you,” I said, “then I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t say that.”
She was still holding my phone. I resisted the urge to grab it.
“Madeleine . . . why did Frankie kill those women?”
She made a fist in the quilt, pulled it over her lap. “You know why. My dad did the same thing when he was young. He liked having power over them. With Frankie . . . it just went too far.”
“No,” I said. “That’s your father’s excuse, but it wasn’t about power for Frankie. Frankie strangled his victims. It was about hatred.”
Madeleine said nothing. She rubbed her arms, as if she could still feel the bruises that used to be there when she was ten years old.
“Frankie hated your father,” I said. “Your father drove your mom to an early grave. Frankie couldn’t take out his anger on his dad, so he took it out on everyone else. Teachers and police. You. Finally, the women along Mission Road, the same area where your father once preyed. Frankie couldn’t hold your father accountable. He didn’t have the courage or strength for that. So he killed those women instead. It was the best he could do.”
Madeleine stared at the letter jacket on the security camera. “I hate this room.”
“Your father put you in that treatment facility partly for your own protection,” I guessed. “He was worried what Frankie might do to you.”
She didn’t answer.
“Don’t try to please your dad,” I told her. “Don’t try to follow in his footsteps.”
“Who says I am?”
“Walk away. Move. Go out of state. Wouldn’t he let you?”
Madeleine smoothed the quilt over her lap. “You moved to California for a while, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did that work for you—just leaving?”
Direct hit.
“Alex is jockeying to take over the operation,” I said. “Once your dad dies, he’ll either force you to marry him or kill you. He’ll have to.”
“He wouldn’t dare.”
“He as much as admitted it,” I said.
Madeleine stood, steadied herself on the bedpost. “Your friend’s wife, the cop lady—she’s getting better.”
I had to make an effort not to look at the hole in the wall. “Is that what the call was about?”
“The call? No. Her condition is a secret. My dad has strings he can pull. Even with doctors. Well . . . especially with doctors, these days. They’re keeping her sedated to keep an eye on her heart rate, but they’ll probably try to bring her around late tomorrow, maybe Monday.”
“And she’ll tell who shot her.”
Madeleine nodded. “And maybe who shot Frankie.”
“Who else knows this?”
“Just the cops, I guess.”
That didn’t make me feel better, after all the things Maia had told me.
“The lady who was here earlier,” Madeleine said.
“Maia Lee.”
“You two . . . serious?”
I nodded.
Madeleine said, “Oh.”
She picked up her champagne, staggered toward the door.
“That’s who called,” she threw over her shoulder. “She wanted to talk to you. I said you were busy.”
“She must have loved that.”
“She sounded pretty desperate. Guess that’s why she trusted me with the message.”
“What message?”
“‘The news is coming early.’ ”
“That’s it?”
“I thought she meant the news about the police lady in the hospital getting better. But now . . . I’m not sure. She said you needed to meet her as soon as possible. I got the feeling she wanted you out of here—fast.”
I tried to look puzzled instead of scared for my life. I’m not sure I pulled it off. I glanced at the bedroom door behind Madeleine, and wondered, briefly, if she were drunk enough for me to overpower her and make a break for it. Probably she wasn’t.
“Why would your girlfriend want you out of here?” she asked.
“Jealousy,” I speculated. “Because I’m having too much fun.”
Madeleine studied me. “You’re weird.”
“You wouldn’t consider letting Ralph and me out?”
“Another two prisoners running across the lawn in the middle of my dad’s party? I don’t think he’d like that. I delivered the message. That’s my risk for the evening. G’night.”
“Thanks, Madeleine.”
“Hope it works out with you and Maia. Depending on this . . . news.”
She closed the door behind her.
I waited for five seconds, then checked the deadbolt. Blessed be the inebriated. She’d forgotten to relock the door. I was thinking about how to jam it open when I heard Virgil’s voice outside, talking to some other guy.
I stayed still, waited.
The guys were right outside the door. Virgil grumbled something about Madeleine. The other guy laughed.
Neither of them checked the lock.
I could bust out and surprise them, but two against one, me with only a baseball bat and fashionable silk pajamas—I didn’t like the odds. I could