Hush (31 page)

After she took them through all that, she got to Rory. At the point where she mentioned the patient files that Rory had taken, the female detective slipped out of the room momentarily, and Lake assumed it was to make certain they’d been retrieved from Rory’s kitchen.

As she reached the part about Rory’s slip, and how it related to the death of a Dr. Mark Keaton in New York, Lake had to force herself to look directly at Kabowski and not flinch. He took notes as she spoke, and yet his eyes rarely left hers.

The worst moments of the night—Rory drugging and attacking her and confessing to killing Keaton—were actually the easiest to describe. Lake forced herself to remember being thrust over the lip of the freezer and the terror that had gripped her then. She wanted that fear to leak through as she spoke because she knew it would help them believe her. Then, finally, she was done.

“Well, we certainly appreciate that you took the time to share this with us tonight,” Kabowski said. “I mean, considering what you’ve been through.” His tone sounded sympathetic but Lake knew not to trust it. She smiled weakly, wondering what was next.

Kabowski looked down at his notes and stroked his mustache. “I’m a little confused, however,” he said after a moment.

Lake’s heart sank. Was he skeptical about the slip, as Madelyn had been?

“Yes?” Lake said softly.

“Why do you think Ms. Deever was so interested in helping you about the files? If she’d murdered this Dr. Keaton, you’d think she’d want to just lay low. Why suddenly decide to play whistleblower?”

The question caught her totally off guard. As she’d obsessed about how to spin everything that had happened, she’d never seen this one coming.

“I’m not sure,” Lake said. She clenched her fist, thinking, trying to make her brain work harder. “But—I could make a guess.”

“Okay, let’s hear it,” Kabowski said.

Lake bit her lip instinctively.

“After she overheard Maggie say that I had suspicions about the clinic—and my theory about the codes in the files—she may
have decided that exposing the clinic could throw the police totally off track with the murder investigation. They’d assume someone at the clinic had killed Keaton because he’d learned the truth.”

Kabowski looked ready to lob another question at her, when someone entered the room with the stack of patient records from Rory’s house. He pushed them toward Lake and instructed her to show him where the notations were. She opened the file on top and pointed to the letters, explaining what she thought they stood for.

Kabowski’s body language seemed to relax a little, and Lake wondered if he had begun to believe her.

“Detective, as you indicated earlier, my client has had a very tough night,” Madelyn announced as Kabowski continued to paw through the charts. “She may have even suffered a concussion. I think it’s time I took her home.”

Kabowski stood up, placed his hands on his hips, and nodded but made a big to-do about Lake needing to be available for further questioning. Madelyn assured him that Lake would return to the area if necessary. Lake suddenly felt drained, completely spent—not just from the ordeal, but from the stress and strain of lying.

“You handled that very well,” Madelyn said as they headed down the hall. “Let’s find Kit and fill him in.”

Archer was still in his rumpled tan trench coat, sitting on a metal chair in the waiting area with his long legs thrust out in front of him. He leapt up when he saw them approach and offered Lake a sympathetic hug. In the brief second that his arms were around her, she felt that same rush of calm and safety she’d experienced while lying on his couch.

“I want to hear everything,” he said, his voice low. “But let’s wait till we’re out of here.”

Lake glanced at her watch as they hurried across the parking lot, where steam rose from the puddles left behind from the storm. It was well after midnight. Lake’s car was being held so the police
could photograph where Rory had rammed it, so she had to ride with Archer and Madelyn back to the city.

“Do you think I’ll really have to be interviewd by those detectives again?” she asked as Archer maneuvered out of the parking lot.

“Maybe,” Madelyn said from the backseat. “Maybe not.”

“Great,” Lake said despairingly.

“But they are going to be less skeptical at that point because your story will have begun to check out. The tests will confirm that you were drugged. There will be evidence related to the cars. And when they obtain the DNA of the fetus, that will prove the baby was Keaton’s. I think the worst is over.”

“Great,” Lake said.

But she knew it wasn’t true. The worst wasn’t over. She still had to face Hull and McCarty—and make
them
believe her lies.

