Kate White - Hush

“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 are so complicated-I mean, with the other case-I’d prefer to tell you with an attorney present.”

“An attorney?” he said. His mouth dropped open, revealing a huge left canine as yellowed as an old refrigerator.

“Are you sure about that? It’s gonna make things take forever.”

“I realize that, but like I said, this is a very complicated situation.”

He stared hard at her, all the fake sympathy gone.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “I’ll have to see what I can learn from the other party involved.”

HER HEART FROZE. Rory had obviously been taken to this same hospital, brought in through the ambulance bay. If she were the first to tell her story, Lake would be on the defensive, forced to try to undo the lies of a psychopath. But she didn’t dare say a word to the detective. She might dig herself into a hole.

“Can you tell me where we’ll be going after the doctor sees me?” Lake said. “I need to let the lawyer know.”

“The Bedford Hills Police station,” he said and turned on his heels.

As soon as he was gone, she called Archer back to give him a rushed update and to explain where he could meet her.

“Okay, we’ll find the place. I’ve just picked up Madelyn Silver-she’s a terrific criminal attorney. I only gave her five minutes to get ready, so she said you can’t blame her for showing up in her pajamas.”

Lake felt a rush of relief.

“You may actually get there before me,” she said. “I haven’t even been seen by a doctor yet.”

“Not a problem. Wait, hold on.” She could hear him passing the phone.

“Lake, this is Madelyn Silver,” a gravelly voice said. “Have the police tried to speak to you yet?”

“Yes-a detective came to the hospital. I told him that the situation was related to a homicide in New York City and because of that I didn’t want to say anything until my attorney arrived.”

“Good girl. Don’t let them intimidate you. Say nothing.”

But what do I say when you arrive, Lake wondered after she’d hung up. Did she dare tell Madelyn Silver everything? From the little Lake knew, she was pretty sure that a lawyer wasn’t allowed to withhold information about a crime. And wasn’t leaving the scene of Keaton’s murder a crime? If only Lake could find out what Rory was saying to the police-then she would be on surer footing when she talked to Silver.

The next few minutes were interminable. She had begun to feel less woozy but her head and body ached. She thought about the kids and what they would have gone through if Rory had managed to stuff her in the freezer. But if Lake were sent to jail after this, it would be almost as bad.

Two more patrol cops arrived and paced outside the room. The other one seemed to have disappeared. Nurses glanced constantly toward the open door of her room as they passed by. After ten minutes, the cop who’d driven her to the hospital stepped into the room with a camera. He was there to take pictures of her wounds, he said. After snapping six or seven he left, and more minutes passed. She worried that the longer they waited to test her, the less likely they would be able to pick up traces of the drug. Finally a doctor arrived, a tall, elegant black woman with round brown eyes.

“I’m Dr. Reed,” she said, her voice flat. “The police said you’re asking for a toxicology test?”

“Yes. I was drugged tonight.” She tried to sound calm and reasonable, like a totally sane person who’d done nothing wrong, but she knew that in her muddy, disheveled, weary state she looked like someone who’d experienced a psychotic break.

“Can you describe the symptoms to me?”

“My head started to hurt and I passed out-I’m not sure for how long. It could have been just a few minutes or maybe a bit longer. I felt woozy afterward-and very weak.”

“Any nausea?”

“A little.”

“I’ll send a nurse in to draw blood. You’ll also have to give a urine sample-with the nurse watching.”

“Fine,” Lake said, though it didn’t feel fine. “And I have bruises on my head where I was hit with a shovel.” She lightly tapped the spongy hair just above the cut.

The doctor pulled a pair of latex gloves from a dispenser, snapped them on, and, parting Lake’s hair, examined the wound.

“That’s nasty-looking,” she said after a moment. “I don’t think you need stitches but we should get that cleaned up pronto. And you’ll need an antibiotic. Have you had a tetanus booster lately?”

“Actually, yes, two years ago.”

“Good. Were there any signs of a concussion tonight?”

Lake stared at her blankly.

“Headaches? Dizziness?”

She shrugged, offering a rueful smile. “Yes, but that may have been caused by the drug.”

“Are you in any kind of pain now?” Dr. Reed asked.

The comment made Lake’s eyes well with tears. How funny, she thought. What an understatement.

“My head’s still aching some.”

“I’ll give you something for that-but we need to wait until after the blood and urine tests.” For the first time she saw a trace of warmth in the doctor’s eyes.

Things started to move faster then. A nurse came in to draw blood and to accompany her to the bathroom across the hall, where she watched Lake pee, making sure she didn’t try to spike her urine. Afterward the nurse cleaned and dressed her head wounds and gave her an antibiotic to take. Lake pretended to focus on the nurse’s actions while she eavesdropped on the conversations in the corridor. She was desperate for news of Rory’s condition. Had her husband been called? In the background she could hear doctors and nurses asking for things like CTs and portable ultrasounds or requesting that vascular be called right now. But nothing about Rory. And there was no sign of her, either, as the cop led Lake back through the waiting room-with every eye trained on her.

It was just after ten when she was ushered into the back of the police car again, and ten-thirty when the car pulled up to the station house. The space was a blur of gray walls, metal desks, and linoleum. Kabowski appeared suddenly, as if from a mist. She wasn’t sure if he had come ahead or simply followed them from the hospital.

“Did my lawyer arrive yet?” she asked him.

“Not that I’m aware of. Why don’t we put you someplace where you’ll be comfortable until he arrives?”

“Thank you,” Lake said-though she knew that the last thing Kabowski cared about was her comfort.

She was led to a small interview room with a metal table and several stacking chairs around it. The uniformed cop who accompanied her didn’t ask if she’d like anything to drink. Didn’t they always ask you that on cop shows? She sensed they weren’t treating her at all like a victim.

Alone again, Lake felt the urge to lay her head on the table, to let tears fall, but she knew they might be watching her through the mirror on the wall. She sat there instead, blank-faced, but churning inside, wondering what was going to happen next-and when Archer would arrive with the laywer.