by Kate White
“But the keys aren’t missing?”
“No. Levin went into the office and found them right where she said they’d be. Obviously there’s a chance someone used them to slip into Keaton’s apartment and kill him-and put them back right after the murder. As you can imagine, if the killer works at the clinic, it’s gonna make crisis control a tad more challenging.”
Lake was silent as her mind grappled with the news. If the killer did indeed work at the clinic, there was a good chance he-or she-had also shaved Smokey as some kind of warning.
“I told Levin he had to call the police,” Hayden said, filling the silence, “but I could tell he didn’t like the idea. His bet is that Keaton’s death was an outside job related to the gambling problem-and that’s my hunch, too. But in the end he knew he had no choice. Maggie’s brother was going to spill the beans if he didn’t.”
“And so did he? Did Levin call the police?”
“Yup. Tell me-you know some of the players there. Could one of them actually be a murderer?”
“I really don’t know anyone there very well. Except for Steve Salman, one of the associates-and I can’t imagine him hurting anyone.”
“Well, even if someone there did do it, I’m sure you’re not in any danger. So stop worrying.”
“Worrying?” Lake said defensively. “What do you mean?”
“I can hear it in your voice. If the murderer works at the clinic, it obviously involves some internal conflict. You’re perfectly safe.”
That’s funny, Lake thought sarcastically. She was actually less safe now than she’d ever been in her life.
“Hold on, will you?” Hayden said before Lake could comment. “Oh shit, this is a client. I’ll call you back when I have more news.”
As soon as the call had ended, Lake fell back into the chair. It was clear now that someone from the clinic could have easily gained access to Keaton’s apartment, and thus killed him. Her mind want back to the “snag” Keaton had mentioned. A snag might refer to an uncomfortable situation that had suddenly flared up between him and someone on staff. She thought of how Keaton had called Levin a fertility rock star with a trace of mild disdain in his voice. Maybe there was a rivalry between them, one Keaton finally realized couldn’t be tamped down. But would Levin kill Keaton just because he had decided not to join the practice?
Later, as she lay in bed, wide-eyed and wired, she wondered if Harry had asked to see her so he could fill her in on the news about Keaton’s keys. Or could he possibly suspect her of something? When it came to deceit, shrinks were like truffle hounds-they could smell it. She squeezed her eyes tightly and tried to will herself into unconsciousness. But in her mind’s eye she suddenly saw Will and Amy lying in their bunk beds, the camp cabins engulfed by the black night. What if I’ve endangered them? she thought in anguish. It was hours before she finally felt her thoughts fray around the edges and she slipped into a fitful sleep.
The next morning, she forced herself to review all the notes she’d taken on the clinic. She’d promised Levin she’d make an initial presentation next week, and she needed to have the first batch of ideas ready. She’d come up with a few marketing concepts so far, but she needed more-and stronger ones. As she worked she wondered how she would pull it off with her mind as crazed as it was. Maybe Levin would suggest an extension. Surely he himself couldn’t be in much of a mood to discuss a marketing plan in light of everything that had happened. She plugged away and lost track of the time, realizing with a start that she was ten minutes late for her meeting with Harry.
Harry was already at the restaurant when she arrived, skimming a folded section of the New York Times. Though he wore the same basic uniform she’d usually seen him in at the clinic-dark slacks and a cobalt-blue dress shirt open at the neck-he seemed different to her today as she approached. More relaxed, she thought. Weekends were likely when he allowed himself to unwind from the stress of counseling couples in the depths of despair.
When she reached the table, he looked up, and smiled. It was impossible to tell from his expression what his agenda was. Be friendly, she told herself. But volunteer nothing.
“I thought we might be the only two people in Manhattan this morning,” he said, rising. “But apparently seven other people decided to stay in town, too.” He lifted his chin to the half-filled tables behind her.
Their bistro table was small, and for the first time she had a chance to take in his face up close. He wasn’t classically handsome-the small bump on his nose got in the way of that-and yet his face was appealing: soft brown eyes, smooth skin, and the wry smile he often wore. His black hair was longish, a little wavy, and brushed back along the sides of his head.
“Do you usually stay in the city on weekends?” she asked.
“Sometimes I do-I love how quiet it is,” he said. He pushed his dark-rimmed reading glasses up onto his head. “So you only managed a half weekend in the country, huh?”
“Uh, yeah,” she said. She was completely disinterested in small talk but she knew she had to play along. “I needed to get back here. I still have a lot of work to do on my presentation.”
“How’s that going, anyway?” he asked.
Could he sense her discomfort? she wondered. He had that shrink way of watching neutrally as you spoke, never tipping his hand.
“Pretty well, I think,” she said. “But it’s challenging. It’s one thing to plan a marketing campaign for a spa or a new brand of body butter. This is so different. The people who need the procedures are vulnerable, and I don’t want to hit the wrong note.”
“I know. And some of what’s happening today is just so crazy,” he said. “I hear there are clinics that actually promise money-back guarantees if you don’t conceive. Can you believe that? And some of the egg-donor stuff is absurd. There’s one clinic down near Washington that offers ‘doctoral donors.’ You don’t just get a baby. You get one with a shot at becoming an astrophysicist.”
