

  ‘I know. Nor do I.’ He paused. ‘And I don’t want to say what I have to say next, either.’

  ‘Please tell me it has nothing to do with Broderick’s being her father?’ Grace’s voice was very strained.

  ‘That’s what he still is,’ Sam said quietly. ‘I hate it as much as you do.’

  ‘Then please stop this from happening.’

  ‘I don’t think I can do that.’

  ‘Sure you can – just tell the chief that we’re not going to ask Cathy.’

  ‘If we don’t, someone else will.’

  Grace said nothing.

  ‘Maybe it’ll help,’ Sam said.

  ‘How could seeing that monster possibly help?’

  ‘What’s that word you used – when you talked about going back to Chicago for your mother’s funeral?’ Sam searched for it. ‘Closure.’

  ‘I think that what I told you,’ Grace said, coolly, ‘was that I didn’t think I had achieved closure.’

  ‘But I think you said that your sister seemed to have.’

  Grace opened her mouth to retaliate, then shut it again. He was right, God damn him, he was right.

  ‘Oh, Sam.’

  ‘I know.’

  She took another moment, fighting for composure.

  ‘I’m only going to ask Cathy. If she says no, then that’s it. Okay?’

  ‘Of course,’ Sam said.

  ‘He really is a monster, isn’t he?’

  ‘Certainly seems that way.’

  Cathy shrank away a little at the words, but then, just as Grace was starting to tell her that no one was going to make her go to the prison, she said that she wanted to see Broderick.

  ‘I think maybe I have to,’ she told Grace.

  ‘Sweetheart, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You’ve been through more than enough – no one’s going to force you to see him.’

  Cathy said nothing for a few seconds.

  ‘But if I don’t, I’m always going to have that last picture of him in my head.’ Her eyes were cloudy, the way they always were when she was deeply burdened. ‘He was trying to kill you, Grace. And he laughed.’

  ‘I know,’ Grace said, very softly.

  ‘I think –’ Cathy stopped.

  ‘What, Cathy?’

  ‘I think, maybe, I need to see him to be sure.’

  ‘Sure of what?’ Grace asked, gently.

  ‘That I’m not like him,’ Cathy said.

  ‘Oh, Cathy.’ Grace couldn’t stop her dismay showing through. ‘You’re nothing like Broderick – you must never think that way.’ She knew, even as the words were out, that she was wholly wrong and that, as a psychologist, she ought never to have allowed such folly to slip out, because of course Cathy was going to think that way – how could she not?

  Cathy put it perfectly simply.

  ‘He’s my father, Grace. I’m his daughter.’

  Grace brought herself back under control.

  ‘You’re also Marie’s daughter,’ she said. ‘And Arnie’s.’

  ‘I know that,’ Cathy said, and her mouth quivered. ‘But still, I think I do have to go see him.’

  Chapter Eighty-two

  FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 1998

  Cathy had been jittery and pale from the moment they’d left home. Grace had asked her twice if she wanted to change her mind. The first time, Cathy had said no, but her eyes had, to Grace, seemed to be yearning to say yes. The next time, Cathy had snapped at her and the look of yearning had gone. Grace had known better than to ask again.

  Inside the prison, she got worse, jumping every time a door clanged shut. Grace took her hand a few times, and in response Cathy’s fingernails dug into her flesh so hard that it hurt, but she held on and said nothing. Grace knew she could not begin to imagine what Cathy was going through. Just coming back into a prison of any kind after the last few months would have been a nightmare. Coming into this place to see Broderick had to be hell on earth.

  Their visit had been well-prepared for and there were no significant delays to make the tension worse. When the moment came for them both to be frisked, Grace was all set for Cathy to break down, but she seemed, superficially at least, to have become almost calm.

  ‘Holding up?’ Grace asked her quietly.

  Cathy nodded. ‘You?’

  ‘I’m fine, too.’

  They were, they were told, using the lawyer’s interview room. It was long and narrow, with four chairs fixed to the floor within partitions, set about six to eight feet apart, a small area of counter top before each one. A window stretching from wall to wall and from the counter tops up to the ceiling divided them from a similar set-up on the other side. There were circles cut in the thick plastic window with narrow slits for them to speak through. A folding chair had been placed beside one of the fixed seats.

  ‘You take that one.’ Grace indicated the chair bolted to the floor.

  Cathy sat without a word.

  They waited.

  His red prison jumpsuit and handcuffs aside, Broderick already looked startlingly different. Grace had only seen him as Parés that one time, that night, but she could tell that this sight of him was a fresh shock for Cathy.

  No hair dye in jail, Grace thought.

  That was part of it. There was already about a half inch of new growth at the receding hairline, more greying than the blond she knew it had been.

  No lenses.

  That was the biggest thing. Parés had had brown eyes. Broderick’s were blue. Grace wished with all her heart that they were a different blue, but they were almost identical to Cathy’s colour.

  Only the colour. Nothing else.

  Broderick was the first to speak.

