Chapter LII

Colleen still hadn't surfaced when I called Maralou Burnham shortly after 8 a.m. the following morning. Maralou was the only real contact I had at the U.S. Postal Service. She worked in administrative support up in Augusta and was always willing to help if she could, in return for a token bottle of wine and so long as it didn't require her to break any laws. I gave her the number of the money order used by Mara Teller, and she confirmed that it wouldn't be difficult to discover where it was purchased, along with the form of payment. As a wager to make things interesting, I told her I'd send a second bottle if the money order hadn't been paid for in cash, but suspected I was unlikely to have to come through for the extra bottle.

COLLEEN'S PHYSICIAN WAS Awoman named Lyra Shapleigh. She worked in the Libbytown area of Portland, based in a fancy medical center seemingly designed to make a person feel guilty about being ill, in case they bled and left a mark. Her sister, Molly, was the obstetrician who had delivered Colleen's son.

Dr. Lyra Shapleigh was in her late thirties, all soft curves hiding sharp, hard edges. She informed me that she'd treated Colleen Clark for postpartum depression, and although Colleen had struggled with motherhood early on, she had been managing better in recent months. Shapleigh had suggested therapy to help address the problem, and hadn't objected to the therapist recommended to Colleen by one of her friends, Piper Hudson. Shapleigh then sat back with the air of a woman who had completed an unpleasant task without vomiting. Her main concern, as she made no effort to hide, was less for her patient than her own reputation. She explained that she didn't want to be dragged into the case, for which I could hardly blame her. I asked if she'd been contacted by the prosecution, and she admitted that she had. A conversation with someone from Erin Becker's team was scheduled for later in the day, but so far there had been no suggestion of a subpoena being served.

"I've already consulted my lawyer," she said, "and he doubts I can be forced to testify—by either side."

I didn't offer an alternative view. I wasn't a lawyer, and every night I promised on my knees to be good so God wouldn't turn me into one while I slept.

"Do you like Colleen?" I asked.

The question threw Shapleigh.

"Like?" she replied, as though it had never before struck her that a physician might have feelings for a patient, positive or otherwise. I assumed it wasn't always relevant to a practitioner, given the nature of the Hippocratic oath, and a doctor could find ways to relieve themself of an unloved patient if they really tried. "I—Well, sure. She was quiet at first, and very shy, but I found her sharp, self-aware, and drily funny when she wanted to be. Why do you ask?"

"I have an inquiring mind," I said. "Also, I'm wondering whether you were surprised when she was accused of harming her son."

"If I said that it requires a lot to surprise me, would that constitute avoidance?"

"I'd take it as contextualization."

Shapleigh permitted some warmth to melt her.

"Then, within that context, yes, I was surprised," she said. "Colleen had never demonstrated harmful ideation toward her son, not in my presence. A lot of young women have difficulty with motherhood, particularly with a first child in the early months—or years. It's not uncommon. But Colleen's case was more severe than most, and both psychologically and physically debilitating. It was important that the issue be addressed, for Henry's sake as well as her own."

"Did she speak to you about her husband?"

"He came up in conversation."

"And?"

"I'm not a marriage counselor, Mr. Parker."

"Did you suggest they ought to see one?"

"I might have indicated that it couldn't hurt, but her therapist may have a better insight into that aspect of her life."

"Was there ever an intimation of violence in the relationship?"

"On the part of the husband? I saw no evidence of it, and Colleen never raised the subject. Have you reason to suspect him of it?"

"I've been spending a lot of time in Colleen's company," I said. "Something about her demeanor has been troubling me, and the closest point of reference I can find is in abused women I've met. She's been worn down. But then, there's more than one kind of abuse."

"Her husband struck me as unsympathetic to her situation," said Shapleigh, "which would have affected Colleen emotionally and psychologically, but that's only based on what she shared with me. I met him a couple of times when he came to collect her. Colleen introduced us, but I had no interaction with him beyond that."

"What about his attitude toward the child? Was he close to Henry, involved in his life?"

I already thought I knew the answer, but it never hurt to look for a professional opinion, especially when it came free of charge.

"Again," said Shapleigh, "from what Colleen told me, he wasn't particularly interested in Henry's day-to-day upbringing, but she did qualify that by emphasizing how hard her husband worked. He wasn't home a great deal, but he also possessed a somewhat old-fashioned attitude toward the patterns of child-rearing, in my opinion."

"It was women's work."

"Yes."

Shapleigh removed her spectacles. It might have been meant to emphasize her sincerity. She leaned forward on her desk and gave me her best sympathetic look, possibly a variation on the one reserved for patients who were about to receive an unwelcome diagnosis and be advised to get their affairs in order.

"Look, Mr. Parker," she said, "I have nothing to share with prosecutors that will reflect adversely on your client—and my patient—even if they succeed in subpoenaing records or forcing me to take the stand. I hope that's some reassurance. Otherwise, I wish I could be of more help, but I can't."

She replaced her spectacles. We were done.