A Fatal Debt

19

Joe’s mood must have been infectious because I slept soundly, and when I woke in the morning, my subconscious had already decided for me. I was tired of keeping secrets, of covering things up out of duty and cowardice. I’d made a mistake with Harry, one that might cost me my job, but I wasn’t prepared to shield him any longer, and nor would I protect Duncan. I’d go to Baer and tell him everything-the gun Nora had brought to the ER, the pressure Duncan had put on me, and what Harry had said to me on the beach. I’d tell him that Harry was a murderer.

As I stepped from the shower I felt relieved, as if a burden that I’d been carrying for weeks had just been lifted. My job was to keep people’s secrets, but Harry had used it against me and I wouldn’t let him anymore. I didn’t know why he’d killed Greene, but that was Baer’s job to discover, not mine. I’ll be a whistle- blower, I thought, and that sounded better than being a fraud. I hummed cheerfully over breakfast, and when it was done, I picked up the phone to make some appointments.

My first stop was the Shapiros’ apartment, and as I rode in the elevator, I wondered if Anna was going to be there. I don’t care, I thought. She’s Harry’s servant and she can suffer the consequences. When I arrived at the thirty-seventh floor, I composed my face for her-mimicking the glare she’d worn when I’d last seen her-but I softened my expression as the door opened on Nora. This was going to be the hardest meeting. I no longer cared about offending Harry, but I still felt for her. She hadn’t done anything wrong, just tried to care for her husband, and she wasn’t going to like what I was about to say.

“Anna’s out at the house cleaning up, so it’s just me here. Come through,” she said, smiling. “Can I get you something?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I said briskly.

We walked to her study. It was a sunny morning and I caught a glimpse of Central Park through a window, the soft green blanket of the solid tops of trees stretching toward Harlem, with the line of Fifth Avenue on the far side. It was like sitting in an aircraft and seeing the clouds below-that lofty, detached sensation.

“There’s something I want to ask,” I said as we sat. “Steven Baer, the prosecutor in your husband’s case, called me to testify before a grand jury yesterday. He asked me some difficult questions. He knew a lot about my treatment of Mr. Shapiro after I discharged him-that I’d been flown to East Hampton after visiting my father.”

Nora looked puzzled. “There wasn’t anything wrong with that, was there? I wanted to help.”

“Of course, and I’m grateful, but it doesn’t look good now. You didn’t tell the detectives about it, did you?”

Her mouth opened in shock. If she had been the informant, she was doing as good a job of concealing the truth as Lauren.

“Absolutely not. That would be a terrible thing to do. You believe me, don’t you?” she said, holding a hand to her mouth.

I nodded. “I’m sorry. I needed to be sure.”

I believed her. It wasn’t merely that she seemed innocent. It wouldn’t be good for Harry’s defense to make it look as if he’d manipulated me into letting him out of Episcopal in order to murder Greene. Their lawyer would have briefed her not to volunteer information, just as Joe had briefed me. Nora had done all she could to fulfill Harry’s wishes and had landed me in trouble, but she’d had no reason to betray me.

“Did you speak to Sarah?” Nora said. “Will she help?”

She looked at me eagerly, and I was touched that she cared. She was already embroiled in a desperate effort to save Harry from the disasters into which he’d arrogantly plunged himself, from the failure of his bank to Greene’s death. I wanted to reassure her, but I’d be helping her husband out if I did.

“I don’t think that will make any difference now. I’m likely to lose my license no matter what she does.”

“No!” Nora exclaimed, placing her hand on mine as she’d done in the psych ER at our first meeting. “That’s terrible. After everything you did for Harry, it would be so wrong for you to suffer.”

“Would it?” I said. “I let your husband go and he murdered Mr. Greene. I’d have said I didn’t do my job.”

The word murdered seemed to strike Nora like a body blow. She leaned forward in her chair and I saw the distress in her eyes as she stared at me. It was as if I’d spoken in a foreign tongue and she was struggling to understand.

“How can you say that?” she cried. “You treated him. You saw the state he was in. Harry didn’t murder Marcus. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my legs with my hands clasped. I didn’t want to distress her further, but I believed she ought to listen for her own good. There were things I couldn’t tell her about Harry’s behavior-Lauren was now my patient-but I wouldn’t lie about what I thought of him. If Harry went to jail for murder, I didn’t want Nora to pine for the rest of her life.

“Mrs. Shapiro,” I said slowly, “everything I’ve learned since the killing has convinced me I misdiagnosed him. I don’t believe he was ever in danger of suicide. He’d always meant to kill Mr. Greene. That’s why he had the gun.”

“No. No. I don’t believe that,” she said, standing and gripping her right elbow with her left hand. “I’ll never believe that. You’re wrong, Doctor. I thought that you understood Harry, but you don’t. You never will.”

As she stood there, I felt ashamed. I’d rushed up there eager to tell her the truth, but the person I should have been confronting was Harry himself, not his wife. It wasn’t her fault that he’d fooled her. What had come over me, acting like an avenger to a woman whose life was already shattered?

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “You’re right. I don’t know your husband as well as you. I think I should leave now.”

Her eyes were closed and she stood rigidly, her muscles tensed, as if still tortured by my outburst. Finally, she relaxed slightly and sat down again, looking more desolate than I’d ever known her, even in her study in East Hampton.

“Perhaps you should,” she said.

She stayed seated as I walked out of the study and unlatched the front door to let myself out. The last sight I had of her was with her hands folded in her lap, gazing blankly at a bright acrylic, no doubt million-dollar, painting.

Once I’d endured the usual wait, Duncan appeared and beckoned me through. I’d never noticed personal touches in her office before, but as I sat down, I saw two photos framed by her desk. One was of a hulk holding an oar and the other of a teenager in braces.

“Yours?” I said, pointing at them.

“Louisa’s mine. That big guy is my stepson. He’s at Stanford,” she said. “You haven’t got children, have you?”

“Not even a wife, I’m afraid.”

There was a pause as we both smiled formally. I realized that she knew that already from having read my personnel file. There was nothing I could tell her about myself in small talk that she didn’t already know. That didn’t bother me, because I’d kept other things from her and was about to bring her up to date. After my shame at the way I’d confronted Nora, this was light relief. I didn’t care about upsetting Duncan.

“You asked to see me?” she said.

“I did. I wanted to let you know that I’ve thought over what you suggested when we last met, and I have an answer.”

“Which is?” she said icily, as if she didn’t appreciate me playing games. She wanted only silent obedience.

“No,” I said.

“No what?”

“No, I’m not going to keep quiet. It’s too late for that. I’ve informed the Suffolk County ADA about what happened when Mr. Shapiro was admitted to Episcopal and why I came to discharge him. I testified yesterday to a grand jury.”

“You did what?” Duncan said incredulously.

“Testified to a grand jury. In Riverhead.”