SIX DAYS LATER,
on a Friday, Lake hurried down the street in Greenwich Village toward a small Italian restaurant. It was in the low eighties again, after two days of cooler weather, but there was something fall-like nudging the outside edges of the heat. She glanced at her watch. Twelve-twenty. She was early, so there was no need to rush, and yet her feet seemed to have a mind of their own.

She didn’t see him inside the restaurant, but when she gave his name to the hostess, the girl said, “This way,” and led her outside to a garden lined with a wooden stockade fence and pots bursting with pink geraniums. Archer was sitting at an umbrella-shaded table, working his iPhone. He was dressed casually—jeans and a faded purple polo shirt that looked as if it had been left to dry, over the years, on endless docks and porch railings.

“Hey,” he said, lifting his butt briefly off the chair as she took the seat across from him. He smiled broadly at her. “I barely rec
ognize you without the mud mask you were wearing Saturday night.”

Lake smiled back at him. “I actually think that did something nice for my pores.”

“How’s the cut on your head?”

“Better. I had my own doctor check me out and he said I probably did have a mild concussion.”

“Well, I hope you’re allowed to drink because I ordered a bottle of rosé for our celebration.”

Lake nodded enthusiastically. There were indeed a few things to celebrate. As soon as news of Rory’s death got out, the lab supervisor at the clinic had panicked and come forward to the authorities, admitting that some couples’ eggs and embryos had been transferred to other patients without permission. There was now a full-scale inquiry into the clinic. And there had been good news for Lake as well. Preliminary drug tests had revealed the presence of a sedative in the bottom of the teacup she’d drunk from, backing up her story. And Madelyn had learned from a friend in the NYPD that toll records had shown that Rory had driven into Manhattan in her car early on the morning Keaton was murdered and left the city shortly after four a.m.

Archer pulled the wine bottle from an ice-filled bucket by the table and poured Lake a glass.

“First and foremost, to your survival,” he said, raising his glass. “I keep thinking you’re going to confess that you’re a former Navy SEAL and that’s why you’ve been able to escape raging rivers and pathological killers and…”

Lake grinned. “And avoid the world’s worst case of freezer burn?”

“Exactly.”

“I think I owe it all to pure adrenaline—and to the fear that I’d
never see my kids again if I didn’t
do
something. Of course every time I think about Rory’s baby dying, it makes me so sad.”

“I’ve got something to take your mind off that—another reason to celebrate. I just heard from my producer that Hoss cut a deal. She obviously saw that it was all coming down around her and decided to save her ass. She admitted that Levin had hired that guy who followed you, the one who attacked you in Dumbo. Melanie apparently let Levin know that you’d called and he sent the guy there after you. Hoss is claiming it was only to scare you. Regardless, this ties up some loose ends—and it also means you’ll be safe. As soon as the police have him in custody, you can make an ID.”

Lake let out a ragged sigh of relief. It meant that there wouldn’t be lingering questions or suspicions about what she’d told the police. They would have no reason to ask for her DNA.

“I guess it’s no surprise that Hoss was in the thick of it,” Lake said. “She oversaw everything that went on in the lab. But what about Sherman? Was he in on it, too?”

“Apparently, yes.”

“And the associates and nurses?” she asked, dreading the answer. “I’ve been worried about the guy who recommended me—Steve Salman.”

Archer shook his head.

“No, it doesn’t look like it went that far down. At least from what the cops can tell right now.”

Though Steve had offered her no support, she couldn’t bear the thought of his life being ruined. He was her friend’s brother, after all.

“There’s one more person I’m curious about,” she said. “The therapist, Harry Kline. He wasn’t involved, was he?”

Archer scrunched his mouth. “No, I don’t think so,” he said. “If it’s the guy who I think it is, he’s been nothing but cooperative. I hear he was pretty shocked.”

