by Kate White
She stayed in the diner for another half hour. At seven-thirty she left and just walked, back and forth along the side streets, slowly making her way home to West End Avenue and Eighty-fourth-keeping her eyes down the entire time in case someone she knew was nearby.
Half a block away from her building, she stopped and positioned herself by a parked truck, watching the front. A light drizzle had begun, which was lucky for her. She could see that Ray, the morning doorman, was busy trying to flag down a cab for someone. Having no luck, he moved farther up the street to the corner. The person waiting stood under the building’s awning keeping an impatient eye on the corner. Fortunately Lake didn’t recognize him and she saw her chance. She bolted to the main door and slipped inside.
Rather than chance the elevator, she took the stairs, two steps at time. When she finally slammed her apartment door behind her, she let out the strangled sob that had been lodged in her throat for hours.
In the kitchen she poured a glass of water and gulped it down, and then, as she sat at the table, she let the tears come. A man who had made love to her had been murdered. And though she’d escaped death, she wasn’t safe. Everything in her life was in jeopardy now.
She showered, scrubbing her body red with a loofah, and then dressed in a white shirt and dark-blue pencil skirt for work. Staring at her reflection, she wondered ruefully if things would have gone differently last night if she’d worn something other than the sundress. Maybe she wouldn’t have felt so sexy for the first time in ages, so ready to be seduced. As she remembered the sundress still in her purse, her stomach tightened. She would take it-and the trench coat, too-to the dry cleaner’s on the way to work, just in case.
Lake arrived at the clinic shortly before ten. A few women sat in the waiting room, leafing listlessly through magazines. As she headed down the corridors past the nurses’ station, it was clear from the easy manner of the staff that no one had heard anything yet. For the first time she recalled what Keaton had said to her in the Balthazar lounge-that he might not be joining the clinic after all. What had that been about?
After opening her laptop in the small conference room, Lake went to the kitchenette and fixed some tea, trying to act normal. The cup trembled in her hand as she pumped hot water into it.
“How was the dinner last night?” a female voice asked with a trace of sarcasm. Lake turned to find Brie towering in the doorway, her thin, scarlet-painted lips locked in a tight smile. Brie had obviously not been invited.
“Nice,” Lake said as lightly as possible. “I got a chance to spend more time with Dr. Levin. He’s a very impressive guy.”
“We certainly think so,” Brie said, snippily.
Lake took a small breath and forced herself to smile. “I’ll be in the conference room making some notes-if anyone’s looking for me.”
“Expecting someone?” Brie asked.
“I-no. But one of the doctors might want to talk to me.” She felt stupid for having stammered, for having overexplained herself. If she was going to get through the day, she told herself, she would have to compel herself to calm down.
She went back to her laptop and tried to read the file of notes she’d been taking. But really she just waited, reading the same line over and over. At eleven, she spotted Maggie in the corridor, talking to someone just out of sight.
“I’ve left him at least ten messages,” Maggie complained. “He was supposed to be here at nine for a procedure, and Dr. Levin is fit to be tied.”
Oh God, Lake thought. She had to be talking about Keaton. He was officially missing in action and soon everything would come to a head. She felt a wave of nausea and wondered if she’d be sick. She hurried to the restroom to the left of the kitchenette. After locking the door, she wet a paper towel with cold water. Sitting on the toilet seat, she pressed the towel to her face and forced herself to breathe.
When Lake stepped out of the restroom, the hall was even quieter than usual and every door was closed. Suddenly she heard a cry that sounded almost animal-like. She spun around. It had come from an exam room just down the hall, and as Lake stood frozen, Rory and Dr. Levin emerged through the doorway. Have they just heard the news? she wondered. Had Rory let out the cry? But then she saw there was a patient with them, and it was she who was crying.
“Rory will help you now,” she overheard Levin say.
“Would you prefer to stay in the room for a few more minutes, Mrs. Kastner?” Rory asked the slender, spent-looking patient as Levin headed toward the front. “It might help to rest for a minute.”
“No, I can’t bear this,” the woman said, through her sobs. “I just want to go home.”
“I understand. But I’ll walk you out. And I brought you some of my jams today. Come on, we’ll pick them up on our way out.”
This is surreal, Lake thought. People are passing out jams as Keaton’s body lies rotting in his bed.
Back in the conference room, she started the horrible waiting again. The lab supervisor popped his head in at noon and announced that people were ordering lunch-would she like something? Sure, she told him, forcing a smile. Maybe they won’t find Keaton today, she thought miserably as he walked away with her order. Maybe I’ll have to spend another hellish day waiting.
But forty-five minutes later, as Lake picked at a sandwich, Brie appeared in the door and her face looked dark.
“Please come to the big conference room,” she said, her voice strained. “There’s an emergency meeting of the staff.”
“Of course,” Lake replied. A wave of panic crashed over her. This is it, she thought. I have to seem normal. And look as shocked as everyone else when they hear the news.
