Hush (12 page)

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.”

“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.

She’d only gotten through the first paragraph when she caught a glimpse of Maggie’s black curly hair bouncing past the doorway. Recognizing that this might be her only opportunity to talk to her alone, Lake lowered the lid on her computer so that the screen wasn’t visible and followed Maggie down the hall.

“Hey, Maggie,” she called out quietly as the nurse entered the empty kitchenette. Maggie turned around, and Lake was startled to see how drained her face was.

“Hi,” Maggie said listlessly.

“Listen, I heard about the keys,” Lake said quietly. “It must be so upsetting.”

“I shouldn’t have ever left them in the drawer,” Maggie whispered plaintively, clearly glad to have a confidante. “Do you know what this
means
? It means someone here may have killed Dr. Keaton.”

“But it’s not your fault. Plus, it doesn’t necessarily mean that—”

“I can’t really talk now—Dr. Sherman is waiting for me.”

“Do you want to meet for coffee after work?” Lake asked.

“Tonight’s not good. But I could meet you for lunch, I guess.
My break is at twelve-thirty. I always go to the coffee shop over on Lex and Eighty-first.”

After agreeing to meet Maggie there, Lake hurried back through the labyrinth of corridors. She nearly collided with Brie as she once again entered the small conference room. Brie was obviously just leaving.

“Good morning,” Lake said, trying to sound friendly.

“Hello,” Brie said coolly. Her lips, painted a glossy plum color today, barely moved as she spoke, and Lake noticed that the tip of her nose was pink, as if flushed with blood. “Are you going to be in here all morning? We really need to use this room later.”

“I’m leaving shortly,” Lake said. “And I’m always happy to work my schedule around the clinic’s.”

“I actually thought you were going to be
done
by now. Aren’t we supposed to be getting your report?”

“As Dr. Levin knows, I’m exactly on schedule.”

Brie just stared at her for a moment and then walked briskly from the room. Lake shook off the encounter and sat down. Immediately she could see that there was something different about her laptop. She’d left the lid only partly lowered, but now it was completely closed.

Brie had been snooping. And she’d clearly seen what Lake had been looking at.

WAS THIS MORE
than simple nosiness on Brie’s part? Lake wondered. Lake knew Brie was a control freak and rigidly protective of the clinic, but maybe it had gone beyond that. If Levin was the killer and suspected Lake knew something, he might have asked Brie to keep an eye on her. And now Brie would report back on what Lake had been up to.

Though she was desperate to read the article, she didn’t dare do it here. She needed to find a café with wireless and read it there. And then at twelve-thirty she would meet Maggie.

After stuffing the laptop into her tote bag, Lake zigzagged back to the front of the clinic. Today, every door seemed to be closed. From inside one of the examination rooms she heard low moaning, followed by a choked scream of anguish. She’d heard how uncomfortable some of the procedures could be—such as when they filled the uterus with a solution to better examine it during X-rays.

Passing Levin’s office, she held her breath, wondering if Brie
was in there now, tattling on her. Suddenly the door swung open. Levin was standing in the doorway, not with Brie but with a striking girl who looked to be nineteen or twenty. Her long straight hair was the color of butter and her face was tanned. Levin extended a hand, palm side up, indicating the front of the clinic.

“Reception is just around the corner to the left,” he told the girl, his charm fully on. “We’ll see you Monday, then.”

The girl bit her lip and shrugged, as if she wasn’t sure.

“Okay,” was all she said. Her flip-flops slapped on the carpet as she headed down the hallway.

“Oh, you’re here already,” Levin said, spotting Lake. “Have you got a minute? I’d like to speak to you.”

“Of course,” she said, an alarm going off in her head. His tone seemed crisper than usual. When she stepped into his office, she found Hoss standing in the room, dressed in a sleeveless blue dress, sans lab coat.

As Levin opened his mouth to speak, Brie stuck her head in the door. The sight of her made Lake’s heart jump.

“Dr. Levin, Dr. Sherman needs you stat,” she said. “He’s in 4.”

He sighed, clearly bothered by the interruption.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to Lake. “I’d appreciate your waiting.”

Again crisp, very no-nonsense. But Lake figured Brie couldn’t have blabbed to him yet—Levin had been behind closed doors with Hoss and a patient.

“Certainly,” Lake said, letting him pass by her.

“Lovely-looking girl, don’t you think?” Hoss said to her.

“Brie?” Lake asked, unable to contain her surprise at the comment.

“No,” Hoss said dryly. “Kylie—the girl who was just in the office.”

“Oh, yes. She’s so young to be a patient here.”

“She’s not a patient,” Hoss said. She raised her chin in that haughty way of hers so that it was practically pointing at Lake. “She’s one of our potential donors.”

