Compulsion by Keith Ablow Page A

Bishop checked in," Anderson said.  "There were plenty of room service charges for two meals.  And there was a hell of a lot of wine and champagne on the tab."
    "The man has his needs," I said.
    "So, if I’m Darwin Bishop," Anderson said, "looking to hook up with my nanny, maybe make her Mrs. Bishop number three, I might not like the idea my present wife is saddling me with twins.  I might see that as a direct threat to my future."
    I winced, wondering whether Anderson’s own conflicted feelings about his unborn child might be coloring his perspective.  But I went with the theme he was developing, because it did seem powerful.  From my perspective, Darwin Bishop was starting to eclipse Billy as the lead suspect in Brooke’s murder.  "Bishop is a man who has recreated himself," I said.  "He’s Jay Gatsby.  He rises out of poverty, sheds his Brooklyn roots and accent, plants his flag on the Upper East Side and Nantucket.  He’s at the top of the world.  He wouldn’t take kindly to anyone telling him that he can’t go forward with his plans.  In fact, he may experience people who get in his way as, quite literally, trying to do him in, trying to kill off his vision of himself.  Then he’s psychologically prepared to defend himself — by lethal means, if necessary."  I paused.  "What do we do to protect the other baby?" I asked.
    "I’m not sure there’s much we can do," Anderson said.  "The D.A.’s office has decided to charge Billy with the murder.  Tom Harrigan is in court today seeking an order to arrest him and bring him back to Massachusetts.  New York seems to be cooperating.  Making the case that Tess Bishop could be in danger from another family member isn’t going to fly."
    "Even if it’s true," I said.
    "I wish it were always about that, Frank," he said.  "Welcome back to my world."

Chapter 6
     
    I flew to Logan and got to my loft at about 9:30 P.M.   I listened to my phone messages and found one from Julia Bishop.  My pulse started to race, partly because the message took me by surprise, partly because Julia’s voice took me back to feelings I hadn’t felt since parting with Kathy.  It was a voice full of intelligence and worldliness at the same time as it brimmed with vulnerability.  She said she needed to meet me, alone, but didn’t say why.  And I found myself not only willing but wanting to see her, something I should have pegged as trouble right off the bat.
    The phone number Julia left on my machine was different from the one directory assistance gave me for the Bishop’s home in Nantucket.  I dialed it, taking the chance she would be somewhere she could talk.
    "Yes," she answered.
    "Frank Clevenger," I said.
    "I’m glad you called."
    "Where are you?"
    "A friend’s house.  Here on the island.  But I have to get back home."
    "Are you all right?" I asked.
    "Can we meet?"  Her tone had urgency and a hint of fear in it.  "I could come to Boston tomorrow.  Win has a full day of business meetings at the house."
    "Of course," I said.  "Did you have a specific place in mind?"
    "Wherever you like," she said.  "I can be in the city by one."
    "Bomboa Restaurant," I said.  Bomboa was tucked in an alleyway, and quiet in the afternoons.  "It’s right downtown on Stanhope Street, around the corner from Mistral, if you know that place.  I’ll wait for you at the bar."
    " I’ll wait for you at the bar — another sign of trouble ," the voice at the back of my mind said.
    "I’ll see you then," she said.  She hung up.
    I didn’t know exactly why Julia wanted to meet, but I knew I was being invited deeper into the Bishop family’s psyche.  That reassured me I was burrowing toward their truth.  It also worried me because I sensed that the journey would end in a very dark place.
    I felt tired enough to sleep.  I undressed and laid down, but my mind wouldn’t shut down.  I kept going over what Billy had told me about being beaten by his father, what I had learned from