Without Lenny, Grace Brookstein no longer knew what she was living for.
THE STORY OF THE SHOOT-OUT AT Le Cocon, and the sensational killing of John Merrivale and capture of Lenny Brookstein, had gripped the entire world. The Madagascan authorities made a token effort to prevent the Americans from flying Lenny back to the United States, but a personal phone call from the president, along with some promises of substantial U.S. investment in various Madagascan infrastructure projects, swiftly changed their minds.
Harry Bain briefed the local press. "Mr. Brookstein is returning to his home country of his own free will for urgent medical treatment. Once he recovers - if he recovers - his future will be determined by the U.S. Justice Department." It was Bain who'd gotten hold of the local police and sent reinforcements to Le Cocon that day. Once he finally heard Mitch's messages, he got right on the phone to the chief of police in Antananarivo and filled him in on everything.
"It would have helped if you'd been honest with us about your presence in Madagascar in the first place," the police chief said stiffly. "We could have helped." Harry Bain had had to grovel to get him to agree to send men up to the estate. But thank God he had. By the time they got there, Lenny Brookstein had been shot in the stomach and groin. Had Grace aimed a little higher, she would have severed his coronary artery and robbed America of its most sensationalistic and shocking trial since...well, since her own. As it was, after extensive surgery, Lenny survived. Before he knew where he was, the FBI had him heavily sedated and shipped back home on a military plane. It was over before you could say "human-rights violation," never mind "miscarriage of justice."
For two weeks it was unclear whether Mitch Connors would be so lucky. His life hung in the balance. Grace was terrified that it was a stray bullet of hers that had lodged itself in Mitch's spine, but the cops assured her it was John Merrivale who had almost killed him. When the police showed up, they screamed at him to drop his weapon but John continued firing indiscriminately, at Grace and at them. They'd had no choice but to take him out.
At first Grace was happy when she heard John was dead. But as the weeks passed, her happiness faded. What did it matter? What did any of it matter: John's death, Lenny's trial (for fraud and murder) and sentence of death by lethal injection, her own presidential pardon? None of it was going to bring her old life back, or help the people who'd been ruined by Quorum. None of it was going to make Mitch Connors get well, or bring Maria Preston, or Andrew, or that poor homeless soul from Nantucket back to life. The whole thing was so utterly, utterly pointless. Justice had become a mere word, letters on a page, empty of meaning. There could be no justice, no closure, no satisfying ending. The whole thing was a farce, a game. Grace herself had been pardoned, not because she was innocent, but because it was too much of an embarrassment for the authorities to admit she'd escaped from custody twice, and that it was she, not they, who had found Lenny and uncovered the truth about the Quorum fraud.
"I am convinced that Mrs. Brookstein was as much a victim of her husband's duplicity as the millions of others who suffered at his hands," said the president. And America applauded. "Of course she was. Poor thing." They had their villain now, their pound of flesh. Lenny Brookstein was being sent to Super Max in Colorado, the toughest prison in the land, home to the most dangerous Islamic terrorists and deranged child killers. The play was in its third act, and suddenly there was a vacancy for a convincing tragic heroine. Who better to fill it than Grace? After all, the show must go on.
A nurse tapped Grace on the shoulder.
"Good news. He's awake. Would you like to go in?"
MITCH LOOKED PALE AND THIN. HORRIBLY THIN. Grace tried not to look shocked. He must have lost forty pounds. When he saw her, he smiled.
"Hello, stranger."
"Hello."
There was so much to say, but in that moment Grace couldn't think of a single word. Instead she took Mitch's hand in hers and gently stroked it.
"They told me you testified against Lenny at the trial."
"Yes. I didn't have to go in person. They let me give a statement."
"He got the death penalty?"
She nodded.
"So your testimony must have helped."
"I doubt it. He admitted everything anyway. Once they knew about the murder, the die was cast. I think he wanted people to know how clever he'd been. He didn't seem upset at the trial. It was almost as if he were enjoying himself."
Mitch shook his head in disbelief. "He still doesn't see himself as guilty, does he?"
"Not in the least." She paused. "They're executing him today, you know. He waived all his rights to appeal."
For a few minutes they were both silent. Then Mitch said, "I know this is going to sound like a ridiculous question. But do you still have any feelings for him? Knowing, you know, that he's going to die. Does it upset you?"
"Not really." Grace looked thoughtful. "It's not so much that I have no feelings for him. It's more that I have no feelings, period. I'm numb."
Mitch squeezed her hand. "It takes time, that's all. You've been through so much."
"To tell you the truth, I don't know if I want to feel anymore. I want peace."
She stared out the window. It was late May, and spring was in its last glorious flush, the trees on the sidewalk exploding with blossoms, the blue skies alive with birdsong and joy. Grace thought, I'm happy that life goes on, that it's beautiful. But I can't be part of it anymore.
"Do you know who called me the other day?"
Mitch shook his head. "Who?"