“Oh,” Lake said, surprised again. She knew that the clinic regularly used donor eggs, and sometimes even donor embryos. It was the last option for women who wanted to become pregnant but whose eggs were too old, too few, or too damaged from something like chemo. Donors received a minimum of eight thousand dollars, sometimes much more, depending on their pedigree, though as far as Lake knew, this clinic didn’t go to the extremes Harry had alluded to—like mining for PhD donors. For several years the clinic had relied on eggs from special agencies and brokers but had recently decided to begin its own database of participants. Hoss was supervising the project.

“I thought you weren’t going to start with that for a few more months,” Lake said.

“We’re getting a better response to our ads than we expected. That means we can probably begin sooner.”

“That girl Kylie looked like she might still be on the fence.”

“We never know for certain until they show for the first procedure. Many of them drag us through a bunch of preliminary interviews and then get cold feet.”

“It’s a lot to put your body through, isn’t it?” Lake said. “I could see why some women might have second thoughts.”

“It’s one month of hassle, and they’re paid brilliantly for it,” Hoss said disdainfully. “But girls are spoiled these days. They want the money, and yet they can’t bare the idea of any inconvenience.”

She elaborated on the selfishness of Gen Y, and as she did, Lake studied her. As she’d noted at the restaurant, it was almost a Jekyll and Hyde kind of thing. Out of her lab coat and black-framed glasses, Hoss was no longer the nerdy scientist; instead she was a handsome alpha female. Her arrogance seemed to spring not only from whatever wealth or social clout she possessed but also from her conviction that she was generally the smartest person in any room.

“All right, thanks for waiting,” Levin announced, rushing back
in. His hands looked damp, as if he’d washed them after examining someone and then dried them in a hurry. “Catherine, you may as well stay—you might have something to contribute.”

Levin slid into his desk chair and flung out his hand, indicating that Lake and Hoss should sit as well. Lake studied him as he glanced down at his desk, his pale gray eyes roving the surface agitatedly. Something was definitely up, Lake thought. She wondered if Brie had intercepted him in the hall.

“I had several conversations with Hayden Culbreth over the weekend,” Levin said, looking up and locking his eyes with Lake’s. “She clearly knows what she’s doing.”

“I’m glad you’re satisfied with the recommendation,” Lake said—though she sensed a “but” coming.

“The problem is that there have been some new developments in this dreadful situation with Keaton, and no matter what we do to protect ourselves, we’re going to be exposed on certain fronts.”

“Can you be more specific?” Lake asked. He’s got to be talking about the keys, she thought.

“I’d prefer not to at this moment,” he said. The quick look he shot Hoss made it clear that she was in the know. “It’s a police matter, and for the time being, the less said the better.”

Obviously he hadn’t realized Hayden would keep Lake informed.

“Understood,” she said, playing along.

“That said, we need to be proactive on other fronts. We’re likely to be scrutinized, and though Hayden will help us do damage control with the…situation, we need the clinic to
shine
. How are you coming on your proposal? I think we need to begin implementing things ASAP.”

His comment totally threw her.

“We’d agreed I’d present you something next Monday,” she said. “I’m on your calendar to do that.”

“
Monday?
” he said, as if this were the first he’d heard of it.
“Can’t we pick up the pace? We’re in a very precarious situation here.”

She couldn’t believe he was suddenly pressuring her this way. It was the absolute last thing she needed.

“Well, I’d—I’d have to take a look at my schedule,” she said. She felt disconcerted and annoyed but she didn’t dare show it. “I gave you my original date based on other obligations I have.”

“You’ve certainly had time to get to know us,” Hoss said, ignoring Lake’s explanation. “I can’t imagine you’d need to do any more research.”

Lake forced a tight smile, fighting off the urge to strangle Hoss. “I’ll certainly see what I can do. But, you know, this isn’t the best moment to launch a big marketing campaign anyway. You should probably lay low for a few weeks and concentrate on following Hayden’s strategy to keep attention
off
the clinic. Then, when the dust has settled, we can initiate some of the ideas I have.”

“I get your point,” Levin said, “but there have got to be
some
ideas worth implementing now—like the new website.”

“At least let us hear what all the ideas are,” Hoss said. “It would be good to have something else to focus on besides this horrible business.”

“As I said, let me check on my other obligations,” Lake said. “I have to leave now, but I’ll be in touch later.”

She hurried from Levin’s office, and out through reception. As soon as she was outside on Park Avenue, she wiped the fake smile from her face. Surely Levin remembered that the deal was for her to present her ideas
next
week—they’d discussed it several times, and she’d confirmed the date with Brie. She wondered if there was some ulterior motive behind his pressuring her to present them sooner. Maybe this was another way to discombobulate her—even though it wasn’t in the same league as nearly skinning her cat. Regardless of his intentions, she had to play along and try to seem nonchalant. And
she had to find a way to concentrate and bolster her presentation, which was so meager at this point.

