KATRINA

Katrina

THE DAY OF

I stood on the sidewalk outside of Mark's beautiful limestone town house on West Seventy-fifth, staring up at the huge gleaming windows. It was midnight, the house dark and still apart from one small lamp left on downstairs—the kind that signaled people at home and asleep inside, poor burglary opportunities. I was putting off ringing the bell.

Surely Mark didn't personally know about Doug's emails, not the down and dirty details of what Tim had seen. And even Tim surely didn't know he was helping to cover up a murder, though he'd be an idiot not to suspect it now. Perhaps his sudden trip out of the country was even a response. I could easily imagine Tim being enlisted to help handle Doug's threat of blowing the whistle about Xytek, and then Darden getting impatient and handling the problem themselves. And Mark would have made sure to remain in the dark, as he always did when it came to the matters I handled. Certainly Mark didn't know that Darden appeared to have targeted me. Doug's draft email to me would have been enough to clue them in to our connection, and with a little digging they'd have uncovered our relationship. Who better to enlist in helping throw Doug under the bus than me: somebody with something to lose?

But I had to lay it all out for Mark now: that Darden had killed Doug to scapegoat him for knowingly leaving a drug on the mar ket that they knew was hurting babies, when Doug had, in fact, tried to hold them accountable. And that Blair, Stevenson might be implicated in helping them cover up Doug's death.

My phone vibrated in my hand. Sergeant McKinney—who was watching Cleo. Fuck. I fumbled to answer it. "Is Cleo—"

"She's fine, she's fine." He didn't even let me get all the way there—a person accustomed to handling panicked people. "But she went out. To some house. She seemed happy enough going inside. Appeared completely voluntary. So I think it's all fine. I mean, within reason. I don't know whose house it is."

"Okay," I said, but I didn't like the sound of that. "Can you text me the address? I'll meet you as soon as I can."

This conversation with Mark would be uncomfortable but brief. Because I planned on getting right to the point. Mark would probably be defensive at first—it was only human not to want to be responsible, even tangentially, for something bad that had happened. But the facts were the facts. And they were not good. Darden had done something monstrous and the firm had helped them do it. The fact that Mark had kept his eyes shut the whole time wouldn't protect him from the fallout.

Mark looked wary when he peered out his living room window. I'd had to ring the bell a couple times when I arrived and then texted to wake him. When he finally opened the door, he was in a robe, gray hair sticking up in a bunch of different directions. He looked much older and smaller than he ever did in the office, like glimpsing Oz out from behind his mighty curtain.

"Kat?" he asked. "What are you …" He looked past me to the street, like the answer might lie over my head. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "I know it's the middle of the night. I wouldn't have come if it wasn't important."

"Is Cleo okay?"

"Yes, yes—she's fine. At least for the moment."

Mark reached for my arm. "Come in, come in."

As I stepped inside, Mark's wife, Ruth, appeared on the stairs in a matching robe, looking equally sleepy and even more concerned. Very frail, too, noticeably ill, worse than the last time I'd seen her.

"Oh, Kat," she said, pausing halfway down the staircase. "Is everything okay? What's wrong?"

"Kat is having an issue with a case," Mark said. With the state of Ruth's health, he didn't like to worry her. "Nothing's wrong. Go back to bed, honey. I'll be right up."

Ruth scowled, looking from Mark to me and back again. She wasn't the kind of woman to be sent away easily. "Kat shouldn't be working in the middle of the night, Mark. People need sleep. No case or client is worth making yourself sick."

Mark adjusted his glasses on his nose. "I know, Ruth. Now, please go back to bed," he said, calm but firm. "We can't talk about a client matter with you down here. And we can't get Kat on her way back home to bed until we've spoken."

She shook her head and sighed heavily before turning back up the steps. "Fine, fine, fine. But quickly, please."

Mark put a hand on my shoulder and motioned with the other toward the living room.

"What's happening, Kat?" Mark asked when we were seated. "Tell me everything."

"It's Darden," I began, pulling out my phone. I had taken photos of Tim Lyall's documents.

"Darden?" He made a face. "They're absolutely delighted at the moment. Perhaps that's the wrong word, but didn't you see the article?"

"I didn't have a chance to read it yet. I saw your text, though."

"The Journal somehow got ahold of the information about Doug Sinclair."

"You mean that Darden intentionally leaked it to them."

"Oh, no." Mark shook his head. "I'm sure not." He was quiet for a moment. "Someone at Darden may have leaked it. I'm sure there are employees anxious not to be thrown under the bus themselves, or to be sure Darden isn't going to go under because of this lawsuit. People are human. They're worried about their—"

"They knew, Mark."

"Who knew what?"

"Darden knew there was a problem with Xytek. Right after approval, they had calls from doctors reporting issues with pregnant patients." I gathered myself. "The same doctors called more recently and spoke to Doug, relatively new to Darden at the time, and yet Darden still didn't notify the FDA. Doug Sinclair was threatening to go public."

Mark went still for a moment, then rubbed a hand over the top of his head, smoothing his rumpled hair. "Okay, explain to me how you know this?"

"There are emails from Doug to Phil Beaumont, warning him of the report from the doctor six months ago. And the first calls from doctors came right after the drug went on the market. Darden knew about the potential risks to pregnant women and yet didn't even warn patients or doctors. You and I both know what that could mean in terms of punitive damages. Tim Lyall knew about these emails and about Doug's threats." My eyes locked on his— I know about the other fixer. "It's possible that we've been helping Darden cover all of this up."

Mark closed his eyes, then dropped his head into his hands. A few seconds passed before he looked up at me. "Shit."

Thank God. "I know."

