"Did you know Dr. Keaton very well?" McCarty asked.

"No. No, I didn't. But I did chat with him a little bit yesterday."

"What'd you talk about?"

"His joining the practice, some details about his former clinic."

"And what about previously?" Hull asked, speaking for the first time.

"Previously?" she said, confused.

"Did you know him previously?" he asked, staring at her.

Her pulse jumped. Why was he asking that that?

"No," she said as evenly as possible. "I only met him when I started working here."

McCarty scribbled a few notes in his pad and then looked back at her.

"Tell us about dinner last night. What did the two of you talk about?" he said.

"We didn't talk. To each other, that is. We were seated at opposite ends of the table."

Don't sound so defensive, she told herself. She was starting to feel ill with anxiety.

"And after dinner?"

"You mean, did I speak to him?"

"Yup."

"No-he left early. He said something about needing to call a patient. I was one of the last to leave the restaurant."

The two men swapped a look, and then Hull trained his gaze at Lake.

"And then what?" Hull said, his voice hard. "Because you didn't go home right away, did you?"

5.

LAKE FELT AS if she'd been stabbed with a shot of adrenaline and instinctively she touched her cheek with her hand, to the spot where her birthmark once was. Did they know she'd gone to Keaton's? That she'd spent the night with him? She wondered suddenly if there'd been a security camera in his lobby. if she'd been stabbed with a shot of adrenaline and instinctively she touched her cheek with her hand, to the spot where her birthmark once was. Did they know she'd gone to Keaton's? That she'd spent the night with him? She wondered suddenly if there'd been a security camera in his lobby.

But if they'd known she had been with him, they wouldn't have waited so long to interview her. They must be just toying with her, she decided, seeing what they could find out. They were probably doing the same thing with everyone who was at the dinner.

"You mean, did I go someplace else-after the dinner?" Lake asked. She tried to keep the nervousness out of her voice but it felt like trying to submerge an oar in water.

"Did you?" Hull prodded. you?" Hull prodded.

"No," she said. "I caught a cab and went home."

"Which way did you head?" he said.

Why was he asking that? she wondered anxiously.

"West-and then north. I live on the Upper West Side."

"Dr. Salman says he saw you headed east on Spring Street," Hull said. "He pa.s.sed you in his car."

Oh G.o.d, she thought. Had Steve also seen her turn up Crosby? Could he have spotted her going into Keaton's building? She had to gamble and a.s.sume they didn't know.

"Well, I did walk around a little. I couldn't find a cab right away"

"Why go east, though, if you live on the Upper West Side?"

A lump formed in her throat, but she had to answer.

"I did look on Broadway first but I didn't see any cabs. So I thought I'd try farther east. When I didn't have any luck there, I went back to Broadway."

McCarty scribbled again-more words, it seemed, than she'd spoken. What was he writing down about her?

"Did you see anyone from the dinner party when you were strolling about?" Hull asked. He seemed to be mocking her.

"No, no one," she said.

"Tell us more about the dinner," Hull said. "What was the mood like?"

"Very nice," she said. She slowly let out a breath. "People seemed happy that Dr. Keaton was joining the practice."

"And were you surprised to have been included?" Hull asked.

"Uh, not really," she said. "I think the doctors here realize that it's helpful for me to spend time with them. Get to know them."

The two detectives exchanged another look. She wished she could just bolt from the room.

"All right," McCarty said, flipping to a clean page of his notebook. "Please write down your name, address, and both your home and cell phone numbers. We may need to speak to you again at some point."

She couldn't believe it was finally over. She wrote her information down quickly.

When they rose to go, she stood up too. It seemed silly, as if she were seeing them off after a social visit, but it would have been odd to just sit there. As he reached the door, Hull turned and stared at her. His small eyes were dark and deeply set.

"One more thing," he said. "What time did you arrive home?"

During all her rehearsing, she had forgotten to factor that. She stared at him blankly as her mind did a desperate calculation. At ten-fifteen she'd been at the corner of Spring and Crosby. It might have taken fifteen minutes to find a cab. Twenty minutes or so to get home.

"The time?" Hull prodded.

"Sorry, I didn't pay much attention. I guess it was around eleven."

"And did anyone see you come home? Your husband, for instance?"

Why are you asking that? "I'm not married," she said. "The doorman might have seen me. But I think he was hailing a cab for someone." "I'm not married," she said. "The doorman might have seen me. But I think he was hailing a cab for someone."

"Thank you," he said, not sounding the least bit grateful. And then they left.

