Girl Three (17 page)

Michael was curious, too.

He glanced at his watch: 8:52 a.m. He owed Croft a call before nine. He ducked into the lobby of the office building across R Street, where he could thaw out, make his call, and still watch Jessie.

Croft answered after the first ring. “Croft.”

“Reporting in,” Michael said.

“Make it quick.”

Gladly.
“Senator Talmont paid Jessica a visit around one o’clock this morning,” Michael said. “Used his key to get in. He scared the hell out of her.”

“What did he want?”

“Apparently the same thing he used to get from Sam.”

“Watch yourself, Michael.”

Michael continued to be amazed at Croft’s audacity. His so-called friend had carried on a long-term extramarital affair with his twenty-six-year-old daughter. Sam’s ashes hadn’t settled in the urn before the guy had come on to Jessie. And Croft wanted
Michael
to watch himself?

“Tell me what happened,” Croft said.

“Evidently the senator had a few drinks and started pining for Sam. He let himself into her place, found Jessica there, and came on to her. I guess he decided a romp with her would help him forget all about Sam.”

“And?”

“What do you mean,
and
? Do you really think Jessie would do something like that?”

“What did you call her?” Croft asked, his words stretched out.

Heat rose in Michael’s face. “Sir?”

“You called her Jessie, not Jessica. Reread your contract. You’re sounding too familiar with her.”

“She introduces herself that way.”

“Well, she hasn’t introduced herself to you, unless there’s something you haven’t told me, so stick with her given name. And I’d prefer the facts instead of your altruistic commentary. I’m the judge, not you.”

Michael’s blood simmered. “
Jessica
pulled a gun on Talmont, took his key, and kicked him out.”

“She has a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Does she carry it?”

“Yes,” Michael said.

Croft cleared his throat. “What happened after Tom left?”

Talmont had regularly screwed Sam, tried to bed Jessie, and Croft still called him
Tom
.

Michael hesitated. He’d never withheld information about his interactions with Sam. That had been easy, because they’d been casual, few, and mostly meaningless. His feelings for her had been protective, not intimate.

After I left her…
“She went back to bed,” Michael said, “and went quiet until this morning.” He waited, hoping Croft hadn’t detected his lie of omission. The guy sifted through lies in his courtroom all day long. No doubt his radar was sensitive.

“What’s keeping her busy today?” Croft asked.

Impersonating Sam. Illegally obtaining her medical records.

“She’s going through Sam’s files.”

“What else have you got?”

“That’s it for now.”

Croft was silent for so long that Michael wondered if the call had dropped. “Are you still there?”

“Keep your distance, Michael,” Croft said, then clicked off the line.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Over the weekend, Jessie packed Sam’s belongings and sorted through her files, looking for anything significant. She couldn’t get Michael Gillette off her mind, and she wanted to see him again. Besides, she figured it would be a good idea for him to do another security sweep of the condo. If Sam had been paranoid enough to have him go over the place twice, she should take the same precaution.

On Sunday, she found his number on the business card he’d given her, and she called him.

“Hello.” His voice sent a flutter of excitement through her.

“Hi, Michael. It’s Jessica Croft.”

“This must be my lucky day,” he said.

Jessie smiled. “Mine, too. I remember you telling me that Sam hired you to check out her condo for surveillance equipment. I’m thinking it’d be a good idea for you to do the same for me, if you’d be willing.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment and Jessie began to regret she’d called.

“Sure,” he said finally. “When did you have in mind?”

Relieved, she said, “How about tomorrow night? Eight o’clock?”

“I’ll see you then.”

She wanted to talk longer, but he seemed preoccupied, so she told him good-bye.

Satisfied that she would see him tomorrow night, she settled on the couch and again studied Sam’s prescription drug report and the photos she’d received. She tried to ignore her gnawing guilt over breaking the law to get Sam’s records, but there’d been no other way to get the information she needed.

She had a good idea why Sam had frequented Ian’s practice during the timeframe the pictures were taken. But she needed confirmation, which she intended to get from Ian himself, first thing in the morning. Confirmation, and answers. She remembered Helena’s reaction when she’d threatened to go to Ian and ask him about the first two pictures she’d received.

