IN THE GREEN ROOM, Hugh Gordon, who had been half dozing, sat bolt upright in his chair. “What?” he yelled. But there was no one to hear him. He ran to the door, but it was locked, and hammering on it and shouting brought no response.

—

“IT WAS THERE, was it not, that you first met Ed Eagle, who came to interview you for information on another case. He took a liking to you and offered his help when you were released?”

“Yes, that was good of him,” Barbara said.

“Then you obtained an early release from prison as a result of a court order aimed at ending prison overcrowding, and very shortly, you turned up in Santa Fe and renewed your acquaintance with Ed Eagle?”

“Yes,” Barbara said.

“He gave you a job, and the two of you began to go out. Then, a few months later, you were married.”

“The worst mistake of my life,” Barbara said.

“Then, after a year or so of marriage, having gained your husband’s trust, you emptied his bank and brokerage accounts and disappeared into Mexico.” It wasn’t a question.

“Well, you see, Ed had become very violent.”

“Did you ever call the police?”

“No, I . . .”

“Did anyone else ever witness this violence?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did you have any visible injuries?”

“No, I . . .”

“Then, in Mexico, after being reunited with one of your sisters, who also had a criminal record, the two of you became involved with a young Mexican man in a sexual threesome, then you tortured the young man, mutilated him by cutting off his penis with a straight razor, and murdered him.”

“That’s an outrageous accusation!” Barbara nearly screamed.

“Perhaps so, but true,” Pam said. “You were tried, convicted of murder, and sentenced to life in a Mexican prison, were you not?”

“It was a terrible miscarriage of justice.”

“In prison, you formed a sexual liaison with the warden, did you not? Then you drugged him and escaped from a bathroom window in his apartment, and were met by an old friend from Los Angeles and spirited out of the country in a small airplane.”

“It was the only way I could get away from being raped daily,” Barbara said, rallying.

“After that you changed your identity and went to Los Angeles, where, one night, you entered a suite at the Bel-Air Hotel, where you believed Ed Eagle to be staying, and shot the occupant to death while he slept. You were arrested, then tried, and while you were waiting for the jury’s verdict, you escaped from the courthouse and hid at a resort near Palm Springs, where you met your next husband, Mr. Grosvenor.”

“I was acquitted!” Barbara shouted.