An Anonymous Girl(102)

We arrive at the fountain in the West Village Conservatory Gardens fifteen minutes later, and sit side by side on a bench. It’s a quiet place, perfect for a conversation. And that’s all that occurs: a heartfelt talk.

My last words to April: “You should leave before it gets too dark.”

She was still alive then; she did not ingest a single pill in my presence. She must have done so after my departure, during the two-hour window before the discovery of her body by a couple out for a moonlit stroll.





CHAPTER


SIXTY-SIX


Tuesday, December 25

We’re all fearful of Dr. Shields—me, Ben, and Thomas. I’m sure April was, too.

But there’s only one person who seems to unnerve Dr. Shields: Lee Carey, the private investigator. The one Mrs. Voss told me about. The one who sent a certified letter to Dr. Shields requesting April’s file.

I’ve decided I have to tell him everything. Maybe if Dr. Shields gets tangled up in his investigation she’ll stop trying to destroy my life. As bad as things are for me right now, I know they can get a lot worse if I don’t find a way out.

I pull up the photograph I took of Mr. Carey’s certified letter when I snuck into Dr. Shields’s town house, and find his contact information.

I make myself wait until nine A.M. to call, because it’s Christmas.

His phone rings four times, then the automated voice mail message plays. I feel my body sag, although I should have anticipated that he might not answer.

“This is Jessica Farris,” I say. “I have some information on Katherine April Voss that I think you should know.”

I hesitate. “It’s urgent,” I add, leaving my cell phone number.

Then I open my laptop and begin searching for a flight to Florida so I can join my family. Not only am I desperate to see them, but I want to be out of the city when Dr. Shields and Thomas learn I’ve told the investigator about April being Thomas’s client as well as Dr. Shields’s research subject. And about the Vicodin that was likely pressed into her hand, just as it was into mine.

The earliest flight I can find to Naples leaves at six A.M. tomorrow.

I book it immediately, even though it costs over a thousand dollars.

The e-mail confirmation from Delta brings me some relief. I’ll take Leo along in his carrier, and enough clothes so that I can go home to Allentown instead of returning to New York if that seems like the safer course.

I’m not even going to tell my parents I’m meeting them at the resort. I can’t risk having Dr. Shields find out.

When I feel comfortable returning to New York, I’ll re-create my life, like I’ve had to do before. The money I’ve earned from Dr. Shields will tide me over for a little while. And I know I can find another job; I’ve been working since I was a teenager.

Noah won’t be as easily replaced, though.

He won’t reply to my texts and phone calls, so I have to find another way to reach him. I think for a minute, then pull out my legal pad.

Our relationship began with a lie, when I gave him a fake name.

Now I need to be completely honest with him.

I don’t know how Dr. Shields got to him, or what she said. So I start with the moment I picked up Taylor’s phone off the chair in her apartment, and end with my realization in the Conservatory Gardens that April was Thomas’s client.

I even write about how I slept with Thomas. I know you and I had only gone out twice by then, and we weren’t in a committed relationship . . . but I regret it, not only because of who Thomas turned out to be, but because of what you have come to mean to me.

My letter ends up being six pages.

I tuck it in an envelope, then put on my coat and grab Leo’s leash.

As I walk down my hallway, I notice how quiet it is. The majority of the rentals here are studios or one-bedrooms; it’s not a building that draws in families. Most of my neighbors are probably away visiting relatives for the holidays.

I pause as I step out the front door, feeling disoriented.

Something is off.

The streets are completely still. The cacophony of noises has been silenced. It’s as though all of New York is suspended for an intermission, waiting until the curtain is lifted and the next act can begin.

Surely I’m not the only person left in the city. But it feels that way.


I’m walking home from Noah’s apartment, where I dropped off the letter with his doorman, when my cell phone rings.

It could be anyone. I don’t have designated ringtones for different contacts.

But I know who it is even before I look at the screen.

Decline.

Dr. Shields’s name disappears from the surface of my phone.

What can she possibly want from me on Christmas?

Ten minutes later, when I’m almost back to my apartment, it rings again.

My plan for the rest of the day is to stay inside, with my door double-locked, and pack for my trip. I’ll order an Uber early tomorrow and head straight for the airport.

I’m not going to answer her calls.

I’m prepared to hit Decline again. But when I look at the screen this time, I see an unfamiliar number.

The private investigator, I think.

“Hello, this is Jessica Farris,” I say eagerly.

In the almost imperceptible pause that follows, my heart stutters.