  ‘I told my lawyer I wanted to see you alone.’ He spoke directly to Cathy, ignoring Grace. ‘But now I have these gentlemen’ – he jerked his head in the direction of the two guards standing near the door behind him – ‘and I have her.’

  ‘I wanted Grace with me.’ Cathy’s voice trembled just a little.

  Don’t let him get control, Lucca.

  ‘We told your lawyer that my presence was not negotiable,’ Grace said.

  ‘I know you did.’ Still, Broderick did not look at her.

  ‘Why did you want to see me?’ Cathy asked him.

  ‘Why do you think?’

  ‘You tell me,’ she said.

  The fear almost left Grace then. She had thought for a long time that Cathy was a remarkable person. She had not understood till now, till this instant, just how very brave she was.

  Broderick seemed to read her mind. For the first time, he looked at her.

  ‘Cathy still living with you, doctor?’

  ‘That isn’t really yo
ur concern,’ Grace answered.

  ‘Sure it’s my concern.’ First flash of anger. ‘She’s my daughter.’

  Grace didn’t speak.

  ‘Perhaps you think you’re her new mother?’ Broderick said.

  He’s trying to get control again. Don’t let him.

  ‘Grace is my friend,’ Cathy said.

  Broderick was still looking at Grace. ‘If you’re planning on playing Cathy’s mommy, what does that make your boyfriend? Her daddy?’

  Grace took a breath. ‘Mr Broderick, what is it you wanted to say to Cathy? We’re not going to be here for very much longer.’

  ‘My name is Dr Broderick.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Grace said.

  Broderick turned his attention back to Cathy. ‘How are the relaxation exercises going, Cathy, dear?’ He was calm again.

  Grace felt Cathy flinch. She had an almost overpowering urge to grab her by the hand and pull her out of the room.

  ‘How could you do those things?’ Cathy asked.

  Her composure, her strength, almost blew Grace away again.

  ‘What things are you talking about, dear?’ Broderick enquired.

  ‘You know what things.’ Cathy’s voice faltered slightly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘unless you tell me.’

  ‘Cathy.’ Grace touched her right arm, gently. ‘Don’t put yourself through more than you have to.’

  ‘Fuck off, Mommy,’ he said.

  ‘Watch your mouth, Broderick,’ one of the guards near the door warned.

  Cathy started to rise, then sat down again. ‘There’s just one thing I want to tell him,’ she told Grace, ‘and then we can go. Okay?’

  Grace nodded. ‘Whatever you want.’

  Cathy turned back to look at him.

  ‘I never did hate you, you know. Before, I mean.’

  ‘Gee,’ Broderick said.

  ‘I didn’t know how to hate back then.’

  ‘But you’ve learned, haven’t you, daughter?’

  She nodded, slowly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that it?’ Broderick leaned forward in his seat until his forehead was almost touching the window on his side and his breath misted the plastic.

  ‘Yes,’ Cathy said. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Then I have something I need to make sure you know, little girl.’

  Grace felt Cathy go rigid.

  Broderick leaned back again a little, then directed his voice right at the slatted circle in the window, making sure he was going to be heard.

  ‘I don’t forgive you for anything, Cathy,’ he said, loud and clear. ‘And I do hate you. I hated you from the instant you were conceived.’

  Grace stood up. ‘Come on, Cathy.’

  ‘You wrecked my marriage and then you and your mother destroyed my career, and you wanted to destroy my life, too.’ The hatred wasn’t really visible in Broderick’s eyes or tone now, only his pleasure. ‘I want you to know that – and I want you to understand that you are responsible for your mother’s death, and for all the others.’ He smiled through the plastic into her eyes. ‘They may have let you out of prison, Cathy, but I know the truth and it’s only right that you should know it, too.’

  Cathy got up, too. She was shaking visibly.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘You run, both of you.’

  Cathy turned to Grace. Tears swam in her eyes.

  ‘That’s all I wanted you to know.’ Broderick was still seated. ‘That I still blame you and hate you. And I always will.’

  Grace took Cathy’s hand and walked her towards the door.

  Neither of them looked back.

  They were almost at the outer gate of the prison when Grace heard a man calling her name, halting her. It was one of the two guards who’d been on Broderick’s side of the window, the one who’d rebuked him when he’d sworn.

  ‘A word, ma’am?’ he said to Grace.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Alone, if you don’t mind.’ The guard paused. ‘It’ll only take a second.’

  Grace looked at Cathy. She nodded.

  The guard walked about six feet back in the corridor. Grace followed him. He was a large, overweight man with close-cropped brown hair and narrow grey eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘I really want us to get out of here.’

  ‘I understand, ma’am, and I’m real sorry to hold you up.’

  ‘That’s all right.’

  The man’s eyes were very intense.

  ‘We just want you to tell the young lady – if you think it’s right, that is – we want you to tell her that we’re real sorry for her pain.’

  Grace looked at him, surprised. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s kind of you.’ She started to turn away.

