pulls in a third chair from Dr. Diaz’s office, and when the cops are settled, he closes the door and sits down behind his desk.
“What can I do for you gentlemen today?”
The older one, Madden, speaks. “Do you recall a young woman named Kristen Kroiter?”
Cogan blinks with surprise. The name registers—he knows it, well even—but he can’t put a face with it. Why do I know that name? he thinks.
Madden continues, “You treated her about six months ago. She was in a car accident. Sixteen. I believe she ruptured her spleen.”
Cogan remembers. And as soon as he remembers, he realizes he shouldn’t remember too quickly.
“OK. Yeah. I think I know who you’re talking about. She’s a student at Menlo-Atherton High. Why? Did something happen to her?”
“Well, it’s complicated,” Madden says. “How do you know she goes to Menlo-Atherton?”
Cogan feels the heat rise in his face. But his voice remains steady. “Oh, I think she told me at some point. I think I asked her if she knew my neighbor’s kid.” As he speaks, he notices that the second detective is taking notes, scribbling on a small notepad. “I live in Menlo Park,” he adds after a beat. “He goes to MA.”
“Have you seen her since you treated her?”
“Well, she came in for a check-up about a month after the accident. That’s standard. And then I may have run into her a couple times at Safeway. Or was it the mall? I can’t remember exactly. Maybe one time at the mall and one time at Safeway.”
“You spoke to her?”
“Yes, briefly. I asked her how she felt. How things were going. She seemed to be doing well.”
“And those are the only times you spoke to her.”
Cogan looks up at the ceiling, his heart pounding hard. The longer he waits, the greater their suspicions will be. So he says, “I think I may have spoken to her and her friend in front of my house a couple of times. They were visiting my neighbor’s kid.”
“And those are the only times you saw or spoke to her? The ones you’ve told us about?”
“Yes. Why? What’s this all about?”
Neither detective speaks for a moment. Then Madden looks at his partner, Burns. Burns looks back at him, then turns to Cogan and asks, “Is there any reason Miss Kroiter would say she had sex with you?”
Cogan’s eyes open wide. He laughs. “Sex? Are you kidding me?”
“No,” Burns says, his warm smile gone, replaced by stern eyes.
Cogan looks at him dumbfounded. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“We’re not doing that, either.”
Cogan falls silent, a depressed look coming over his face. A hundred thoughts run through his mind at the same time. A dozen emotions. They had promised not to say anything, he thinks. They were never there. It was weeks ago. Back in February, wasn’t it? What had happened? Stay calm, Cogan. Stay calm.
“What exactly did this girl say I did?” he says at last.
“Well, it’s complicated,” repeats Madden.
“How complicated could it be? What did she tell you?”
“Well, that’s just it. She didn’t tell us anything. She died. Saturday.”
If the reference to sex had felt like a punch to the gut, this one is more like a Mike-Tyson-in-his-prime uppercut to the chin. The lights go out for a second; he’s truly in shock. “Come again?” he says.
“Looks like a suicide,” Burns replies.
Cogan stares at them in utter horror.
“What police department are you guys from?”
Burns looks at Madden, and Madden says, “Menlo Park.” “No, I mean what unit?”
“Homicide.”
By the time they met, Madden had known Cogan for two days. He didn’t know him know him, of course. But he’d built an image of him: from a driver’s license photo, from what two parents had thought, from what one girl had said and one had written, and from his own insights. In plotting Cogan’s downfall, he’d taken that image and put it through the paces, running it over and over through a scene he’d carefully constructed in his mind. Take after take, he’d watched Cogan walk toward him in the hospital waiting room. Sometimes Cogan was apprehensive. Sometimes courteous. Sometimes jovial. And sometimes impatient. It didn’t matter. For whichever Cogan showed up, Madden was prepared.
“What if he’s hostile?” Burns had asked, driving to the hospital. Madden didn’t think he’d be hostile. He thought he knew him well enough to know that. He counted on him to be calm. That’s, after all, what he was paid to be: calm during a crisis. There was no reason to expect him to be overly