Saving Meghan(69)

Both men flashed official-looking badges.

“I’m Detective Richard Spence, and this is Detective Howard Capshaw of the Boston PD,” said the thinner of the two.

Spence had the more hard-bitten face, along with a full head of hair. Capshaw’s thinning hair had fewer grays, while his plump cheeks held a ruddier complexion.

“What’s this about?” Becky asked nervously.

“Last night we were called to the home of Dr. Peter Levine. I believe you know him,” Spence said.

“I do,” Becky said, glancing anxiously back at Carl.

“He’s dead,” said Capshaw. “And we’d like to ask you a few questions about that, if we may.”





CHAPTER 31


They gathered in the living room, the detectives seated on the comfortable chairs last used years ago, when Becky and Carl had still hosted parties. The furnishings, in general, all of it oversize dark wood pieces, went together because it had come—down to the lamps and throw rug—from a showroom at the furniture store. Becky had come from nothing, had never dreamed of having anything, which was why she’d never cultivated any style or flair for interior design. She sold homes, not the furniture that went in them. She went for the largest pieces, not the prettiest ones, but even then, the massive room looked spare and lifeless to her.

Becky and Carl sat on the sofa, holding hands—something they used to do that no longer felt natural or even authentic. Kelly London kept to the dining room, reviewing her notes, checking her phone, and most likely eavesdropping on the conversation.

“How did Dr. Levine die?” Becky began.

“If you don’t mind, we’ll ask the questions,” the heavier Capshaw said, returning a tough guy stare.

“Very well,” said Becky, removing her hands from Carl’s to fold them on her lap. “Ask away.”

“What’s your relationship with Dr. Levine?” Spence began.

News of the man’s death had cleansed Becky of much of her anger.

“He and Dr. Amanda Nash have been … examining and looking after our daughter.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“He was assessing her mental health,” Becky said, unsure how much she should share.

Spence wrote something in his little black notebook.

“When was the last time you saw Dr. Levine?”

“That would be yesterday afternoon,” Becky said, a hitch in her voice. “When he and Dr. Nash took Meghan away from us after she got sick while we were visiting her at White.”

“What was she sick with?” Capshaw asked.

“We don’t know,” Carl said, eyeing Becky in an unloving way. “It’s been … let’s just say … difficult to figure that one out.”

“We have some background, but feel free to elaborate for us,” Spence said.

“Happy to,” Becky said, sounding a defiant note. “The doctors at White believe I’ve been abusing my daughter, medically speaking—making her act sick, or fake an illness, or just putting ideas in her head so that she feigns sickness for the attention. None of which is true, but I’m having a hard time convincing anyone of that fact, my dear husband included. The hospital took her from us, and they are keeping here there against our wishes.”

Becky sat up straighter, as if unloading her emotional burden had physically lightened her load as well.

Spence jotted furiously in his notebook like a beat reporter getting a scoop. “And I’m guessing you haven’t been criminally charged?”

“No,” Carl said. “We’re in court. Trying to figure that one out.”

“So with Dr. Levine—” Capshaw said.

“Are you going to ask if I think he got what he deserved?” Becky said, interrupting Capshaw while drawing Carl’s ire. “Or if I had something to do with his death? The answer is no, to both. If you ask if I’m broken up about it, well, yes, only because he was so young. But he’s also put my family through a bit of hell, so forgive me if I don’t display the expected degree of shock and sorrow. Now, are you going to tell me how he died?”

“We don’t know,” Spence said, glancing at his notebook. “A Dr. Zachary Fisher was supposed to meet him for dinner. When he didn’t show, Dr. Fisher went to the house and broke a window to gain entry.”

“No evidence of trauma, no sign of forced entry, just a guy sitting on a sofa like you’re sitting on now, only he was dead,” Capshaw added.

“What was Dr. Fisher meeting with Dr. Levine about?” Carl leaned forward, thumb pressed to his chin hard enough to leave the skin bloodless underneath.

“According to Dr. Fisher, it was about you, Mrs. Gerard,” Capshaw said. “Did you happen to have a sit-down with Dr. Levine at the Moonlight Diner a few days ago that did not go particularly well?”

Carl whipped his head in Becky’s direction. Deep creases sank into his furrowed brow. “You met with him? Without me? Without telling our lawyers?” Carl was seething. “Dammit, Becky, what are you trying to do here? Sabotage our chances?”

“I was trying to get my daughter back, which I don’t believe is against any law,” Becky answered imperiously. “So what? We had breakfast, a very short breakfast—what does that matter? How do you even know about that, anyway?”