One Little Secret Page 2

  Gabby cleared her throat before continuing. “Unfortunately, the drugs used in these kind of assaults are designed to move through the body quickly. The longer you wait to visit the hospital, the less likely they are to show up on any exams.”

  Dina nodded as she approached, as though she knew all about forensic sexual exams. She sat beside Mariel, placed the aspirin in her charge’s hand, and then draped her arm over the girl’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry. What happened was not your fault, okay? This man is a rapist. You’re being so brave to hold him responsible. He can’t do this to you.”

  Mariel hung her head, not agreeing with Dina so much as surrendering to her. As much as Gabby wanted to put Mariel’s attacker behind bars, the last thing an assaulted woman needed was to feel stripped of the little agency she had left. Gabby dropped into a crouched position so she could look into Mariel’s lowered eyes. “It’s your decision, Mariel. Only you can make it, and no one will be angry with you no matter what you choose. If you decide to go through with it and give us evidence, though, I will do everything in my power to make sure this man is punished for what he did to you and prevented from ever doing it again.”

  Mariel met Gabby’s intent stare. Though she didn’t say anything, Gabby saw a spark of fight. The girl slipped her legs from inside her sweatshirt and pushed herself to a standing position. Dina immediately shot up, holding her au pair’s arm. “I’ll drive you,” Dina offered. “I can do that, right?”

  Gabby’s pocket buzzed. “That would be good. I’ll let the hospital know you’re both coming.” She withdrew the phone as though she intended to call ahead and not check her caller ID. DeMarco’s number was on-screen again. Gabby reaffirmed the name of the local medical center with Dina and promised to alert them to Mariel’s impending arrival.

  Her pocket continued vibrating as she said her stoic good-byes. Gabby waited until she’d hit the first staircase landing to answer. “Hello, Jason?”

  “Sergeant.”

  Gabby bristled. Since her promotion, her passed-over male colleagues had taken to using her title instead of her first name. She still wasn’t sure whether they intended respect or mockery. When she’d gotten the job two months prior, there’d been grumbling about the chief trying to “diversify” the ranks, as though her fawn-brown face and female parts had counted more than her ten years on the force—the past three with the detective title. “What’s going on? I’ve been with a sexual-assault victim. Why all the calls?”

  “We need you at the beach.”

  Gabby picked up her speed across the landing. “The assault call?”

  “Patrolman Kelly used the ten-code and a new dispatcher read it wrong. A woman is dead. The coroner’s office will confirm, but it’s looking like she was drowned.”

  Gabby gripped the handrail. The Hamptons didn’t get many murders, and she liked it that way. She’d applied for the job on Long Island’s south fork in part because of the low rate of violent crime. Becoming a police officer had been about keeping people safe and supporting her family, not hunting armed killers. “Murders should really go to County. The call this morning is looking like a drugged date rape, and the way this guy selected his victim, I’m guessing it’s not his first time. Homicide is better equipped to handle the forensics—”

  “The woman’s bathing suit was half torn off. The Suffolk Crime Lab folks are here gathering evidence. But if this started as a sexual assault, you have the most experience. Also the vic’s friend is here. She’s in a state.”

  DeMarco’s repeated redials suddenly made sense. Handling “females in a state” was Gabby’s unofficial job description. Since making detective, she’d been assigned nearly all the sex crimes and “weeping women” on the assumption that such assaults were more suited to her gender—and the realization from her peers that many of the cases devolved into a mess of allegations and recriminations that prosecutors wouldn’t touch. The work was draining and the rewards often never materialized. But somebody had to try. And, as the only female detective, she was that somebody.

  A surge of adrenaline chased away the prickles of fatigue in Gabby’s legs. Her heels pounded down the steps. “Send the address, detective. I’m on my way.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE DAY OF

  Jenny had already lost her daughter. She’d been trailing Ally, keeping tabs on the head of corkscrew curls bobbing through the clogged Manhattan sidewalk at a speed intended to ditch her mother. A moment earlier, her twelve-year-old had been feet in front of her. But Ally had disappeared beyond the mosh pit of teenage boys slapping greetings and simultaneously blocking Jenny’s route to the corner.