She thought of the story Rory had told her about Harry and his daughter. On Sunday, as she’d lain in her bed recuperating, she decided that there must have been a grain of truth to the tale. Keaton had possibly flirted with Harry’s daughter—rather than the other way around—and Rory most likely saw the daughter as a real threat. She’d probably gone to Harry and claimed Keaton was after the girl. That would have resulted in the daughter being removed. Harry had left a message for Lake this week, but she hadn’t wanted to return it until her own situation was more settled.

“The bottom line is that the clinic is being closed,” Archer said, interrupting her train of thought. “With the top people implicated, there’s no way it can go on right now.”

Lake smiled ruefully.

“Of course, that doesn’t help Alexis Hunt,” she said. “She still has no rights to her child.”

“I know. And according to what the technician told the cops, embryos from at least thirty other couples were used fraudulently. And a fair number of embryos were sold for research without permission.”

“Once that news gets out, so many former patients are going to wonder and begin to freak out,” Lake said. “It’s just so awful.”

“And yet think of what you did, Lake.” Archer said. “You spared countless other people the same fate.”

“It was hardly heroic. I just sort of stumbled onto the truth.”

“You did more than that and you know it. Speaking of stumbling, here’s an interesting tidbit. Apparently part of the reason why the lab technician gave it up so quickly was because Keaton had recently asked him a few probing questions about some of the procedures. This lab guy was already worried the lid was about to blow off.”

That could explain why Melanie Turnbull’s name was in Keaton’s apartment, Lake realized. Something had pointed him
in that direction—though Lake would probably never know what it was.

“Anything new from your end?” Archer asked.

“I told you about the drug test. The DNA test on Rory’s baby should come back soon.”

“Madelyn said you handled yourself really well with the New York City cops.”

Just hearing him reference that meeting made her stomach clench. The session with Hull and McCarty had been terrifying—though at least Madelyn had been at her side, looking ready to bite if either one of them stepped out of line.

Lake had relayed her story to them, just as she had to the Bedford Hills police and to Archer later in the car that night. There had been moments when she worried that it sounded rehearsed, overly polished, but if Hull and McCarty had thought so, they hadn’t let on. Maybe because they had no apparent interest in all the details about the clinic and the files Lake had been driving up to see—in truth, that part had seemed to bore them altogether. What they wanted was the stuff on Keaton and why Rory had killed him. When Lake reached the part where she had to lie—and skip much of the truth—she had heard her voice catch just a little. Hull had stared at her so hard it hurt.

They fired a barrage of questions at her then, all about Keaton’s murder. But there wasn’t anything she could add, she told them. Rory had said she was carrying Keaton’s baby, that she’d had copies of his keys made—obviously from the set in Maggie’s drawer—and that she’d killed him. And nothing more.

Then she told them about the incident in Brooklyn—Madelyn had insisted on it—and they weren’t happy.

“You’re chased into the East River at knifepoint and you don’t bother calling 911?” McCarty said, not disguising how stupid he thought she was.

“I was afraid to,” Lake said.

“‘Afraid’?” he said, his large brown eyes nearly lunging from his head. “I would think you’d be afraid
not
to.”

“It’s because of what I shared with you in my apartment that day,” Lake said softly. “I’m in the middle of a very difficult custody situation. My husband would use anything against me.”

“He’s gonna have a field day
now
, isn’t he?” Hull said, snickering.

“That’s out of line, Detective.” Madelyn retorted. “My client was supposed to remain in bed today because of her injuries but volunteered to speak with you. She has been more than cooperative. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to see that she gets home.”

The two men just sat there, McCarty running his eyes over the last page of notes and Hull flicking a pencil back and forth, back and forth. Finally Hull spoke.

“There
is
one little detail we’re having trouble with,” Hull said, his eyes glinting. “Maybe you can help us with it.”

Lake didn’t say anything, just waited, trying to make herself breathe.

“Ms. Deever’s phone records indicate that you two talked several times. Can you tell us what those calls were about?”

“Of course,” Lake said, relieved to be able to answer. She’d been over this general ground with them before. “As I mentioned earlier, she called me Saturday afternoon to say she’d brought the patient records home with her. That’s when I told her I’d drive to her house to look at them. We spoke a few times after that because I was going to be late. I was delayed at my children’s camp.”

