“But maybe it was just someone trying to mug you.”
“I don’t think so. He followed me from where I’d gone to meet a former patient-who never showed, by the way. This guy seemed to know where I’d be. Plus, think about what happened to Dr. Keaton.”
She hated even saying Keaton’s name, but she needed to use whatever she could to elicit Rory’s help.
“Dr. Keaton?” Rory said, clearly shocked by the reference. “What do you mean?”
“I think-I’m wondering if he may have stumbled onto some of this information himself. It may be why he was killed.”
Rory wrinkled her nose. “But Dr. Levin said he had a gambling problem and some Soprano-type probably broke into his apartment and killed him because he owed lots and lots of money.”
“There was no forced entry apparently. And his keys had been left in Maggie’s drawer for days.”
“But Maggie said he had a terrace. The killer probably got in from there.”
“That’s not possible,” Lake said. “There’s-” And then she caught herself. She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d just been. She watched Rory’s mouth drop open and close.
“What do you mean?” Rory asked flatly.
In her mind Lake fumbled for a way to cover her slip.
“Maggie,” she said after excruciating seconds. “She told me he lived on a high-up floor. How-how could anyone have gotten access to a terrace so high? Unless they were like Spider-Man.”
Rory stared at Lake, her face as frozen as a mask. Lake couldn’t tell if she had guessed the truth-that Lake was personally familiar with the apartment-or was simply weighing whether someone from the clinic could have killed Keaton. Lake held her breath, waiting.
After a moment, Rory shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. We live in an old gate house, and I don’t know anything about city apartments.”
Lake relaxed. Rory may have felt a flutter of suspicion, but she’d clearly dismissed it.
“If Dr. Keaton was killed because of this situation at the clinic, you can see how important it is that we stop them,” Lake said.
“But what exactly would you want me to do?” Rory asked worriedly.
Lake told her about the series of letters she might find in Alexis’s file, and possibly others.
“Except for the Hunt file, it’s not necessary to comb through drawers in the storage room,” Lake said. “You could just look at each patient’s chart as she comes in for her appointment. No one should find that suspicious.”
“What do the letters stand for?” Rory asked.
“I’m still trying to figure that out,” Lake said, not wanting to divulge her theory.
Rory scrunched her mouth, clearly mulling over everything she was hearing.
“Rory, I know it’s a lot to ask,” Lake said, frightened now that Rory would say no. “But just think if someone had done this with your embryos.”
“Okay,” Rory said finally. “I guess I could try to do it Monday.”
Lake smiled gratefully. “That’s wonderful. And if you do find those letters on the information sheets-especially the Hunts’-it would help so much if you could make photocopies. But only if you can do it discreetly. I don’t want anyone to see you.”
“All right.” Rory looked off, thinking. “I really should go now. It’s not good to be under a lot of stress when you’re pregnant.”
“I understand completely,” Lake said. She reached into her purse for a business card. “My cell is on here, as well as my home phone. If you run into any difficulty at all, please call me right away.”
Rory pulled a small note pad from her purse and wrote down her home and cell numbers.
“My husband-Colin-had to go away again today and I’ll be on my own this weekend. I’m not telling him any of this, by the way. He wouldn’t want me to get involved.”
Lake felt a twinge of guilt.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Rory. Just be as careful as possible.”
“I’m actually glad I can help you, Lake,” Rory said, smiling for the first time since she’d arrived. “I hope this doesn’t sound silly, but I really admire you. That’s why I wanted to tell you what I know. Can I call you this weekend? Just to go over everything again?”
“Of course. And thank you for what you just said.”
Lake reached across the table and laid her hand over Rory’s. Underneath she could feel Rory twitch in discomfort, as if Lake had cupped her hand over a small toad on the ground. Quickly, Lake pulled her hand away. Don’t push it, for God’s sake, she chided herself. Leave well enough alone.
She stayed for a few minutes after Rory left, finishing her wine. Every nerve ending in her body seemed fired up in anticipation. Finally there was someone who could help her dig for the truth. There was no guarantee of Rory coming across anything, but this was a start. It felt like that moment when a nightmare begins to disintegrate from feeling utterly terrifying and you sense for the first time that you’ve been dreaming.
Plus, there was the new information about New Century Research. That might turn out to be a valuable piece of evidence against the clinic, adding to whatever else she turned up. The only thing that worried her about this evening’s conversation was the slip she’d made about the terrace, but it appeared to only have aroused momentary curiosity in Rory.
Out on the sidewalk, she checked nervously around and left Archer a message as she tried to find a cab. Ten minutes later she was finally on her way home. As her cab shot west through Central Park, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, expecting to see Archer’s name, but the phone number was unrecognizable.
“Hello?” she answered hesitantly.
“Mommy,” a young girl’s voice said.
“Amy?” Lake asked.
“Yes.” There was a stifled sob.
“Amy, are you all right?”
“No, Mommy. I’m not.”
26
“WHAT DO YOU mean, Amy?” Lake asked urgently. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the infirmary.”
Involuntarily, Lake let out a moan of distress.
“Mommy?”
“What happened, honey? Tell me.”
“The doctor thinks I have strep. They put this stick in my mouth and it made me gag.”
Lake almost laughed ridiculously in relief.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”
“Mommy, it hurts so much. I can barely swallow.”
“Is the doctor there now-can I talk to him or her?”
“No, just the nurse is here. She’s in the other room. And I’m not supposed to be using a cell phone. It’s Lauren’s.”
“Okay, as soon as we hang up, I’m going to call the camp and see what they can do.”
“But I’ll get in trouble for using the phone.”
“Don’t worry-I won’t tell. But I’m going to find a way to help you get better, okay?”
Lake heard the sound of a sob catching in her daughter’s throat.
“Mommy, I wish you were here. I feel so sad.”
“I’m going to send you a long fax today to cheer you up. And when you start to feel better, you won’t feel so sad.”
By the time Lake hung up, her panic had quelled, but she could feel anger filling the void. Why hadn’t the camp contacted her? She hated thinking of Amy so miserable. Immediately she punched in the number for the director’s office. He had stepped away, she was told and there was no one else who could help her at the moment. Lake asked that he call her the moment he returned.
As the cab swung onto West End Avenue, she was relieved to see that there were people in front of her building-a red-haired woman with a stroller, a tall thin, black man, vaguely familiar from the building, and her neighbor, Stan, holding his jacket over his shoulder with a hooked finger. They stood in a group as if chatting. It was only as she stepped closer that Lake noticed the slack faces. Something was wrong.