The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [136]
“Christine,” Armstrong said, forcing each word, “after I leave here, I am going to begin the dissolution of The Sisterhood. It will be done in such a way that none of the members will be hurt. That is, provided you and David can live with the secrets we share. Do you understand?”
Christine managed a nod. “I understand. But the reports—the tapes …?”
“They will all be destroyed. All, that is, except one. That one I shall send to you. It was made by me after I injected Charlotte with a fatal dose of potassium. Christine, the morphine you gave her was not enough. She was stronger, far stronger, than anyone suspected. Charlotte was my friend. She was … she was our sister. I had promised her a peaceful death. After you left her room, I went in to say good-bye. One last good-bye. She was breathing easily. I waited, but she only seemed to get stronger. Once she actually opened her eyes. I had promised her. I loved her as … I loved her as I did my mother. I …” Armstrong could go no further. For the first time in almost fifty years she wept.
Christine loosened her fingers and brushed them across the older woman’s tears. “I love you, Peggy,” she said haltingly. “For what you tried to do, I love you.”
A minute passed before Armstrong continued. “After I’ve done what is necessary for our Sisterhood, I’ll go to see Lieutenant Dockerty and take full responsibility for Charlotte’s death. Believe me, Christine, I was the one who did it.” She turned to David. “I shall also take responsibility for Dorothy and for the deaths of your friends. I think there would be fewer questions if there is no suggestion of more than one person involved in all this.”
David saw the concern in Christine’s face at the word friends. “I’ll explain later, Chris,” he said. “Dr. Armstrong, I do appreciate what you did during the resuscitation. For that, I promise that as long as you do what you’ve said, there will be no interference from me.”
“Thank you.” Armstrong studied the coldness in his eyes, then bent down and kissed Christine on the forehead. Moments later she was gone.
David knelt by the bed. The scant light in the room glinted off the moisture in Christine’s eyes. “When you get out of here,” he said, “we’re going to take a trip to some dusty little village in Mexico.”
“But we get to come back?” There was joy and sadness in her smile.
“We get to come back.”
She closed her eyes. For a moment, it seemed she had fallen back to sleep, but as he moved away she grasped his hand. “David, could you tell me one more thing now?” she asked.
“What’s that?”
“Do you have vanity plates on your car?”
John Dockerty gulped at what remained of the stale coffee in his mug and sank back in his chair. It had taken the entire night and most of the morning, but at last Marcus Quigg had broken and had given him the name. The triumph—if that is what it was—felt hollow. Images of the frightened, sick, little man would haunt him possibly forever.
That it was Margaret Armstrong who was responsible for the murders and the mistakes and the pathetic pharmacist only made things worse. She was someone he respected and, even more depressing, someone he had trusted.
“John Dockerty, master sleuth,” he said sardonically. “Danced around the barn by a lady who turns out to be another goddamn Ma Barker.” Well, at least he had gotten the pleasure of telling the captain—though not in so many words—what an ass the man had been to order the hasty arrest of David Shelton.
Dockerty checked his watch. It had been nearly an hour since the captain had promised to get a magistrate’s probable cause warrant for Armstrong’s arrest. He rubbed at the stubble on his face and was deciding whether to shave or not when the phone rang.
“Investigations. Dockerty,” he said. “… Yes, Captain … that’s fine, sir … I’ll be down to get it right away.… Yes, sir, I know he looked guilty as sin. If I were in your position, I would have made the same decision.… Thank you, I’ll be down