Kate White - Hush

Another question gnawed at her. How had the killer gained entry to the apartment? Had he-or she-possessed a key? Or had the person jimmied the lock somehow? Maybe Keaton actually let the person in while Lake was sleeping, perhaps even assuming that Lake had left. But if Keaton had answered the door, he wouldn’t have been stabbed in his bed.

She considered Hayden’s comment about how big the story would become. Lake had been so preoccupied about her own connection to the murder that she hadn’t even considered the ramifications of just being employed by the clinic. Reporters might start to hound her. She wondered, in fact, whether the nameless person who’d called her at the clinic yesterday had been a reporter who’d gotten wind of her name.

Something unformed began to nudge her, but it was only later, when she was crawling into bed, that she recognized what it was: Keaton’s comment to her about a snag in his plan to be a partner. During today’s meeting in Levin’s office, there’d been no mention of any hitch. Either Levin had chosen not to bring it up in front of the associate doctors or the snag had only occurred in Keaton’s mind-and he hadn’t yet shared it with Levin.

Lake anticipated hours of fitful tossing that night, but she fell into a stupor almost instantly. Twice she was jounced awake by nightmares. She couldn’t remember the first one-it evaporated as soon as her eyes shot open. In the other, someone called on the phone about her children-saying their names, laughing, and then hanging up.

She woke with a start at six. For a brief moment she remembered nothing-but her stomach was knotted, as if she’d forgotten an urgent task. Then, like a tidal wave, the memory crashed against her. She hurried to retrieve the Times from on top of the mat outside her apartment door. The story was in the Metro section, a half-column long. It described Keaton as an L.A. ob-gyn and fertility specialist living part-time in New York. No mention of the clinic. So maybe the story wasn’t going to be huge after all.

But later, at a newsstand on her way to the bus, she picked up the Post and cringed as she saw Keaton’s photo splashed across the front page with the headline: BACHELOR DOC SLAIN DOWNTOWN. The photo was like a Hollywood red-carpet shot. He was in a tux, emerging from some event, looking handsome and cocky, like George Clooney at the Golden Globes. She forced herself to read the story. This time it included the name of the fertility clinic.

The Daily News had a more formal photo, the kind you’d see in a program for a medical conference. And this article had one new piece of info: Keaton’s super had found the body. When Keaton hadn’t shown up at the clinic yesterday, Levin had probably told Brie to try to locate him. In the course of looking for Keaton, his super had somehow been tracked down.

When Lake arrived at work, she found that the mood was an awful mix of somberness and agitation; people were both despondent and all churned up.

“Can you believe all the stories about this?” Maggie whispered to her as she set her things down in the small conference room. “I mean, it’s like the Laci Peterson case or something.”

“Have any reporters called you?” Lake asked.

“Not me in particular, but they’ve been calling here all morning.”

Lake could see the strain on Maggie’s face.

“How are you doing, anyway?” she asked. “Did your sister end up staying with you?”

“Yes-but it didn’t do much good. I had the worst nightmares. I might ask Dr. Kline for some advice when he gets a minute today.”

“Oh, he’s here?” Lake asked, realizing she hadn’t seen him since before all this happened.

“Yes, he was away for a few days but he’s back now. He was totally shocked to hear the news.”

Lake and Maggie agreed to try to get their minds off everything and get some work done. At five minutes to eight, Hayden Culbreth arrived, wearing a dazzling purple silk shift that contrasted boldly with her blond bob. As promised, she hit the ground running.

“Let’s start,” she said to Levin as soon as Lake had introduced them.

Sherman had joined them in Levin’s office, along with Hoss and Brie, notebook and pen in hand. Brie ran her eyes up and down Hayden, her disapproval loud and clear.

“So far you’ve done a decent job of handling things,” Hayden announced. “By that I mean no one on your staff has blabbed to the press. But they still might be tempted to. We need to implement a lock-and-load strategy.”

“Good God,” Sherman said. “It sounds like you’re suggesting firearms.”

Hayden pursed her lips and gave her head a little shake. “Of course not. But to protect the reputation of the clinic, you have to lock down communication-make sure that no one, and I mean no one , discusses this with the media. Let them know that their asses will be in the ringer if they do.

“But at the same time,” she continued, “keep people here in the loop and give them updates on what you learn from the cops. When there’s secrecy and people don’t know what the hell is going on, they start buzzing-sometimes to reporters.”

“I assume you’ll handle all the press calls,” Levin said to her.

“No, we’ll let the NYPD do that.”

“The NYPD ?” Levin exclaimed. “But-”

“It’s best to have the police take those calls. When the press contacts you here, the person fielding those calls-and let’s designate someone smart to do it-should say that all calls are being referred to the New York City Police.”

“But isn’t that why we’ve hired you -to handle those calls?” said Hoss. Despite her haughtiness, she looked tired and drained, her black hair lanky, as if she hadn’t bothered to wash it today. She was probably concerned, like everyone else, Lake thought, about what all this might do to her reputation.

“You’ve hired me to devise a strategy ,” Hayden said. “If I talk to the press and they quote me, they’ll say I’m a rep for your clinic-and name the clinic . And you want to distance yourself from this as much as possible. We’re following the same approach abortion clinics use when they’ve been bombed-keep the name of the clinic out of the paper by letting the cops do all the talking. Now let’s talk about ‘load.’ That means you load me up on information. I need to know about Dr. Keaton.”

Levin, who was still wincing from the abortion clinic comment, briefly went over Keaton’s bio-Cornell med, a fellowship in reproductive endocrinology, the L.A. practice. Again, no hint that Keaton might have had second thoughts about coming on board. Had Keaton not had a chance to share his misgivings with Levin, Lake wondered-or was Levin keeping something to himself?

“Well, that’s all nice and good,” Hayden said, “but what I’m really interested in is why someone wanted to murder him. According to the papers, it doesn’t sound like he was killed during a burglary.”

“We really don’t know much about his personal life or the people he associated with outside of the clinic,” Levin said. “Up until now, he’d only worked with us on a consulting basis.”

“Have the police shared any details?” Lake interjected. Desperate to know, she couldn’t resist asking, and she knew the question had come out abruptly. Hoss eyed her quizzically.

“Nothing,” Levin said. “All we know is what’s in the papers.”

“He was an attractive guy,” Hayden said. “Was he gay?”

“Hardly,” Sherman said.

“A womanizer, then?” Hayden asked. “Could he have been killed by a jealous lover?”

“As Dr. Levin explained already, we really only knew the man professionally,” Sherman said, sounding exasperated. Lake noticed that Brie was watching smugly, as if she found the whole process positively stupid.