Just hearing him reference that meeting made her stomach clench. The session with Hull and McCarty had been terrifying—though at least Madelyn had been at her side, looking ready to bite if either one of them stepped out of line.
Lake had relayed her story to them, just as she had to the Bedford Hills police and to Archer later in the car that night. There had been moments when she worried that it sounded rehearsed, overly polished, but if Hull and McCarty had thought so, they hadn’t let on. Maybe because they had no apparent interest in all the details about the clinic and the files Lake had been driving up to see—in truth, that part had seemed to bore them altogether. What they wanted was the stuff on Keaton and why Rory had killed him. When Lake reached the part where she had to lie—and skip much of the truth—she had heard her voice catch just a little. Hull had stared at her so hard it hurt.
They fired a barrage of questions at her then, all about Keaton’s murder. But there wasn’t anything she could add, she told them. Rory had said she was carrying Keaton’s baby, that she’d had copies of his keys made—obviously from the set in Maggie’s drawer—and that she’d killed him. And nothing more.
Then she told them about the incident in Brooklyn—Madelyn had insisted on it—and they weren’t happy.
“You’re chased into the East River at knifepoint and you don’t bother calling 911?” McCarty said, not disguising how stupid he thought she was.
“I was afraid to,” Lake said.
“‘Afraid’?” he said, his large brown eyes nearly lunging from his head. “I would think you’d be afraid not to.”
“It’s because of what I shared with you in my apartment that day,” Lake said softly. “I’m in the middle of a very difficult custody situation. My husband would use anything against me.”
“He’s gonna have a field day now, isn’t he?” Hull said, snickering.
“That’s out of line, Detective.” Madelyn retorted. “My client was supposed to remain in bed today because of her injuries but volunteered to speak with you. She has been more than cooperative. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to see that she gets home.”
The two men just sat there, McCarty running his eyes over the last page of notes and Hull flicking a pencil back and forth, back and forth. Finally Hull spoke.
“There is one little detail we’re having trouble with,” Hull said, his eyes glinting. “Maybe you can help us with it.”
Lake didn’t say anything, just waited, trying to make herself breathe.
“Ms. Deever’s phone records indicate that you two talked several times. Can you tell us what those calls were about?”
“Of course,” Lake said, relieved to be able to answer. She’d been over this general ground with them before. “As I mentioned earlier, she called me Saturday afternoon to say she’d brought the patient records home with her. That’s when I told her I’d drive to her house to look at them. We spoke a few times after that because I was going to be late. I was delayed at my children’s camp.”
“What about the earlier call?” Hull asked.
“What do you mean?” Lake said. Was he back to the mind games?
“She called your apartment the night before Dr. Keaton’s murder,” Hull said, his voice hard. “At two fifty-seven a.m., to be exact.”
Against her will, Lake’s lips parted in disbelief. So it had been Rory who had called that night, asking about “William.” Of course. She had told Lake in the basement that she was worried she and Keaton were already sleeping together.
She felt Madelyn shift ever so slightly in the chair next to her, sensing trouble. Lake’s mind ricocheted, searching frantically for an explanation.
“Yes—I did get a call late that night,” she said, furrowing her brow. “I was sleeping and it woke me. But—I couldn’t make sense of what the person was saying, and then they hung up. I thought it was a wrong number.”
“Why would Ms. Deever do that, do you think?”
“I—I have no idea.”
She started to say more, to suggest that Rory had just been crazy, and then she held her tongue. Tell only the essential lie, she told herself.
To her surprise they said she was free to go.
“There’s another interesting subplot in all of this,” Archer said at their garden table, rousing her from her thoughts.
“With the clinic?”
“No—with Rory Deever. There appears to be no husband in the picture at the moment. The police have