It was hot and sticky outside, but she barely noticed as she hurried toward Lexington Avenue. At the corner she took a right and headed south until she located a Starbucks several blocks away. She bought a coffee, found a table, and after sweeping it clear of spilled sugar, popped open her laptop. Once again she pulled up the article by Kit Archer.

The piece wasn’t pretty. It described how fertility clinics had become a big business these days but were still unregulated. Although the CDC required clinics to report their success rates, there was no way to enforce that or audit what
was
reported. That meant there was room for abuse. Archer also reported that some clinics had been accused of encouraging patients to try procedures that had low success rates but high price tags.

Lake had read through articles on fertility clinics when she first took on the project, but she’d never seen this particular one. She kept waiting for the name of the Advanced Fertility Center to pop up—because otherwise why would Archer be such a thorn in Levin’s side? But the article was from a Washington, D.C.–based magazine and most of the clinics mentioned were in the Washington area.

So why hadn’t Levin wanted her to see this piece? Perhaps one of the doctors at the clinic had once been affiliated with one of these D.C. clinics. Lake dug through her tote bag for the folder with all of the doctor bios and thumbed through them. None of them had ever worked near Washington.

But the article had to be significant. Maybe Archer was working on a follow-up piece and Levin had gotten wind that his clinic was going to be highlighted. Or maybe the article referenced dubious practices that Levin’s clinic was engaged in, too, and Levin didn’t want to arouse Lake’s suspicions.

Lake Googled Kit Archer himself. He was an award-winning journalist who had segued back and forth between print and television. He was now working as a correspondent for
Reveal
, an investigative news show. It was possible that
Reveal
was looking into the clinic as part of a story and that was why Keaton had gotten cold feet about joining. No doctor with a good reputation would want to find himself suddenly mired in that situation.

Lake touched the fingers of both hands to her forehead, thinking. She had sensed from the beginning Levin’s ferociousness about the clinic—in their initial meeting he had boasted of its record, dismissed some of the other East Side clinics, and said he was hiring her to get the attention they deserved. If Keaton had challenged Levin—about excessive rounds of IVF, for instance—or stumbled on abuses and threatened to expose him, Levin would have been livid and quick to defend his empire. Who was Keaton, after all, to get in the way of his glorious mission? She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Levin sneaking into Keaton’s apartment and drawing a knife across his throat. She couldn’t picture it.

But he might have
hired
someone to do it. And Levin had just enough arrogance to keep up pretenses during a dinner in Keaton’s honor, playing the gracious host while knowing that Keaton would soon be dead.

Next Lake went to the
Reveal
website and clicked on Archer’s bio there. Archer looked as if he was in his early fifties, with the rugged, square-jawed good looks associated with guys who covered wars in safari jackets. What was different was his hair. Rather than the brown shellacked helmet head TV guys generally sported, it was totally white and long enough to be brushed behind his ears. Lake watched a video of one of his recent stories and scrolled through the site to see if he’d reported on fertility clinics, but there was no indication that he had.

There was only one way she was going to learn if Archer was
looking into the Advanced Fertility Center and that was to call and ask him. She had no idea if he’d even talk to her, but she had to try. Her gut kept telling her that Keaton’s death was related to something going on at the clinic. She had to figure out what that was and make sure the police knew about it, too.

Lake raised her head and surveyed the café. There wasn’t anyone within earshot of her. No time like the present. After calling the main number listed for the show, she spoke Archer’s name into the automated system. Three rings later a deep voice announced, “This is Kit Archer.” The cadence sounded so natural that it took her a moment to realize she was listening to Archer’s voice mail message. She didn’t leave a message. She knew she’d be better off catching him off guard.

She still had an hour before she was due to meet Maggie and she felt ready to jump out of her skin. She gathered up her bags and stepped outside in the heat. For the next forty-five minutes she meandered up and down side streets, letting her mind toss around the little she knew, ticking through the staff and trying to imagine if someone other than Levin would kill to protect the clinic’s reputation. Sherman was a partner and would also feel threatened by any kind of accusations. So would Hoss; even though she wasn’t a partner, she was at the epicenter of the clinical work there. And then there was Brie. She was nothing more than support staff, but she seemed as fierce as a Doberman about both Levin and the clinic.

The blistering heat made Lake consider how ragged she must look. Her hair had begun to fall from its topknot and her back was damp with sweat.

At eleven forty-five Lake changed direction and headed back toward the coffee shop where she’d agreed to meet Maggie. She wanted to find out exactly where the keys had been and who might have known their whereabouts. Maybe those answers would tell her something.