No, don’t do that.

Maybe Ian would lead her to Sam’s killer. Or, maybe it was him.

After a light breakfast on Monday morning, Jessie walked up R Street until she reached 21st, then down to Massachusetts Avenue to Ian’s practice in the refined Embassy Row neighborhood. The wind pushed an endless cover of low clouds across the sky and whipped her coat around her legs.

Ian had set up his practice in an historic red-brick and stone building, complete with a Rapunzel turret and a Juliet balcony. An immense, bare-branched tree stood out front, giving the place a feeling of fortitude.

Jessie climbed the slick brick steps to the entrance, the cuts on her hand stinging with each grip of the wrought-iron handrail. Apprehension tightened her chest, even though she was confident about her theory.

The lobby was an open space with sisal rugs covering hardwood floors, and a hint of lemongrass in the air. Patients waited, alone and in couples, seated on ivory-colored couches surrounding a stacked-rock fountain.

Jessie walked past the waiting area to the check-in window. The receptionist, a pleasant-looking, nicely dressed older woman, slid the privacy glass aside. “May I help you?”

“I’m Jessica Croft, here to see Dr. Alden, please.”

She smiled softly. “You’re Sam’s sister.”

Jessie nodded.

“I was shocked when I heard the news. It’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Jessie said, feeling a pang of guilt. She wasn’t sure she deserved anyone’s sympathy for her loss. She had let Sam go long before she died.

The woman was awkwardly silent for a moment. Squinting at her computer screen, she reached for the glasses that hung from a gold chain around her neck and put them on. “Has he blocked out some time for—”

Ian appeared in the doorway next to the receptionist. “Barbara, please schedule a follow-up appointment for Mr. and Mrs.—” He caught sight of Jessie and missed a beat. “Kendall.”

“Yes, sir. Will do. But Jessica Croft is here. Sam’s sister.”

Ian gave her a tolerant smile. “Hello, Dr. Croft. What can I do for you?”

“I have some questions about Sam,” Jessie said.

“I’d be happy to answer them, but I’ve got a full patient load, and I’m running behind.” He hefted the thick chart in his hand. “Sorry I can’t help you today.” He looked at the receptionist. “Barbara, please see if you can work Dr. Croft into my schedule tomorrow.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jessie said, “if I can just talk to your nurse, or someone who worked with Sam when she was under your care.”

His eyes flashed with a glint of defensiveness. He handed the chart to the receptionist and glanced at her computer screen. “I think I can spare a couple of minutes, Barbara. Let me speak with Dr. Croft.” He leveled his gaze on Jessie and gestured toward the door that separated the lobby from the rest of the office. “Come on back.”

Ian met her in the hallway and pulled her aside. “What would you like to know about Sam?”

A young nurse dressed in light pink scrubs bustled past, a stethoscope draped over her shoulder. She shot them a curious look. Without a word, Jessie reached into her tote and handed Ian the page with the pictures of Sam outside his practice.

His brow gathered as he studied the photos, then he gave her a long look. “Come with me.” He gripped her elbow and led her into a counseling room, a smaller version of the lobby, and closed the door. “What is this?” He pointed at the sheet of pictures.

“I’d like you to tell me. Someone sent it to me anonymously, along with several other pictures. Why would Sam have come here so frequently? And what’s significant about those dates?”

“Nothing,” Ian said blithely. “Sam was welcome here anytime. She was like family to Helena and me. God knows she needed a father figure.”

“A father figure who froze and stored semen that she collected from unsuspecting senators?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. Sam’s private version of the Hope Campaign—hoping she could help Helena extort a few votes with sex videos and frozen sperm.”

“What would I have to gain from that?”

“I asked myself almost the same question. What would you and Helena have to gain?” Jessie said. “I applied the old adage—follow the money. When senators changed their stance on embryonic stem cell legislation, Helena’s firm got credit. She attracted more clients and charged higher fees.”

Ian’s face became redder.