Lake was one of the last to enter the conference room and it was packed; the doctors, nurses, lab personnel, and support staff were all there-except Harry Kline, Lake noticed. There were also two men whom she guessed to be detectives. One was black, early forties, sort of beefy, with kind eyes. The other was white, shorter, with salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes weren’t the least bit kind.
“I have terrible news to report,” Levin said somberly as soon as everyone was quiet. “Dr. Keaton was found murdered in his apartment today.”
There were exclamations of horror around the room. Lake’s eyes met Steve’s, and he flashed her a look of shock. Chelsea, one of the young embryologists, burst into tears, and then there was a flurry of questions.
“Please, everyone,” Levin,” said. “We have two detectives here and they need our cooperation.”
“Folks, we’re very sorry for your loss,” the one with the unkind eyes said. “I’m Detective Hull and this is Detective McCarty. We’re here because we need to speak to each of you privately. Until it’s your turn to meet with us, just resume what you were doing. And do not discuss the case among yourselves at this time.”
Levin interjected, telling everyone that all nonessential appointments were being canceled for the day and that it was critical to give the remaining patients the best care possible. He dismissed the meeting then and everyone dispersed, walking zombie-like out of the conference room.
Back in the small conference room, Lake opened one of her folders, trying not to let her hand shake. She mentally rehearsed for the meeting with the detectives, trying to guess the questions they’d ask. They’d want to know if she was at all friendly with Keaton. Grasping at straws, she thought of a marketing strategy she once read about called the Rule of Candor: admit a negative and twist it into a positive. She’d need to be forthcoming about talking to Keaton yesterday in the office. It would be better than having them find out about it from Brie.
Rory came in at one point to place a reference book back on the bookshelf. Her eyes were misty and she had one hand draped across her pregnant belly.
“Isn’t it horrible?” she said to Lake. “He was only forty-five.”
“I know,” Lake said. “Who-who do you think would have wanted to kill him?”
“Oh, but they told us not to talk about the crime,” Rory admonishe
d
“I know. I just-” Lake said defensively. But Rory turned and left before she could finish.
Lake assumed the detectives were calling people one by one into the large conference room so she was startled when a short while later they entered the small conference room where she was sitting.
“Lake Warren?” McCarty, the nicer-seeming detective, asked.
“Yes.” She started to rise but he motioned for her to stay seated. They slid into chairs opposite her, and McCarty flipped open a notebook.
“So you’ve worked here for just a few weeks?” McCarty said.
“Um, yes. Though I’m not an actual employee. I’m a freelance consultant.” Her words sounded clunky, as if she were relearning how to speak.
“Did you know Dr. Keaton very well?” McCarty asked.
“No. No, I didn’t. But I did chat with him a little bit yesterday.”
“What’d you talk about?”
“His joining the practice, some details about his former clinic.”
“And what about previously?” Hull asked, speaking for the first time.
“Previously?” she said, confused.
“Did you know him previously?” he asked, staring at her.
Her pulse jumped. Why was he asking that?
“No,” she said as evenly as possible. “I only met him when I started working here.”
McCarty scribbled a few notes in his pad and then looked back at her.
“Tell us about dinner last night. What did the two of you talk about?” he said.
“We didn’t talk. To each other, that is. We were seated at opposite ends of the table.”
Don’t sound so defensive, she told herself. She was starting to feel ill with anxiety.
“And after dinner?”
“You mean, did I speak to him?”
“Yup.”
“No-he left early. He said something about needing to call a patient. I was one of the last to leave the restaurant.”
The two men swapped a look, and then Hull trained his gaze at Lake.
“And then what?” Hull said, his voice hard. “Because you didn’t go home right away, did you?”
5
LAKE FELT AS if she’d been stabbed with a shot of adrenaline and instinctively she touched her cheek with her hand, to the spot where her birthmark once was. Did they know she’d gone to Keaton’s? That she’d spent the night with him? She wondered suddenly if there’d been a security camera in his lobby.
But if they’d known she had been with him, they wouldn’t have waited so long to interview her. They must be just toying with her, she decided, seeing what they could find out. They were probably doing the same thing with everyone who was at the dinner.
“You mean, did I go someplace else-after the dinner?” Lake asked. She tried to keep the nervousness out of her voice but it felt like trying to submerge an oar in water.
“Did you?” Hull prodded.
“No,” she said. “I caught a cab and went home.”
“Which way did you head?” he said.
Why was he asking that? she wondered anxiously.
“West-and then north. I live on the Upper West Side.”
“Dr. Salman says he saw you headed east on Spring Street,” Hull said. “He passed you in his car.”
Oh God, she thought. Had Steve also seen her turn up Crosby? Could he have spotted her going into Keaton’s building? She had to gamble and assume they didn’t know.
“Well, I did walk around a little. I couldn’t find a cab right away”
“Why go east, though, if you live on the Upper West Side?”
A lump formed in her throat, but she had to answer.
“I did look on Broadway first but I didn’t see any cabs. So I thought I’d try farther east. When I didn’t have any luck there, I went back to Broadway.”