  “Do you see Ally?” Jenny reached for Louis, as she always did when worried—despite him having caused the problem in the first place. Ally wouldn’t have been weaving through the waiting families if Louis hadn’t panicked them all about missing drop-off because of Jenny needing a few extra minutes to “put on her face.”

  Louis grasped her hand, using his free one to shield his eyes from the already blaring sun. “I think she found Chloe. See the pale blonde? That looks like Ally hugging her.”

  Jenny pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, removing the amber filter that had blended Chloe’s platinum mane with all the darker-blonde ponytail. She squinted at a group in identical camp shirts at the end of Louis’s outstretched finger. Ally’s auburn spirals peeked out from behind Chloe’s broad shoulders. Their neighbors’ daughter had inherited her mother’s near-albino coloring and her father’s height, enabling her to always stand out in a crowd. Jenny wondered if Chloe would ultimately find that as mixed a blessing as she did.

  The sea of boys began to part in front of her. Jenny felt their eyes on her revealed face. Whispers fizzed on both sides of her, building in strength like a wave. Is that … ? I think so. Dude, do you have a ball? (snickering) Dude, do you have a Sports Illustrated? Had she been alone, Jenny wouldn’t have minded giving an autograph. But this morning needed to be about bidding good-bye to her baby for seven weeks, not her second career or her husband’s feelings about it.

  “Where’s your wedding ring?”

  Jenny yanked her hand from Louis’s grip and examined her long brown fingers as though their bareness surprised her. Donning all those carats to send her daughter into the Maine wilderness—to a camp with the feminist-empowerment motto “Growing Strong Girls,” no less—had seemed unnecessary, if not inappropriate.

  “In a lockbox. In the trunk.” She hadn’t been wearing the eternity band much in the past few weeks, though for their trip she’d packed it inside a portable jewelry safe for the inevitable night when someone, likely Rachel, decreed they should all go out for a fancy dinner. Jenny donned her much-practiced everything is all right smile, hoping to stave off a scolding about the dangers of leaving expensive, easily transported items in a garage manned by key-wielding valets. In hindsight, the decision not to wear it didn’t seem very logical.

  Disapproval flickered in her husband’s blue eyes, a gas flame turned on only to be promptly shut off. Like her, Louis wanted their daughter’s send-off to be negativity-free. They both shared the unspoken understanding that all potentially incendiary dialogues should wait until after Ally was on one of the buses idling on the side of the street. Still, what one person viewed as playing with fire, the other might consider a statement of mere fact.

  Louis reclaimed her hand, apparently agreeing that the ring discussion could wait a few hours or, perhaps, be avoided completely. The tense energy wafting from him didn’t mean he’d let the subject go, but it didn’t mean he was holding on to it either. In eighteen years together, Jenny had never known her husband to give off a particularly relaxed vibe. When she’d first met him in medical school, she’d thought of a copper cable, in part because of the way the autumn sun had set his red hair ablaze, but mostly because of his presence. His body seemed formed by the twisting together of muscle and sinew, each internal fiber conducting its own heat and electricity.

  Jenny p
ulled Louis through the path made by the staring boys. As soon as they cleared the group, he tugged back on her palm. “I don’t think she wants us hovering. Teenage girls.”

  Her husband might as well have pointed out the color of the sky. Ben and Rachel had apparently decided it was fine to leave Chloe by herself before boarding the bus. Of course Ally would want to demonstrate the same level of independence, especially given the presence of older boys destined for the brother camp. But Ally was only twelve, and Jenny wasn’t about to let her pretend to be more mature the morning before spending a summer away from home.

  Seeing her daughter giving the boys sly glances as Chloe whispered, Jenny wanted to grab Ally and transport them both back to a time before puberty and secrets. Sometimes Jenny wished she could rewind a full five years to when she’d still been home with an elementary schooler, working just two days a week in a sports medicine clinic and once a month or less commenting on injuries for ESPN. At that time, Louis had still been a trauma fellow laboring under eighty-hour hospital shifts, so she’d had Ally to herself most of the week. Her daughter had loved and admired her then.