As soon as they were gone, she put her head in her hands and pulled in a long deep breath. Then she replayed the interview in her mind. McCarty was decent enough but Hull had been curt, almost snarky. They'd wanted to know if anyone could verify that she arrived home at eleven. Was she actually a suspect? Or was she in their sights simply because she'd been at the dinner? Weren't the last people to see someone alive always possible suspects? Plus she was a woman. By now, Keaton's sheets-and the used condom, if Keaton had left it by the bed-had clearly given away what he'd been doing during the hours before his death.

The detectives' interest in her might have been heightened by whatever Steve had told them. He was supposed to be a friend, but he'd thrown her under the bus, and she had no clue why. If he'd driven by her last night, why not pull over and offer her a lift? Had he not stopped because he'd seen her searching for a particular building? Had he told the police that?

She glanced back down at the page open on her laptop. How was she ever going to be able to concentrate enough to pull her presentation together?

A sound in the doorway jolted her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see Dr. Levin standing there.

"Sorry if I startled you," he said. "It seems we're all on edge at the moment."

"Yes, it's awful."

"The police tell me they're almost done, for the time being. As soon as they're gone, and I'm done with my final procedure, we should talk-you, me, and the other doctors. We need to know how to handle this from a PR standpoint."

As he spoke Lake realized that she should have been the one making this recommendation, but she'd been too crazed to think straight.

"Absolutely," she said. "I have some suggestions I can make."

He nodded soberly. "Let's say about four then."

"By the way," she said as he turned to leave. "Reporters will start to call. Until we've discussed a plan, you shouldn't talk to anyone. And tell the staff not to."

A short while later she became aware of staff moving up and down the corridor, and Lake figured the detectives had probably gone. She decided she needed to get out of the office for a few minutes, to try to calm herself before her meeting with Levin, and think of what advice she should offer. On her way out Lake saw that the receptionist was the only one in the waiting room-sitting grim-faced, twirling a strand of her hair.

Lake was halfway down Eighty-third Street, headed toward Lexington Avenue, when she heard her name called and turned to see Steve hurrying up behind her. He was still wearing his white lab coat, as if he'd dashed out when he saw her leaving.

"You okay?" he asked when he caught up to her. His brown eyes looked worried.

"Not ideal," she said. "It's pretty upsetting."

"I know," he said. "Sorry you got stuck in the middle of this."

"Well, you haven't made it easier for me," she said. She surprised herself by her bluntness.

"What do you mean?" he asked, clearly perplexed.

"You told the police you saw me wandering around SoHo last night."

He drew a breath. "But-I don't understand-what's the problem with that?"

"They seem to find that suspicious," Lake said.

"G.o.d, Lake, I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention."

"What exactly did you tell them?"

"Just that I saw you as I was driving home. They asked when I'd last seen each person who'd attended the dinner, so I mentioned that I spotted you after we'd picked up the car."

"I was looking for a cab."

"Well, there's hardly anything wrong with that," he said.

"I'm surprised you didn't stop for me."

He sighed and glanced off to the left.

"I should have. But to be honest, I was having a pretty intense discussion with Hilary. It would have been awkward."

Lake wondered if it was about how flirty Hilary had been with Keaton during dinner.

"Is that all you told them then?" Lake asked.

"What do you mean?" Steve said. "What else would I tell them?"

"Nothing. I just don't want to be caught off guard again."

"That was it-and again, I'm sorry. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm just feeling a little rattled," she said. "Because of everything. I'll be back in a little while."

It was hot out, in the mid-eighties, and the walk did nothing to calm her, only left her blouse damp and sticky with sweat. But at least she could relax with the knowledge that Steve hadn't seen her on Crosby Street, or going into Keaton's.

Upon her return, even the receptionist was now gone from the waiting area, though she found Maggie, Rory, Chelsea, and Emily bunched by the kitchenette, whispering. Clearly they'd been discussing the murder.

"Oh, there you are," Maggie said, smiling weakly.

Lake glanced at her watch. It was twenty to four.

"Was Dr. Levin looking for me?" she asked.

"No, but a man called for you. He wouldn't leave his name."

It was hard for her to imagine who it would be. Hotchkiss? Had she ever told him the name of the clinic?

She started to turn to get back to the small conference room, but caught herself. She should stay, she thought. Gossiping with these four would help keep her in the loop-though she would have to be careful of every word she spoke.

"So how's everyone doing?" she asked, forcing a sympathetic smile.

"I'm scared to death," Maggie said. "I asked my sister to spend the night with me."