Mark crossed and uncrossed his legs. "You know my policy about not getting into details," he said. "As you can imagine, that applies to Tim's work, as well." His eyes were imploring. Imploring me. It was all out in the open now—what I knew, what Mark knew, what had been done—and he wanted me to let him off the hook. To let his willful blindness win the day. After all, that's what I'd always done before.

But I couldn't do that now. Not this time.

"Darden killed Doug, Mark," I said. "Phil Beaumont summoned him to a meeting that night and probably that same car that's been following me drove him off the road."

"Ha!" Mark's laugh sounded more like a bark. But when I didn't respond, his face slowly fell. "You cannot be serious."

I nodded. "I believe they got rid of Doug to keep him quiet about the problems with Xytek. It's a bonus that they can now blame those problems on Doug, who's not around to defend himself. Or they can try to. At a certain point, those doctors are going to speak up."

"You really believe …" Mark didn't finish the thought.

"I know, Mark. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

"You've already spoken to the police?" he asked. "Or were they the ones you heard it from?"

"I haven't done anything yet," I said. "I came here to speak with you first."

"Okay," Mark said. He got up to pour himself a glass of water from the wet bar. Took several swallows, then turned back to face me. "I appreciate that." His tone was grave. "What are you proposing we do?"

"Go to the U.S. attorney's office," I said. "I don't think we have much choice."

Mark exhaled. "That would be an ethical breach," he said. "I mean, we can argue that any wrongdoing with Xytek is ongoing and so the privilege is pierced … But we are definitely in a gray zone here."

"They've threatened Cleo, Mark. To get to me," I said, trying to tamp down my alarm at hearing the words out loud. "I know you're friends with Phil, but—"

"Kat, come on." Mark waved the suggestion away. "I know the guy, that's all. That doesn't mean …" An angry flush rose in his cheeks. "Wait … And Cleo? What do you mean they threatened her? You're absolutely sure?"

He was looking for an out. I swallowed back my irritation. "They sent a photograph of her and a demand for money," I said. "An implied threat." I didn't plan to tell Mark any more than that—Cleo was what mattered, not what I'd done at Haven House.

"Oh … Well, a demand for money? Sounds vague. And you're assuming this came from Darden because …"

"And you're assuming it's a coincidence? Mark, you know I've been getting to the bottom of situations like this for a very long time. The car that's been following me is the same, or similar, to the car that drove Doug Sinclair off the road. The kind of threat they made against Cleo is similar to the one that was made against Doug—essentially faux blackmail that could be used to establish alternate suspects should something happen to me. Just like Darden hoped that Doug Sinclair's involvement in some college scandal might insulate them from suspicion."

Mark lifted his eyebrows. "Darden got what they wanted: the article in the Journal. Why would they threaten Cleo now?"

"Because I'm a secondary liability. I've spoken to Tim Lyall. I know about Doug," I said, my voice catching the slightest bit.

"I am sorry about that, Kat." And he really did look sorry. "I know that you and Doug were …" He let the words drift. And I might not have even noticed, had his face not twitched. For only a split second. But long enough. "Well, the whole thing is upsetting."

I know that you and Doug were … It felt like I'd been slapped. Mark knew about Doug and me—our relationship. Even though I hadn't told him. Even though he'd just pretended that he'd never seen the emails in Tim Lyall's possession, including the one that proved a secret connection between Doug and me. The truth was, Mark had known all along. He'd helped Darden use me.

I needed to get out of that house, right now.

"Listen, I should get back to Cleo." I stood calmly. Calm seemed absolutely critical.

"Are you sure it's even safe for you to be going back to Cleo? I mean, alone?"

I avoided looking at Mark, afraid his expression would belie the implied threat. I worried I might be sick.

"Oh, I'm not alone. I've got the NYPD watching her. Close friend of mine, very close." I could only hope Mark would pass along the warning to Darden. "So, she's safe for now—completely. But thank you. You should look out for yourself, though. Right now, Darden seems willing to cast a very wide net."

I waited until I was safely around the corner before I dialed Emily Trachtenberg, the intrepid New York Times reporter who'd been dogging Vivienne Voxhall. She answered on the first ring.

"Who is this?" Her voice was hoarse.

"It's Katrina McHugh," I said. "I'm sorry to be calling so late, but I've got something for you. And it's much, much better than Vivienne."

I opened the car door and slid in next to McKinney, who was parked across the street from a row of immaculate brownstones. He was sipping coffee out of a paper cup. Handsome as usual, though visibly tired. I felt especially bad for dragging him out of bed at that hour. His wife, a nurse in the NYU NICU, was pregnant and they didn't get much time together. Not to mention that McKinney could get in trouble for helping me. Getting fired by the NYPD certainly wouldn't help with bar admission once he graduated from Fordham's night school—no matter how glowing my recommendation had been.

"Thank you," I said, waiting until he met my eyes. "Really, I know, this is not ideal …"

He nodded. McKinney never could stay mad for long. "It's number two thirty-four. I can't tell which apartment, haven't gotten a visual."

"Thank you again for coming, McKinney. I'm so sorry that I had to bother you."

He looked toward the brownstone. "You going to be okay?"

"Yeah—yes. You should get to your shift."

I could feel McKinney staring at the side of my face. "You want to tell me what is really going on?"

As much as I wanted to tell McKinney about Darden, I couldn't risk involving the police yet. Darden might see that as a reason to move more quickly or intensify the pressure. "It's that same kid you helped me with before. I know it's ridiculous that it's come to this: staking out my own daughter. That's why I didn't want to say anything."

McKinney's eyes didn't leave my face. "Okay, then," he said. He did not sound like he believed me. Only that he had decided not to press. "You want me to get someone else on standby?"

I closed my eyes for a second. I hated having to ask McKinney for more help, but I did need it. "That would really help."

He reached for his phone. "Consider it done."