  Jenny mentally scolded herself for being so negative. She and Ally had been close until recently. If not friends, certainly more than simply a mom and daughter who loved each other. Until six months ago, Jenny would have said that Ally genuinely liked hanging out with her. Evidently, turning twelve-and-a-half flipped some internal teenage switch, triggering the raging-bitch years her mother had warned her about.

  Jenny pulled from Louis’s hold. “She’ll have seven weeks without me. She can deal with another hour of my existence.”

  Louis followed Jenny’s lead, remaining a step behind so it would be apparent that “Mom” had demanded the embarrassing reunion. Her husband wouldn’t dare do anything to risk his favored status with Ally. Somehow he’d remained insulated from the hormonal back draft that blasted Jenny each time she tried to talk to their daughter. Daddy was still given pecks on the cheeks and promises to return home before curfew. Ally even shared the occasional frustration with him, like her difficulty with one crush that had thought her too “different looking”—aka “ethnic.”

  “Ally,” Jenny called to her, as though seeing her daughter for the first time since arriving. If Ally had been pretending to be unchaperoned, she could save face by claiming that her parents had been parking the car.

  Ally looked over at them and then rolled her eyes toward her best friend. Chloe tossed her near-white mane in agreement, a filly swatting a fly. “So, are you two all ready for seven weeks?” Jenny smiled despite her daughter’s irritated expression. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you both hanging in the kitchen all the time. The house will feel so lonely.”

  Ally tilted her head to emphasize her incredulous stare. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

  Jenny reached for her daughter’s hand. “But I’ll miss you.”

  Ally sidestepped the attempt at physical contact. She looked over Jenny’s shoulder to Louis. “Dad, make sure Mom doesn’t have too much alone time.”

  The condescension couldn’t have been clearer. Dad, Mom is complaining about something again. You fix it. I can’t be expected to deal with her.

  Jenny didn’t consider herself a whiner. She supposed she could be critical sometimes, especially when she felt Louis had been getting away with too much. But all things considered, Jenny thought herself rather adept at keeping her problems to herself.

  Louis landed a loud smacking kiss against Jenny’s cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of your mother.”

  Ally’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

  “Camp Nova!” a growling female voice blasted through a bullhorn. “If you are in Camp Nova, form a line along that wall. We will be boarding in a couple minutes.”

  The chatter on the sidewalk swelled into a chorus of good-byes. Chloe gestured with her head to Ally and started toward the brick side of the building. Ally held back for a moment, allowing Louis to pull her into both of them for a final embrace. Jenny felt Ally bristle against her chest.

  “Chloe. Wait. Chloe!” Ben’s bark broke through the din. Their neighbor jogged from around the corner, his wide shoulders and six-foot-five frame overshadowing the other dads. The crowd parted for him as it had for Jenny. He ran through the space and tackled his daughter in a bear hug.

  Like Ally, Chloe seemed to suffer through the embrace. She didn’t wrap her arms around her father’s chest or offer any reassuring pats. When he released her, Ben looked about as disappointed as Jenny felt. “Sorry. Saying good-bye to your brother took a little longer than expected.” Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “We love you, kiddo. And we’re going to miss you. But I know you’re going to have a great time.”

  Chloe glanced around her father’s broad sides. Rachel’s heels clapped up the sidewalk. Had it not been for the sound, Jenny might have mistaken the woman in the crowd for one of the teens. Her slight, jean-clad figure blended in with the other narrow-hipped girls.

  Before she reached all of them, Rachel opened her arms toward her daughter. Chloe went running, shattering all of Jenny’s gender- and age-related justifications for Ally’s attitude. If near-thirteen-year-old girls hated their mothers, then why was Chloe hugging hers like she might forgo camp altogether if Rachel asked that she stay? Why the tears in both their eyes? Why was Chloe lingering by her female parent while Ally had already staked out a spot in the boarding line?

