“I came for what you didn’t tell me,” Bell said bluntly.
“Didn’t I give you enough to send me to the gallows? Oh, what am I talking about? I keep forgetting.”
“Forgetting what?”
“It’s not the hangman anymore. It’s the electric chair.”
“I came—”
“Go away, Isaac. Anything I didn’t tell you I didn’t want to tell you.”
She was seated on a stool. Bell indicated the stool on his side. “May I sit down?”
She ignored him.
Bell pulled up the stool and sat face-to-face with her, inches from the mesh. “I came to change your mind.”
“Forget it.”
“I’ve spoken with some men in the prosecutor’s office. It is possible that I can persuade the District Attorney to offer you some kind of a break.”
“You want to give me a break? Get me out of here.”
“I can’t.”
“Let me go home.”
“I can’t.”
“So I can’t remember what I didn’t tell you.”
“I can’t get you out of jail, Francesca. No one can. But maybe I can make it better.”
She glanced about her. “Better than this wouldn’t be hard.”
“I’m thinking of much better. If we can convince a judge that you should be in an asylum.”
“I don’t think the bug house is better.”
“There are still some excellent private sanitariums.”
“Really? How excellent?”
“For wealthy patients. Very wealthy patients.”
“I’m not wealthy, Isaac. And I’m sure as heck not very wealthy.”
“I can arrange it,” said Bell.
“Pay out of your own pocket?”
“The agency will pay at first. At some point after we seize Branco’s assets, we can tap into them.”
“Won’t the government keep them?”
“Not if the Van Dorn Agency deserves a bounty. And certainly not if we, in essence, pay you for your testimony against Branco with Branco’s money.”
“That would be ironic.”