Night Film(104)

Olivia gazed down at her limp arm cradled in the scarf, almost as if it were separate from her, the gnarled albatross she was forced to carry.

“I’d had a brain aneurysm. Doctors said it was my stress over the incident that must have triggered it. I’m a practical woman, Mr. McGrath. I am not prone to drawing hysterical conclusions. What I do know is that they did something to her, to Ashley, to make her behave in such a way.”

“Who?”

“Her family. Cordova.”

“And what exactly do you think they did?”

She looked thoughtful. “Do you have children?”

“A daughter.”

“Then you know she was born innocent, yet soaks up everything around her like a sponge. Their way of life at The Peak, my own encounter there all those years ago, the questions he asked me. It was as if I were an experiment. They must have done that to Ashley. Except, unlike me, she couldn’t run away. At least not as a child.”

I glanced at Nora. She looked spellbound. What Olivia said fit in with my assumption, that at the time of her death Ashley had been on bad terms with her family, hiding under an assumed name, searching for someone known as the Spider. What I couldn’t understand was why she returned to the townhouse, unless it was to meet with Inez Gallo. Perhaps Gallo lived there.

“Have you heard of someone connected to Cordova with the nickname the Spider?” I asked, sitting forward.

“The Spider.” Olivia frowned. “No.”

“What about Inez Gallo? It wouldn’t be her nickname, would it?”

“Cordova’s assistant? Not to my knowledge. But I don’t know anything about her, except I believe she was the woman who escorted me in to see Cordova. And while he interviewed me, she sat on his right side, as if she were his henchman or bodyguard, or perhaps his subconscious.”

I nodded. This subservient, looming position certainly backed up what was written about Inez Gallo on the Blackboards.

“Why doesn’t anyone talk about Cordova?” I asked.

“They’re terrified. They ascribe a power to him, real or imagined, I don’t know. What I do know is that within that family’s history there are atrocious acts. I’m certain of it.”

“Why haven’t you looked into it? You’re obviously quite passionate about the matter. Surely you’d have a vast array of resources at your disposal.”

“I made a promise to my husband. He wanted me to put the business behind me, given what happened. If I ruffled feathers, trying to get to the bottom of it, would I lose the use of my other arm? And then my legs? Because a part of me actually believes, you see, that yes, there was something in that room summoned by that girl, and what I was brought there for, an act of revenge, had happened exactly as they’d planned. I’d been made to pay for some perceived offense I’d done against my sister.”

I couldn’t help but think of the killing curse. Technically, my life had grown more hazardous since we’d walked through it; I’d nearly drowned. It eats away at your mind without you even realizing it, Cleo had told us. It … isolates you, pits you against the world so you’re driven to the margins, the periphery of life. I could actually understand such a phenomenon happening to someone going after Cordova.

Olivia sighed. She looked tired, the intensity gone from her face, leaving it drained of color.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much more time,” she noted, glancing across the room at the doorway. I followed her gaze and realized I’d been listening so attentively I hadn’t noticed that the woman in the gray suit who’d greeted us—Olivia’s secretary, I assumed—had stuck her head into the doorway, silently alerting her mistress to her next pressing appointment.

“You mentioned Allan Cunningham,” I said. “Ashley was a patient at Briarwood prior to her death. I wanted to know the circumstances of her being admitted there, but Cunningham gave me a hard time. Any way you could help me out with him?”

Olivia smiled, bemused. “Allan assured me Ashley was never a patient there. But I’ll certainly ask again. We’ll be in Saint Moritz through March.” She sat forward, slipping her feet into her shoes. “The number you have reaches my secretary directly. Contact her if you need me for anything at all. She’ll be able to get me a message.”

“I appreciate that.”

She stood up from the couch—her three Pekingese plopping onto the carpet around her feet—and arranged the silk scarf around her immobile arm. As Nora and I rose, Olivia reached out and took my hand with a disarmingly warm smile, her brown eyes gleaming.

“It’s certainly been a pleasure, Mr. McGrath.”

“Pleasure’s been all mine.”

We started for the door.

“But one last thing,” I said.

She stopped, turning. “Of course.”

“If I wanted to speak with your sister, where might I find her?”

She looked irritated. “She can’t help you,” she said. “She can’t even help herself.”

“She was married to Cordova.”

“And the whole time she was addicted to barbiturates. I doubt she remembers a thing about the marriage—except maybe f*cking Cordova a few times.”

There it was—beneath the flawless elegance—the scrappy army brat.