“You have a steady supply of unused embryos,” Jessie said. “With looser legislation, you’ve been free to sell them to research organizations.”

He peered down his straight, patrician nose. “Your thinking is convoluted.”

“That’s not the word I’d use. If the idea weren’t so reprehensible, I’d call it ingenious. Even worse is the fact that you allowed Sam, whom you claim was like your daughter, to do the dirty work, when all you sacrificed was a little freezer space.” She snatched the page of pictures from his hand. “Meanwhile, there was only an upside for Helena, who was nothing but a glorified madam, pimping out her protégée.”

He shook his head. “You have it backward. Sam came to us with her plan. We didn’t recruit
her
.”

“And that’s supposed to exonerate you? The parental figures decided it was a high-minded idea for a federal judge’s daughter to solicit sex from senators and extort their votes to promote your businesses?”

“It wasn’t a question of whether or not we approved. Sam had already been with the first senator before we knew what she was doing.”

“So what did you do to discourage her?”

Lips tight, he thrust his fists into the pockets of his white lab coat.

“Nothing.” Jessie willed herself to remain composed. “And I’m sure that you, in your virtuous father role, resisted the temptation to look at the pictures and watch the videos of Sam and the senators.”

More color had risen in his face. “I have patients I need to get to.”

“Were you and Helena worried that Sam’s affair with Talmont would compromise the income scheme she created for you? Worried enough that you wanted her dead?”

“I don’t know where you’re getting your information.” His voice was a note off his normal pitch. “Sam wasn’t involved with Talmont beyond their initial encounter.”

Jessie wondered how and why Sam had kept her affair a secret from Ian and Helena. Or if Ian really knew about it and just didn’t want Jessie to think she’d pinned a motive on him.

There was a series of quick taps on the door as it opened and the nurse in light pink scrubs peeked in. “There you are,” she said to Ian, and pointed at her watch. “We’re getting way behind.”

“I’m coming right now.” He stepped toward the door.

“We’re not finished yet,” Jessie said.

The nurse looked at Ian, wide-eyed.

“I’ll be there in just a second.” He waved her away, closed the door, and faced Jessie. “I’ve given you more time than I had to spare. Now you need to leave.”

She held out the sheet of pictures. “Just a month before Sam started her scheme, she was under your care for at least six weeks.”

“I’ve already told you, she was welcome here anytime. Pictures of her coming and going don’t indicate that she was my patient.”

Jessie pulled out Sam’s prescription report. “But her drug records show that she was. The dates on the pictures coincide with your prescription of Clomid for her, then a round of doxycycline.”

His eyes shifted between the pictures and the report, the crease between his eyebrows deepening.

“Was the egg donation your idea or hers?” she asked.

He raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it more disheveled. Jessie knew she had guessed right.

“Hers, of course,” he said, as she’d known he would. “The idea wouldn’t have occurred to me.”

“I’m supposed to believe you’re the innocent reproductive endocrinologist who never thought about retrieving eggs from a beautiful, intelligent, willing young woman?”

“Believe what you want. Sam was into the cause, always dreaming up ways to promote it. She wanted me to use her eggs to produce embryos, then donate them to research.”

“Was the egg retrieval a success?”

“Yes.” He tapped his lips with his index finger. “I aspirated nineteen oocytes, if I remember correctly—a good cycle. They were fertilized in vitro, then Sam had her embryos.”

“Who donated the sperm?”

He shrugged. “I did.”

Jessie’s stomach pitched. “You claim that Sam was like your daughter. And you created embryos with her eggs and your sperm? That’s obscene.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“Which is well respected.”

“In certain circles.”

“Well, I’m not looking for an endorsement from you,” Jessie said. “What happened to the embryos?”

“Sam donated them to Geneticell.”

The company that Philippe arranged funding for, whose grand opening gala was the backdrop for the first picture Jessie had received.

“Do they have a record of that?” she asked.

“I assume so.
I
certainly do. They sent Sam a confirmation letter and thanked her. She laminated the original, made copies, and used the story as a lobbying tactic.”

“I doubt it got the same results as her private version of the Hope Campaign.”