lost in thought. The rain had stopped instantly in that moment, as if a switch had been flicked. She craned her neck around and saw that more lights now twinkled through the trees. Reinforcements had clearly arrived from the other direction. And a police car was backing down the road in her direction.
Inside was the same officer who had spoken to her earlier. He stopped, stepped out of the cruiser, and approached her car again.
“Ma’am, could you please step out of your vehicle.”
Though his voice was low and even, there was an undertow of disapproval. She opened the door and stepped into the humid night air. The headlights of the cop car hit the immediate area.
“What’s your name, please?” he asked. In the dark, his thick black brows looked like caterpillars sleeping on his face.
“Lake Warren.”
“Ms. Warren, my name is Officer Clinton. We’re going to need you to come to our headquarters and answer some questions.”
“I—I need to go to a hospital first. The woman back there—Rory Deever—she drugged me. And she hit me over the head.”
He had been staring at her blankly, but when she twisted her head so he could see the wound, he pulled back in surprise. He turned away and spoke into his walkie-talkie.
“Why don’t you come with me,” he said, turning back. “Please lock your vehicle.”
She told herself not to act fearful with him. She was the victim, not the criminal, and she needed to come across that way.
“Of course,” she said. “The woman who attacked me—did she hit a tree?”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge that right at this time.”
He opened the rear door of his car and she climbed in. The backseat smelled of old sweat and fried food and it nearly made her gag. She thought they might drive past the accident but the cop turned the car around and headed in the opposite direction. The drive took about twenty minutes and the entire time she could feel her fear throbbing, like a hand that had been slammed in a door. The exam and tests would buy her time but eventually she would have to face the police and their questions. She prayed that Archer had found a lawyer for her.
She was taken to Northern Westchester Hospital, a big sprawling complex with an ER lit up as bright as day. The waiting room was about a quarter full. People who should have been preoccupied with their sprained ankles and palpitating hearts dropped their jaws at the sight of her being escorted inside by a cop. With the cop nearly hugging her side, Lake explained to the triage nurse about the drugging and showed her the blow to her head. Instead of being forced to endure the waiting area of onlookers, she learned she would be sent to an exam room immediately. As she and the cop were led there, everyone’s eyes were on her.
“May I ask where you’ll be taking me afterward?” Lake asked him.
“Why don’t I let one of the detectives explain everything,” he said. “He’ll be here shortly.”
At least the cop didn’t come into the room with her—he remained right outside as a nurse directed her onto an exam table. She asked Lake to wait a few minutes and left her alone. Lake lightly tapped the wound on her head and felt that the blood was still oozing.
“Ms. Warren?”
She snapped her head to the right. In the doorway stood a hulking man with a gigantic mustache, wearing a blue-and-green-checked jacket. Clearly not an M.D. She nodded yes.
“I’m Detective Ronald Kabowski from the Bedford Hills Police. I hear the doctor will be in any second, but I’d like to chat for a minute beforehand—if you’re up to it.”
You’re the victim, she reminded herself. Do not act guilty.
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
“My officer tells me you suspect you were drugged.”
“I don’t suspect—I know. I passed out. And this woman—Rory Deever—admitted she did it to me when I came to.”
“It sounds like it’s been quite a harrowing night for you.” His words were slicked with sympathy, but she could see the strategy. It was meant to make her drop her guard.
“Yes. And there’s something important that you should know. This situation is connected to a homicide case in New York City—the death of a doctor there, Mark Keaton.”
“Why don’t you start by telling me what happened tonight.”
Instinctively she lowered her eyes and wished she hadn’t.
“I want to tell you the whole story,” she said, looking back up at him. “But because things