bottom of the entranceway’s steps, Burns asks, “What do you think, Hank?”
Madden doesn’t say anything at first. He just stops at the curb and looks at his watch. His timer is at thirty-five seconds, ticking down from two minutes.
“I think we’ve got a ball game,” he finally says. Then he pulls out his cell phone and speed-dials the sergeant’s number. “We’re done,” he tells Pastorini. “Wait thirty seconds and have the girl call.”
Cogan is alone in his office no more than two minutes when the phone rings. For a moment, he sits there staring at it as if it’s some mysterious foreign object that he’s seeing and hearing for the first time. Nothing has changed: the room is exactly as it was when he entered it. And people are still moving around outside his office, doing their jobs as if nothing had happened. Yet everything seems intensely askew. He doesn’t know where to begin, who to call or what exactly to do. He knows he has to get a lawyer, but which lawyer? Who’s good? And who to call to find out who’s good?
The phone rings again. His initial impulse is not to answer it, but suddenly he hopes it’s Klein or Reinhart or anybody he knows. So on the fourth ring, just before the call slides into voice mail, he picks up.
“Cogan,” he says.
“Hello, Dr. Cogan?”
“Yes?”
“This is Carrie Pinklow. I don’t know if you remember me.” Her voice wavers nervously, “Kristen’s friend. I tried to reach you earlier today but you were out.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know how to say this, but something terrible has happened.”
“I know. The police were just here.”
“Oh, my God. So you know. It’s just awful,” she says, speaking in an irritating staccato. “I can’t believe she killed herself. The police talked to me, too.”
“And what did you say when they came to talk to you?”
“I didn’t know what to tell them. It was all in her diary. Everything that happened that night. You know about the diary, don’t you?”
His tone suddenly turns sharp. “They said you made some comments. What did you tell them, Carrie?”
“I told them—I had to. I told them we went to your house. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you going to get in trouble?”
He lowers his voice. “Did you say anything about Kristen having sex with me?”
“They asked me about it.”
“Shit.”
“It was in her diary. There was nothing I could do. And then they said she called you Saturday afternoon. What did you say to her?”
“I didn’t say anything. Why on earth would she kill herself? Over something I said? Is that what they were implying?”
“I know. It’s just awful,” she repeats.
“Christ. Why didn’t you tell them she made the whole thing up?”
“I don’t know,” the girl says.
Cogan covers his face with his hand, exasperated. Rubbing his eyes, he lets out a long sigh.
“Do you think it would help if I did?” she says suggestively.
“It’d be a good start, don’t you think?”
Just then he hears voices outside his door. A nurse talking to a doctor. “Look, I have to go,” he says. “But this is bad, Carrie. Really fucking bad. I’m very sorry about your friend, but I’m in a heap of trouble here. A huge heap. And it’s my own goddamn fault.”
19/ PROFESSIONAL ADVICE
April 2, 2007—3:35 p.m.
THE FIRST PERSON COGAN CALLS IS KLEIN, THOUGH HE DOESN’T actually call him; he pages him. Klein gets back to him quickly, in less than a minute.
“Hey, buddy, you getting out of here?” he asks when Cogan picks up.
“Soon. You busy?”
“Just got a couple things to finish up. Why? What’s up?”
“Can you come down? I need to talk to you.”
“Sure. What’s up? Girl troubles?”
“You could say that.”
“Really. Which one? Do I know her?”
“This one’s serious, Kleiny. Real serious.”
“Oh,” he says, taken aback. Then, after a beat, “I’ll come right down.”
When Klein arrives a few minutes later, he enters the office hesitantly, almost gingerly, as if he fears he’s about to be reprimanded by a superior. Cogan knows he’s scared him a little. As long as he’s known him—about five years—he’s never used the word “serious” to describe a situation he had with a woman, even his worst break-ups.
“Sit down,” he tells Klein in a low voice. And then, when he’s seated, “Look, I can’t tell you everything right now, because I don’t know where this thing’s going. But I’ll give you the truncated version. You remember that girl I was telling you about, the girl I treated, who was in the car accident? The