“What about the
earlier
call?” Hull asked.

“What do you mean?” Lake said. Was he back to the mind games?

“She called your apartment the night before Dr. Keaton’s murder,” Hull said, his voice hard. “At two fifty-seven a.m., to be exact.”

Against her will, Lake’s lips parted in disbelief. So it had been
Rory
who had called that night, asking about “William.” Of course. She had told Lake in the basement that she was worried she and Keaton were already sleeping together.

She felt Madelyn shift ever so slightly in the chair next to her, sensing trouble. Lake’s mind ricocheted, searching frantically for an explanation.

“Yes—I did get a call late that night,” she said, furrowing her brow. “I was sleeping and it woke me. But—I couldn’t make sense of what the person was saying, and then they hung up. I thought it was a wrong number.”

“Why would Ms. Deever do that, do you think?”

“I—I have no idea.”

She started to say more, to suggest that Rory had just been crazy, and then she held her tongue. Tell only the essential lie, she told herself.

To her surprise they said she was free to go.

“There’s another interesting subplot in all of this,” Archer said at their garden table, rousing her from her thoughts.

“With the clinic?”

“No—with Rory Deever. There appears to be no husband in the picture at the moment. The police have spoken to Colin Deever, but he split with Rory a few months ago. I’m still trying to find out more, but I wonder if it’s because he knew the baby wasn’t his.”

Lake touched her hands to her lips, thinking.

“You know,” she said, “on a subconscious level, I think I realized the husband was gone. There was no sign of him anywhere in the house.”

“What really surprises me is that Keaton returned to the clinic. Why come back when there was such a mess there with Rory?”

“Remember? According to Rory, she hadn’t told him about the baby at that point,” Lake said. She was on dangerous ground
talking about Keaton, but she knew if she avoided the subject, it would seem odd.

“But wouldn’t he have started to pick up on the fact that there was something crazy about her?”

“That’s very possible. Maggie told me that when she was taking care of his apartment in March, there were signs someone had snuck in one night. It may have been Rory, and Keaton probably suspected it. But then he goes back to L.A. and he may have told himself that Rory’s obsessiveness had burned off. A short time later Levin asks him to come back, consider being a partner. He puts a toe in the water by consulting again and discovers everything’s cool. Rory appears happily pregnant. She certainly made everyone think there was a nice husband in the picture. She may have even planned to put Keaton out of her mind, pretend the baby was her husband’s. But after she saw him, she obviously became fixated again.”

“Keaton must have panicked like hell when he did hear about the baby,” Archer said. “I can’t believe he’d want to work there anymore.”

“Maybe he didn’t,” Lake said and then looked away.

She could feel Archer studying her.

“He didn’t drop any hints about bailing to you, did he?” he asked.

Oh God, Lake thought. Does Archer suspect? It took all her strength to return her eyes to him when she answered.

“No,” she said. “I hardly knew him.”

In that split second, she wished she could unburden her secrets to Archer. Maybe one day, she said to herself—and the words surprised her. For the first time she allowed herself to acknowledge how attracted she was to him—his humor, how easy he was in his own skin, even that crazy white hair. He had helped her when she was in danger, but what really intrigued her was that she had felt comfortable
asking
him for help. Would he want to stay in touch
after everything was over? Or would he disappear now that he had his story?

“How’s your report coming, by the way?” Lake asked, shifting the topic off Keaton.

“Great,” Archer said. “I did a few quick items on the show this week as the story was breaking, but we’re putting a much bigger piece together. I’m hoping you’ll let me interview you. You should get credit for all of this.”

Lake smiled and shook her head. “I’m flattered but I think it’s best for me to stay in the background—especially in light of everything with the police. Plus, I just want my life to get back to normal.

“Oh, by the way,” she said, before he could push further. “They solved the mystery of my missing doorman that afternoon. He thought he was having a heart attack and hopped in a cab for the hospital without telling anyone. Turned out to be a panic attack.”

“Ah. And what about your cat?” he asked. “What do you think the story was there?”