“For God’s sake, Elizabeth, what have you done to your hair?”
“I …” Thrown off balance, Elizabeth lifted a hand to her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“Dr. Fitch, I’m Deputy Marshal Barrow, and this is Deputy Marshal Norton. We understand this is a very difficult situation. If we could sit down, we’ll explain exactly what precautions we’re taking to protect your daughter.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ve already been briefed. If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to speak to my daughter alone.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Fitch, for her protection, it’s necessary for at least one of us to remain with Elizabeth at all times.”
Elizabeth glanced his way, wondered why he’d left her alone in the kitchen.
“Very well. Sit down, Elizabeth.” Susan remained standing. “There are no acceptable explanations, no rational reasoning, for your behavior. If the facts have been related to me accurately, you broke the law by forging documents you used to gain entrance to a nightclub with another minor. Where you consumed alcohol. Are these facts accurate?”
“Yes. Yes, they’re accurate.”
“You compounded this by showing yet more poor judgment by accompanying a man you’d just met to his home. Did you engage in sexual relations with this man?”
“No.”
“It’s imperative you answer truthfully, as you may have contracted an STD or become pregnant.”
“I didn’t have sex with anyone.”
Susan eyed her as coldly as she might a specimen under a microscope. “I’m unable to trust your word. You’ll submit to an examination as soon as possible. Actions have consequences, Elizabeth, as you know very well.”
“I didn’t have sex with anyone,” Elizabeth said flatly. “Julie had sex with Alex, and now she’s dead. It seems the consequence is too harsh for the action.”
“By your actions you put yourself and this other girl in serious jeopardy.”
The words were like stones, hurled at her limbs, cracking bone.
“I know. I have no excuse.”
“Because there is none. Now a girl is dead, and you’re under police protection. You may also face criminal charges—”
“Dr. Fitch,” John interrupted. “Let me assure you and Elizabeth. There will be no charges.”
“Is that for you to decide?” she snapped, then turned straight back to Elizabeth. “I’m aware that girls of your age often show poor judgment, often defy authority. I made allowances for that in our conversation before I left for Atlanta. But I expect better than this debacle from someone with your intellect, your resources, your upbringing. It’s only through the whims of providence you weren’t killed.”
“I ran away.”
“At last showing common sense. Now, get your things. I’ll arrange for one of the gynecologists on staff to examine you before we go home.”
“But … I can’t go home.”
“This is a poor time to exhibit misplaced independence.”
“Elizabeth is under the protection of the U.S. Marshals Service,” John began. “She’s the only witness to a double homicide. The man who committed those homicides is suspected of being an assassin in the Volkov
“I’m aware of what Elizabeth reported to the police.”
Elizabeth knew that tone—the chief-of-surgery tone that demanded no nonsense, brooked no argument, accepted no discussion.
“I’m also told she wasn’t seen by this man, and her name is unknown to him and his associates. I intend to take my daughter home, where she will be properly disciplined for her unfortunate behavior.”
“You can intend anything you want, Dr. Fitch, but Liz is under the protection of the U.S. Marshals Service.”
John spoke so calmly, so matter-of-factly, Elizabeth could only stare at him.
“She’ll be moved from this location tonight, to one we feel is more secure. Your residence is not a secure location, and her safety is our priority. As I assume it would be yours.”
“I have the resources to hire private security, if necessary. I’ve contacted my lawyer. Elizabeth can’t be forced to testify on this matter.”
“They’re not forcing me. I’ve agreed to testify.”
“Your judgment continues to be poor. This is my decision.”
He’d called her Liz, Elizabeth thought. He’d called her Liz and defied Dr. Susan L. Fitch’s directive—to her face. So she would
“No, it’s not.” The world did not end when she spoke the words. “I have to testify. I can’t go home.”
A flash of shock overlaid the brutally cold anger on Susan’s face. “Do you have any concept of the consequences of
“Julie’s dead.”
“Nothing can change that, but this decision could ruin your life, your plans, your future.”
“How can I just go home as if none of this happened? Go back to my life? And your plans, because they’ve never been mine. If their agenda is to convict the murderers, I accept that. Yours is for me to do nothing, to obey, to live the life you’ve designed for me. I can’t. I can’t do that anymore. I have to try to do what’s right. That’s the consequence, Mother. And I have to accept the consequence.”
“You’ll only compound your mistake.”
“Dr. Fitch,” John began. “The federal prosecutor is coming here to talk with Liz—”
“Elizabeth.”
“You’ll hear what he has to say. What steps will be taken. You can take a little time. I understand this is a shock. We’ll move you and your daughter to the new location, where you can take a few days to consider, to talk.”
“I have no intention of going anywhere with you, and am under no obligation to go anywhere with you. I expect you’ll come to your senses in a day or two,” she said to Elizabeth. “Once you realize the limits of your current circumstances, and the true scope of those consequences. I’ll tell Dr. Frisco you’re ill, and will catch up on the work. Think carefully, Elizabeth. There are steps taken that can never be undone.”
She waited, her mouth flattening when Elizabeth failed to respond.
“Contact me when you’re ready to come home. Deputies,” she said, and walked to the door.
John beat her to it. “One moment, Doctor.” He picked up his radio. “Barrow. Dr. Fitch is coming out. She’ll need to be escorted to her residence.”
“Copy that. We’re clear out here.”
“You don’t approve of my decision in this situation,” Susan said.
“You don’t need or want my approval, but no. Not by a long shot.”
“You’re right. I neither need nor want your approval.” She walked out without a backward glance.
When he stepped back, he saw Terry sitting on the arm of Elizabeth’s chair, a hand lightly laid on the girl’s shoulder.
“People react to fear and worry in different ways,” he began.
“She wasn’t afraid or worried, or not primarily. Primarily, she’s angry and inconvenienced. I understand that.”
“She was wrong,” Terry told her. “I know she’s your mom, but she was way off base.”
“She’s never wrong, and she’s never been a mom. Is it all right if I go to my room for a while?”
“Sure. But, Liz,” John added when she got up, “nobody’s never wrong.”
“Bitch,” Terry said under her breath when Elizabeth left the room. “Coldhearted bitch, coming in here, not one fucking hair out of place, kicking that girl at a time like this.”