  ‘There are men in here’ – the guard’s voice stopped her again – ‘who don’t like what he’s done to her, and who aren’t going to like what he’s still tryin’ to do.’ He paused. ‘That’s just for you to know, doctor. It’s maybe better she doesn’t know that.’ He paused again. ‘Just tell her not to fret too much. Okay, ma’am?’

  Grace looked into the meaningful eyes and felt a cold shiver creep up her spine.

  ‘Okay,’ she said.

  Chapter Eighty-three

  Grace heard about the new find later that evening.

  Sam was waiting at the house to greet them when they got home from the prison, his eyes anxious.

  Cathy looked at him for just a moment after they’d walked in the door, and then she went straight into his arms and let him hold her.

  Grace watched Sam’s face, and was grateful beyond words.

  He waited till Cathy was asleep in bed.

  ‘They found Broderick’s real home today. A boat named Healer.’

  Grace was listening intently.

  ‘Seems she’s been anchored off Key Biscayne, just sitting there waiting for someone to find.’ Sam paused. ‘Another boat anchored close up to her yesterday – a family on vacation. You know, meals on deck, swimming around, hanging loose.’

  ‘And?’ Grace urged him on.

  They were sitting in the kitchen. Sam waited for a moment, listening, wanting to be certain Cathy wasn’t awake and coming downstairs.

  ‘They smelled something bad. They told the Marine Patrol that they thought it was something in the water. They kept waiting for it to shift along with the current, but it never did. Finally, they realized it was something to do with the other boat anchored nearby.’

  ‘The Healer,’ Grace said.

  For the second time that day, she shivered.

  The cabin cruiser had told the police much of what they’d wanted to know about John Broderick, and more besides.

  Shelves and cubbyholes crammed with drugs, legal and illegal: sedatives, hypnotics, amphetamines and hallucinogenics; an array of psycho-control weapons ranging from AMF and DOB, through Quaaludes, Ritalin, cannabis and LSD, down to chloral hydrate, morphine and a whole range of benzodiazepines. An obsessive, amateur psychopharmacologist’s paradise playground. More than enough dope for Broderick to have played all the mind games he needed with Christ-alone-knew how many others – and maybe himself – and certainly to have sedated his victims in various ways to make it seem feasible that someone unthreatening – like Cathy – had been able to move in close enough to stab them.

  They had found the cause of the bad smell, too.

  There was a body on board the Healer.

  Peter Hayman’s – Paul Harding’s – body.

  ‘He was tied up,’ Sam told Grace quietly. ‘Bound and gagged and probably stuffed with dope, according to the ME’s first report.’ He paused. ‘He thinks Hayman – Harding – was almost certainly alive when Broderick left him there.’

  ‘Or else why bother to tie him up?’ Grace murmured, feeling sick.

  ‘Or Broderick may have realized he’d died and just not bothered untying him,’ Sam said. ‘Either way . . .’ His voice trailed off.

  Grace closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them
again.

  ‘How are we supposed to feel about this?’ she asked.

  ‘You’re the doc.’

  ‘Not right now I’m not.’

  ‘I know,’ he said.

  They decided on a stiff drink.

  ‘I don’t know if we’re supposed to feel better about Hayman or not,’ Grace said after a few sips of whisky. ‘Less guilty.’

  ‘We are less guilty,’ Sam said.

  ‘Because he didn’t drown?’ she said ironically. ‘Because Broderick finished what we started?’

  ‘Partly, yes,’ Sam said. ‘Mostly because we know what Harding did to his own son and maybe to a few others.’

  ‘I’m not used to being an executioner, Sam. I’m just a psychologist.’ Grace took another drink. ‘I’m supposed to help people like Paul Harding.’

  ‘You thought he was trying to kill you,’ Sam reminded her. ‘So did I.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We still don’t know that he wasn’t.’

  They both drank some more whisky and were silent for a while.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Grace asked, finally. ‘I mean, what’s the connection between them? How did Hayman get to be on Broderick’s boat?’

  ‘We don’t know about the connection yet,’ Sam answered. ‘But it seems that, for whatever reason, Broderick must have been watching the Snowbird. We know he was at the detention centre early that afternoon, but that still gave him enough time to get down to Key Largo. There were a few other boats around, remember, when the coastguard got to us on Kuntz’s boat? Broderick must have picked Hayman – Harding – up after the capsize, stashed him on the Healer and then gotten out of the way.’

  Grace nodded, slowly. ‘Watching. Waiting. That’s what Broderick’s been doing all these years, isn’t it?’

  ‘Care to know Martinez’s verdict on the Broderick-Harding link?’

  Grace nodded again.

  Sam’s grin was wry and bleak.

  ‘One sick fuck attracts another,’ he said.

  The Healer, they learned, had been registered for the past ten years to one James Brody, supposedly a resident of West Palm Beach. Broderick, the police concluded, had planned well, simply sailing away from his own pre-arranged capsize off Pensacola and moving on shore whenever it suited him.