  The loving sight sickened Jenny with jealousy and self-doubt. She really tried to be a good mother. But clearly she was doing something wrong. Save perhaps for the three weeks of March Madness, Rachel worked longer hours at her law firm than Jenny did in the television studios. Jenny attended more school events than Rachel. Jenny was the parent who had taught Ally to read and write and had learned the new Common Core math to help with homework. Yet her only child despised her.

  Jenny wrested her attention from the knife-twisting scene. “I guess we should go.”

  Louis squeezed her to his side and stepped toward the line. “We’ll grab one more hug.”

  Ally leaned against the building with a wide stance, saving space for her best friend. As they approached her, Ben bounded over to them, seemingly happy to focus on something besides the tender mother-daughter moment from which he’d been excluded. Jenny pulled from Louis to accept a hello hug. Her neighbor’s height forced her to look up as he bent down to brush his face against the side of hers, bringing his lips within grazing distance of her cheekbone. It was the American version of the French greeting kiss, made more intimate by the tilted heads. Louis, in turn, received a masculine nod of acknowledgment. Ben gave Ally a neighborly wave.

  Her daughter stared at Chloe’s dad like he’d intruded on a sleepover party, eyes wide with revulsion. Jenny cleared her throat to communicate her disapproval at the gawking. It was one thing for Ally to be rude to her—parents had to accept a certain amount of boundary testing—but she couldn’t let her kid insult another helicoptering adult just because Ally wanted to pretend to be a big girl. “Say hi to Ben, Ally.”

  Ally glared at her. “Hi, Mr. Hansen.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Mom, your makeup is melting.”

  Jenny swiped at the corner of her nose. Her finger picked up a brownish-yellow glaze from the foundation she’d layered on earlier. The amount of cover-up required to hide the purplish blur beneath her left eye had necessitated heavy makeup.

  She faced Louis. “Am I all right?”

  Her husband’s smile thinned as he gave her skin a clinical once-over. “Yeah, you’re good.” He chuckled. “Paparazzi prepared.”

  Ally snorted. “Thankfully someone will keep an eye on her.”

  The exchange didn’t strike Jenny as amusing, despite Louis’s laughter. Humor, she knew, was often a mask for frustration. Her husband had never been comfortable with her move from orthopedist to ESPN injury analyst to full-time CBS sports commentator. He often grumbled that she was known in town as “the a
ttractive Black woman from TV” rather than his preferred titles of Mrs. Murray or Ally’s mom. And he’d railed in the past about her minor celebrity threatening to make them all tabloid fodder.

  Before Jenny could join in the laughter at her own expense, Rachel came up arm in arm with her adoring child. She released Chloe into the line and then stood beside Ben. Rachel’s head didn’t quite reach his shoulder.

  The woman with the megaphone announced for a second time that the campers should line up and head toward their labeled buses. Chloe and Ally began shuffling forward. Jenny waved to the girls, even though she knew from her daughter’s turned head that her good-bye would go unacknowledged. They all watched in silence as the kids stepped onto the bus, turning back only after Ben had confirmed from his higher vantage point that their children were seated.

  “Are you two heading out now?” Rachel sniffled. Jenny didn’t know whether she really cared about the answer or simply wanted to distract herself from the bus taking away her daughter.

  Louis shrugged. “Might as well beat Friday traffic.”

  Rachel’s tongue clicked against her teeth. “I wouldn’t rush. Susan and Nadal still have to drop Jonah at his camp, and I am guessing that will take a bit.” She lowered her voice. “He had an issue this morning.”

  Ben cleared his throat. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  Rachel pulled her chin to her neck. “You had to carry him out of the crowd, hon. You said he was hitting himself.” She turned to Jenny. “I was saying good-bye to Will, so I didn’t see the whole thing. But I gather it was pretty awful. When I got there, Jonah was rocking back and forth beside a building.”

  Ben shot Rachel a disapproving glance. Louis scratched his forehead. It was his doctor move, one Jenny had seen many times during their emergency room residencies. When thinking about medicine, Louis rubbed his frontal lobe, as if massaging his differential diagnosis into the language center of his brain. “They should really try him on risperidone. It works wonders with self-harm in autistic kids.”