This can’t be why he asked to meet with her, she thought-to discuss issues in the fertility business.
“Do you wish the clinic hadn’t decided to become more aggressive about promoting itself?” she asked.
“I certainly see the need for some marketing. It’s a business, after all, and things are getting much more competitive out there. I’m just not sure where you draw the line.”
The waitress interrupted then, wanting to take Lake’s order. Lake asked for a cappuccino.
“It must be heartbreaking dealing with the patients,” Lake said.
“It can be, yes. The worst part is that they often blame themselves. They sometimes talk about feeling cursed.”
“I saw one patient in the hall last week and she just broke down, sobbing,” Lake said. “I felt so bad for her.”
“I wasn’t in that day but I heard about it. Apparently Rory convinced the woman to make an appointment with me, but then she canceled it. Unfortunately I can’t force someone to come in to talk to me.”
“She looked fairly young. I assume she’ll keep trying.”
“Maybe,” he said, shrugging a shoulder.
“Why only maybe?”
“She’s already been through eight IVFs-that’s part of the reason why she’s so wrung out.”
“Eight? Wow, that’s a lot. It must be tough on her body.”
“You sound like Mark Keaton.”
The comment took her completely aback.
“What do you mean?” she said, trying to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.
“He didn’t seem to like how many rounds she’d been through, considering her situation. When I was looking through her chart, I noticed some comments from him that suggested that.”
“Do you think it was too much?”
He twisted his head and rested his cheek on his fist, turning the question over in his mind.
“I’m the guy who figures out what’s going on in their heads, not their bodies,” he said. “What I do know is that the clinic does good work. They help a lot of w
omen get pregnant-and that’s why patients come to us.”
“I know you also have a private practice,” she said. “Why do this kind of counseling on top of that?”
“My sister-in-law had fertility problems, and she just unraveled. My poor brother was clueless about how to deal with her. I could see how counseling would have helped them.”
“What ended up happening?”
“After lots of treatment, they gave up. They’re still together fifteen years later, but their childlessness is the proverbial eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room. It didn’t help that I’d had no trouble myself.”
“You have children?”
“A daughter, nineteen. She’s a sophomore at Bucknell.”
Lake felt her face betray her surprise. She’d pegged Harry for early forties, but he had to be older than that to have a child in college.
He grinned, reading her. “I was only twenty-two when she was born-in my first year of grad school. Not the best way to start a marriage, needless to say, and in the end we didn’t make it. But Allison is great, and I’ve got no regrets.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said. Where is this going? she wondered again.
“I should ask you the same question you posed to me. Any particular reason you decided to work for a fertility clinic?”
For a split section she felt the urge to explain the weird connection she felt between the patients and herself-because they’d all been betrayed by their bodies. He was such a good listener, and how soothing it would be to unburden the thoughts she never really shared with anyone. But she didn’t dare show anything of herself to him.
“When Steve mentioned the project it just sounded interesting. I’ve had friends who’ve struggled with fertility, but I was lucky.”
“Your kids are young, right?”
“Nine and eleven. They’re at sleepaway camp right now, up in the Catskills-near where I was when you called and asked if we could get together.”
She hoped her mention of the call would serve as a nudge. Harry stirred in his seat and she saw he’d taken the hint.
“Well, I appreciate your meeting me on such short notice, especially with all the work you have on your plate.”
“What was it you wanted to see me about?”
“To be honest, I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“How I’m doing?” she asked. She felt herself bristle.
“I may be wrong, but I sensed the murder really disturbed you. I thought you might want to talk about it. Even if stuff like this doesn’t affect us directly, it can still have an impact.”
She’d been right, she thought anxiously. He’d picked up on her panic. If she tried to deny what he was intuiting, he’d know she was lying. Her mind fumbled for a way to force him off track.
“The murder was upsetting,” she said after slowly taking a breath. “But there’s actually something else that’s been troubling me. I guess I’ve worn my heart on my sleeve without meaning to.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry asked as the waitress returned with Lake’s cappuccino.
No, I don’t, she thought. But she might not convince him if she didn’t cough up something. She took a sip of her drink before speaking.
“I was in the process of what seemed to be a fairly amicable divorce, and then out of the blue, my husband filed for full custody. It’s been very stressful.”
“What a creep,” Harry said. He started to shake his head in dismay but stopped and smiled. “That’s my professional opinion, by the way.”
Lake couldn’t help but smile back.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m so used to having to suck it up and speak neutrally about him in front of the kids; it’s nice to hear someone make a nasty comment about the man.”
“I’m sorry to hear you’re going through that. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“I will, thanks.”
Harry glanced at his watch.
“Are you getting hungry?” he asked. “We could grab a bite of lunch here if you’d like.”
“Um, thanks-but I need to get back to my presentation. Maybe some other time.”
He said he would stay and have his lunch at the café. She took a last swig of her cappuccino. When she set the cup down on the table, Harry reached over and lightly touched her hand with the tips of his fingers.