McCarty scribbled again-more words, it seemed, than she’d spoken. What was he writing down about her?
“Did you see anyone from the dinner party when you were strolling about?” Hull asked. He seemed to be mocking her.
“No, no one,” she said.
“Tell us more about the dinner,” Hull said. “What was the mood like?”
“Very nice,” she said. She slowly let out a breath. “People seemed happy that Dr. Keaton was joining the practice.”
“And were you surprised to have been included?” Hull asked.
“Uh, not really,” she said. “I think the doctors here realize that it’s helpful for me to spend time with them. Get to know them.”
The two detectives exchanged another look. She wished she could just bolt from the room.
“All right,” McCarty said, flipping to a clean page of his notebook. “Please write down your name, address, and both your home and cell phone numbers. We may need to speak to you again at some point.”
She couldn’t believe it was finally over. She wrote her information down quickly.
When they rose to go, she stood up too. It seemed silly, as if she were seeing them off after a social visit, but it would have been odd to just sit there. As he reached the door, Hull turned and stared at her. His small eyes were dark and deeply set.
“One more thing,” he said. “What time did you arrive home?”
During all her rehearsing, she had forgotten to factor that. She stared at him blankly as her mind did a desperate calculation. At ten-fifteen she’d been at the corner of Spring and Crosby. It might have taken fifteen minutes to find a cab. Twenty minutes or so to get home.
“The time?” Hull prodded.
“Sorry, I didn’t pay much attention. I guess it was around eleven.”
“And did anyone see you come home? Your husband, for instance?”
Why are you asking that? “I’m not married,” she said. “The doorman might have seen me. But I think he was hailing a cab for someone.”
“Thank you,” he said, not sounding the least bit grateful. And then they left.
As soon as they were gone, she put her head in her hands and pulled in a long deep breath. Then she replayed the interview in her mind. McCarty was decent enough but Hull had been curt, almost snarky. They’d wanted to know if anyone could verify that she arrived home at eleven. Was she actually a suspect? Or was she in their sights simply because she’d been at the dinner? Weren’t the last people to see someone alive always possible suspects? Plus she was a woman. By now, Keaton’s sheets-and the used condom, if Keaton had left it by the bed-had clearly given away what he’d been doing during the hours before his death.
The detectives’ interest in her might have been heightened by whatever Steve had told them. He was supposed to be a friend, but he’d thrown her under the bus, and she had no clue why. If he’d driven by her last night, why not pull over and offer her a lift? Had he not stopped because he’d seen her searching for a particular building? Had he told the police that?
She glanced back down at the page open on her laptop. How was she ever going to be able to concentrate enough to pull her presentation together?
A sound in the doorway jolted her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see Dr. Levin standing there.
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said. “It seems we’re all on edge at the moment.”
“Yes, it’s awful.”
“The police tell me they’re almost done, for the time being. As soon as they’re gone, and I’m done with my final procedure, we should talk-you, me, and the other doctors. We need to know how to handle this from a PR standpoint.”
As he spoke Lake realized that she should have been the one making this recommendation, but she’d been too crazed to think straight.
“Absolutely,” she said. “I have some suggestions I can make.”
He nodded soberly. “Let’s say about four then.”
“By the way,” she said as he turned to leave. “Reporters will start to call. Until we’ve discussed a plan, you shouldn’t talk to anyone. And tell the staff not to.”
A short while later she be
came aware of staff moving up and down the corridor, and Lake figured the detectives had probably gone. She decided she needed to get out of the office for a few minutes, to try to calm herself before her meeting with Levin, and think of what advice she should offer. On her way out Lake saw that the receptionist was the only one in the waiting room-sitting grim-faced, twirling a strand of her hair.
Lake was halfway down Eighty-third Street, headed toward Lexington Avenue, when she heard her name called and turned to see Steve hurrying up behind her. He was still wearing his white lab coat, as if he’d dashed out when he saw her leaving.
“You okay?” he asked when he caught up to her. His brown eyes looked worried.
“Not ideal,” she said. “It’s pretty upsetting.”
“I know,” he said. “Sorry you got stuck in the middle of this.”
“Well, you haven’t made it easier for me,” she said. She surprised herself by her bluntness.
“What do you mean?” he asked, clearly perplexed.
“You told the police you saw me wandering around SoHo last night.”
He drew a breath. “But-I don’t understand-what’s the problem with that?”
“They seem to find that suspicious,” Lake said.
“God, Lake, I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”
“What exactly did you tell them?”
“Just that I saw you as I was driving home. They asked when I’d last seen each person who’d attended the dinner, so I mentioned that I spotted you after we’d picked up the car.”
“I was looking for a cab.”
“Well, there’s hardly anything wrong with that,” he said.
“I’m surprised you didn’t stop for me.”
He sighed and glanced off to the left.
“I should have. But to be honest, I was having a pretty intense discussion with Hilary. It would have been awkward.”
Lake wondered if it was about how flirty Hilary had been with Keaton during dinner.
“Is that all you told them then?” Lake asked.
