I smiled. Talk about not giving up on a patient. And I wasn't even paying her. I started to read through the packet of medical records. Two pages in, I stopped short on a form marked "Screening Assessment Tool." My pulse moved into my temples as I read the first paragraph:
Mr. Darwin Bishop, a 50-year-old, married, Caucasian male, father of two adopted boys, presents for bilateral vasectomy. The patient informs us that his wife is supportive and that his decision is based on a long-held philosophical position that "it isn't fair to bring children into a world like this one." Mr. Bishop states that his perspective took shape during his experiences in Vietnam, on which he refuses to elaborate. He has held his belief for many years and rates his likelihood of changing his perspective and wishing to father biological children at zero percent.
The form was signed by Paisley Marshall, MD, and dated April 15, 1999, about two years before Brooke and Tess Bishop were conceived.
My mind raced from one fact to the next, almost in disbelief. Darwin Bishop was infertile. Brooke and Tess Bishop were not his biological daughters. Julia had had an affair and become pregnant with the twins.
I flipped page after page, half-expecting to see a note describing Bishop's change of heart about the procedure, but instead stopped on a surgical note dated May 12, 1999:
Patient reaffirms desire for complete sterilization. All risks described, including infection, allergic reaction to medications, pain, bleeding.
Patient declines cross-over procedure. Patient received local anesthetic 0.5% Marcaine with epinephrine and Versed to induce calm.
Vital signs stable at onset of procedure.
At surgery, normal appearing bilateral spermatic cords and vas deferens were dissected free, segmental resections performed, and the ends ligated with 3-0 vicryl suture and sealed with Hyfrecator.
Bishop's having declined a cross-over procedure, a more complicated vasectomy that can be reversed, meant his infertility would be permanent.
Suddenly, Julia's explanation about the letter Claire Buckley had found sounded even more incredible. Her therapist Marion Eisenstadt obviously hadn't been the intended recipient. Julia had written the letter to her lover. The father of her children.
The investigation into Brooke's murder hadn't simply failed to ferret out a romantic partner of Julia's. We had neglected to interview the twins' biological father-a potential suspect.
I thought of trying to reach North Anderson, but knew he would be in Paris for the next ten days, spending a seemingly well-earned vacation with Tina. And I wasn't sure I needed his help. I didn't have a shred of evidence, nor any real suspicion, that Darwin Bishop had been wrongly charged with Brooke's murder. My doubts centered on Julia; she had lied to me and left me in the dark. Her character was again in question.
I had a job to do, but this time it was for me to do alone: to find out exactly who I had fallen in love with.
I remember the rest of that day in snapshots: the sun-soaked vistas of Vineyard Sound, Julia's surreal beauty, Candace's quiet grace, Billy and Garret working the sails and rudder together, a strong breeze blowing the hair off their foreheads, making them look younger, stronger, more handsome than I had ever seen them. The scenes would have made perfect postcards, which should have made me wonder whether the serenity was real or staged. But my focus was on the big lie-Julia's lie. I turned it around in my mind, trying to find an angle that would allow me to explain it away, to excuse it without further inquiry. I was that in love with her.
There were parts of the lie I had already accepted. I had no illusion that Julia had been faithful to Darwin Bishop. I had no lingering expectation that she would fill me in on every chapter of her romantic life. And I could even accept a chapter that included her being impregnated by a man other than her husband.
What I couldn't dismiss was the fact that she had jeopardized the investigation into her daughter's murder by withholding information.
Something else bothered me. A lot. Why hadn't Darwin Bishop disclosed the fact that the twins were not his biological children? Wouldn't he have wanted the police to worry about another potential suspect? Or did he fear that a jury might more readily believe him capable of killing another man's child?
After a day chockful of photo ops, Julia, the boys, Candace, and I got back to the house just after seven. I would have waited until the next day to confront Julia, but she called the cottage just after midnight.
"Come see me," she whispered.
"In your room?" I said.
"The boys are sleeping," she said. "We wore them out."
"Why don't you come over here?" I asked.
She giggled. "Because I just showered, and my hair is wet, and I have no clothes on, and I'm already in bed."
"I'll be there," I said.
I let myself into the main house and walked up to Julia's room. Her door was open, but the lights were out, and the room was almost pitch black.
"Don't turn on the light," she whispered from bed. "Just close the door."
I did as she asked. "You like it when I can't see," I said.
"I'll be your eyes," she said. "I'm on my stomach. I have two pillows under my hips and another one I can bite down on, if I need to. Is that clear?"
I felt my way toward the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. I reached out. My hand glided over the velvety smooth skin of Julia's lower back. I sighed. "We have to talk about something," I said.
"After," she said.
I let my hand move to the even softer curves of her ass before I summoned the resolve to pull away. "No," I said. "We need to talk first." I felt her pulling the sheet over her and reaching for the bedside lamp.
"What's going on?" she asked, squinting at me in the lamplight. She was holding the edge of the sheet just below her breasts.
I looked away, in order to focus my thoughts. The walls of the room were covered with pretty oil paintings of the ocean and marshes and with black-and-white photographs of Julia as a little girl and young woman. "I got some medical records in the mail from New York today," I said.
"And?" she said.
I looked back at her. She had drawn the sheet to her chin. I didn't see any reason to be subtle. "I know about the vasectomy," I said. "I know that Darwin didn't father the twins."
Julia looked at me blankly, as if she hadn't decided whether to respond directly or to be evasive.
"Why didn't you tell me during the investigation-me, or North Anderson?"
She nodded to herself, then looked back at me. "This may not make a lot of sense to you, but I didn't say anything because I promised Darwin I never would. I promised him before the twins were born, when he was pressuring me to get an abortion. Keeping what had happened a secret seemed to be the only thing that mattered to him." A bitter smile played across her lips. "I swore on Brooke's and Tess's lives."
"You should have told us," I said. "And not just so we could interview the twins' biological father. A man like Darwin might feel you forced him into a situation he didn't want to live with. He might have decided to fix things his own way. It goes to his motive."
"When you bury the truth the way Darwin and I agreed to," Julia said, "it's almost as if it becomes untouchable. Like it doesn't exist, anymore. I didn't even think of it as relevant to what happened. We were all so focused on Billy as the guilty one."
"When we had lunch together in Boston, at Bomboa," I said, "you asked me whether I thought Darwin was capable of destroying his 'flesh and blood.' Why did you choose those words?"
" 'Why did I choose those words?' You sound like a detective," she said.
"I'm no detective. I just want to know. Why those words?"
"No reason. I didn't mean it literally. It's a cliché. I meant his children." She paused. "They are, legally. I mean, we're married."