“I hope that doesn’t hurt,” he said. When he withdrew his hand, she saw that he meant the marks Smokey had made when she’d tried to pull him out from behind the chair.
“Oh, no,” she said. “It’s just-a scratch. I can’t even remember how I got it.”
Flustered, she picked her bag up and rose to go.
“Good luck with your presentation,” he said. “I’m sure it’ll be brilliant.”
Hurrying home, she replayed the conversation with Harry in her head. She hoped her confession to him about the custody situation had quieted any suspicions he might have.
As she opened the door of her apartment, she also considered the comment he’d made about Keaton questioning Levin’s judgment about the patient they’d discussed-the one who’d had eight rounds of IVF. She wondered for the first time if the snag that had developed for Keaton didn’t involve a problem with one of the staff but rather with the clinic itself. She stopped in the hall and closed her eyes, trying to recall Keaton’s exact words that night. He’d said something about the clinic not being the best place for him right now. Perhaps Keaton had stumbled onto something that had alarmed him.
Lake had never witnessed anything the least bit suspicious at the clinic, but with her lack of medical expertise, how would she really know if something wrong was going on? There had to be a way to consider what the possibilities were. She thought suddenly about the reporter Hayden had mentioned, the guy who made Levin apoplectic. He’d written an article on the fertility business, one that Levin clearly didn’t want her to see. Maybe the truth lay in that article-or at least a hint of it. Lake dreaded going to the clinic in light of all that was happening but she knew she needed to read that article. The one sure way to save herself-and her custody of the kids-was to figure out who might have killed Keaton and somehow point the police in that direction, and away from her.
She told herself she would hunker down and work straight through until evening. But rather than light a fire under her, the newest developments seemed to paralyze her. Plus, she felt a growing dread about going into the clinic the next day. If the killer did work there, she was putting herself right in the line of sight. But she had no choice. She had to get her hands on the article; it was the only thing she had to work with. And if she could find the chance without being too obvious, she wanted to talk to Maggie about the keys.
She was at the crosstown bus stop by eight-thirty the next day and at the clinic by just after nine. After nodding hello to the receptionist, Lake made her way down the main corridor of the clinic. As she passed by the empty nurses’ station, her eyes found the top drawer of Maggie’s desk, and she fought the urge to stop and open it.
“You’re in early today,” a voice said behind her as she plopped her bags down on the small conference room table. She spun around to find Rory standing behind her. Great, she thought. She didn’t want to appear to be acting out of the ordinary.
“I have an appointment in midtown later,” Lake said, “and I thought I’d swing by here first.”
“Did you have a nice weekend, Lake?”
“Um, yes-it was good to get a chance to just decompress. How are you feeling?”
“Better, I guess,” Rory said, though to Lake she looked tired. There were small bluish circles in the pale skin under her eyes. “I’m just trying to make sure the stress doesn’t affect my baby in any way.”
“That’s so important. I haven’t even thought to ask you-do you know what you’re having?”
“A boy,” she said, cupping her round belly with one hand. “I’m so happy.”
“That’s wonderful-congratulations.”
&
nbsp; “I read that couples who have a boy are more likely to stay together,” Rory said. “Because men secretly want boys.”
“I’ve never heard that,” Lake said. “But I could see where it might be true. I guess you could call it the Henry the Eighth factor.”
The last comment seemed to fly over Rory’s head. She looked off to the side, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“I hope it’s true,” Rory said. “It’s so important for kids to grow up in a stable home. Don’t you think so?”
Had Lake never mentioned to Rory that she was separated? she wondered. On any other day the comment, however naïve, might have rattled her, but Lake was already too rattled to care.
“Well, I think you just do the best job you can,” Lake said.
“What a perfect way of putting it,” Rory said smiling and turning to leave. “Have a good day.”
As soon as Rory was gone, Lake slipped out of the conference room and zigzagged along the short corridors toward the storage room at the back of the clinic. When she glanced down the hall that shot off toward the OR, she saw a cluster of four people in blue scrubs and hair caps-Sherman, she thought, and Hoss, too-but they were too engrossed in conversation to notice her.
Once inside the storage room, she eased the door closed behind her and tugged open the drawer where she’d discovered the Archer file. It wasn’t there. Hardly surprising, she thought. Levin didn’t want her to see it and so he hadn’t put it back.
In case he’d simply relocated the file, she rifled through the rest of the drawers, but there was no sign of it. She realized that the file was probably tucked away in Levin’s office. Would she dare sneak in there and search for it?
And then she realized she didn’t have to. She’d more than likely be able to find the article online by searching the reporter’s name-she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of this sooner. She hurried back to the conference room and turned on her laptop. She Googled Archer’s name and the titles of six or seven articles popped up. They all seemed to be meaty investigative articles, published in a variety of magazines. It wasn’t hard to figure out which one had been in the file Levin had grabbed from her: “Brave New World: Behind the Closed Doors of Fertility Clinics.” She clicked the link to it.
