The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [116]
“Of course not,” Peggy said. “John Chapman was a friend of Sara’s. She’s just upset. Senator Cormier was autopsied and has already been thoroughly discussed at a death conference. I made it a point to attend. He had extensive coronary artery disease and simply had a fatal heart attack during surgery. That’s all there is to that.”
“I’m glad.” There was genuine relief in Barbara’s face and voice. “Peggy, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been available to discuss this. Everything seemed to be coming apart.”
“Nonsense. You’re doing a wonderful job. Our Sisterhood has not only survived for forty years, it has grown. A situation like this Shelton business may dent our solidarity, but it won’t break it. Just leave these letters with me. By day’s end I’ll have the whole matter under control.”
“Thank you,” Barbara said, taking Peggy’s hand. “Thank you.” She let herself out.
“The pillow, baby. Just set it over my face and lean on it as hard as you can. It won’t take long.” They’re trying to destroy me, mama. They’re trying to destroy our Sisterhood. Margaret Armstrong’s eyes were closed even before the outside door of her office clicked shut behind Barbara. The sense of that evening so many years ago, of the hospital room, of the pain on her mother’s face—suddenly they were real once again.
“Mama, I … Please, mama. Please don’t make me do it.”
“I love you. If you love me too, you won’t let me hurt so anymore. They all say it’s hopeless.… Don’t let me hurt so anymore.…”
“I love you, Mama. I love you.” Peggy Donner whispered the words over and over again as Margaret Armstrong watched and listened, the piece of linen gliding continuously across her fingertips.
“I love you, Mama …” Peggy said as she placed the pillow over the narrow face and leaned on it with all the strength she could manage.
Margaret watched the movement beneath the sheet lessen, then stop. She was shaking as the girl replaced the pillow and kissed her dead mother’s lips. She looked at the square of fabric as if discovering it for the first time.
Once again, the ordeal was over.
John Dockerty paced from one side of the cluttered back room of Marcus Quigg’s pharmacy to the other. Off to one side, Ted Ulansky watched, his broad face an expressionless mask. They had been grilling Quigg for nearly two hours, after finding enough improprieties in his records at least to have his license suspended. Dockerty’s hunch had been right. There was no need to manufacture evidence against the squirrelly pharmacist. In just a few hours of work, checking his prescriptions and calling a few doctors, they had gained the kind of clout that should have brought Quigg to his knees begging for some kind of a deal. However, the little man had proved surprisingly resistant—or frightened.
“Mr. Quigg,” Dockerty said irritably, “let’s start all over again.” The detective snapped a small stack of Quigg’s bogus prescriptions against the palm of his hand. He and Ulansky had agreed ahead of time that Dockerty would assume the role of tough, threatening villain during the interrogation and Ulansky would wait until he felt the tension was right, then ride to Quigg’s defense like a knight errant.
“Whatever you say,” Quigg mumbled. He was maintaining what composure he had left by chain-smoking and avoiding any eye contact. However, from his vantage point, Ted Ulansky noticed that, for the first time, Quigg’s hand was shaking. It would not be long.
“I’ve laid it all out for you,” Dockerty spat. “These prescriptions tell me that you are at least a crook. At worst, you’re a fucking dope pusher who is putting bread on his table by dealing pills to kids. Now either you tell us what we want to know, either you tell us who paid you to finger David Shelton, or I’ll see to it that your pharmacy license is chopped up and stuffed down your throat as your first prison meal. Got that?”
Quigg bit at his lower lip. The shaking increased.
From the corner of his eye Dockerty saw Ulansky nod. Time for