Smith's Fifth Avenue office. She was three minutes late. The doctor let her in himself. Even the minimal courtesy he had shown on Robin's two visits was lacking this morning. He did not greet her except to say, "I can give you twenty minutes, Ms. McGrath, and not a second more." He led her to his private office.
If that's the way we're going to play it, Kerry thought, then fine. When she was seated across his desk from him, she said, "Dr. Smith, after seeing two women emerge from this office who startlingly resembled your murdered daughter, Suzanne, I became curious enough about the circumstances of her death to take time this last week to read the transcript of Skip Reardon's trial."
She did not miss the look of hatred that came over Dr. Smith's face when she mentioned Reardon's name. His eyes narrowed, his mouth tightened, deep furrows appeared on his forehead and in vertical slashes down his cheeks.
She looked directly at him. "Dr. Smith, I want you to know how terribly sorry I am that you lost your daughter. You were a divorced parent. I'm a divorced parent. Like you, I have an only child, a daughter. Knowing the agony I was in when I received the call that Robin had been in an accident, I can only imagine how you felt when you were told about Suzanne,"
Smith looked at her steadily, his fingers locked together. Kerry had the feeling that there was an impenetrable barrier between them. If so, the rest of their conversation was entirely predictable. He would hear her out, make some sort of statement about love and loss, and then usher her to the door. How could she break through that barrier?
She leaned forward. "Dr. Smith, your testimony is the reason Skip Reardon is in prison. You said he was insanely jealous, that your daughter was afraid of him. He swears that he never threatened Suzanne."
"He's lying." The voice was flat, unemotional. "He truly was insanely jealous of her. As you said, she was my only child. I doted on her. I had become successful enough to give her the kinds of things I could never give her as a child. It was my pleasure from time to time to buy her a piece of fine jewelry. Yet, even when I spoke to Reardon, he refused to believe that they had been gifts from me. He kept accusing her of seeing other men."
Is it possible? Kerry wondered. "But if Suzanne was in fear for her life, why did she stay with Skip Reardon?" she asked.
The morning sun was flooding the room in such a way that it shone on Smith's rimless glasses, making it so that Kerry could no longer see his eyes. Could they possibly be as flat as his expressionless voice? she thought to herself. "Because unlike her mother, my former wife, Suzanne had a sense of deep commitment to her marriage," he responded after a pause. "The grave mistake of her life was to fall in love with Reardon. An even graver mistake was not to take his threats seriously."
Kerry realized she was getting nowhere. It was time to ask the question that had occurred to her earlier, but that possibly held implications she wasn't sure she was prepared to face. "Dr. Smith, did you ever perform any surgical procedures of any kind on your daughter?"
It was immediately clear that her question outraged him. "Ms. McGrath, I happen to belong to the school of physicians who would never, except in dire emergency, treat a family member. Beyond that, the question is insulting. Suzanne was a natural beauty."
"You've made at least two women resemble her to a startling degree. Why?"
Dr. Smith looked at his watch. "I'll answer this final question, and then you will have to excuse me, Ms. McGrath. I don't know how much you know about plastic surgery. Fifty years ago, by today's standards, it was quite primitive. After people had nose jobs, they had to live with flaring nostrils. Reconstructive work on victims born with deformities such as a harelip was often a crude procedure. It is now very sophisticated, and the results are most satisfying. We've learned a great deal. Plastic surgery is no
If that's the way we're going to play it, Kerry thought, then fine. When she was seated across his desk from him, she said, "Dr. Smith, after seeing two women emerge from this office who startlingly resembled your murdered daughter, Suzanne, I became curious enough about the circumstances of her death to take time this last week to read the transcript of Skip Reardon's trial."
She did not miss the look of hatred that came over Dr. Smith's face when she mentioned Reardon's name. His eyes narrowed, his mouth tightened, deep furrows appeared on his forehead and in vertical slashes down his cheeks.
She looked directly at him. "Dr. Smith, I want you to know how terribly sorry I am that you lost your daughter. You were a divorced parent. I'm a divorced parent. Like you, I have an only child, a daughter. Knowing the agony I was in when I received the call that Robin had been in an accident, I can only imagine how you felt when you were told about Suzanne,"
Smith looked at her steadily, his fingers locked together. Kerry had the feeling that there was an impenetrable barrier between them. If so, the rest of their conversation was entirely predictable. He would hear her out, make some sort of statement about love and loss, and then usher her to the door. How could she break through that barrier?
She leaned forward. "Dr. Smith, your testimony is the reason Skip Reardon is in prison. You said he was insanely jealous, that your daughter was afraid of him. He swears that he never threatened Suzanne."
"He's lying." The voice was flat, unemotional. "He truly was insanely jealous of her. As you said, she was my only child. I doted on her. I had become successful enough to give her the kinds of things I could never give her as a child. It was my pleasure from time to time to buy her a piece of fine jewelry. Yet, even when I spoke to Reardon, he refused to believe that they had been gifts from me. He kept accusing her of seeing other men."
Is it possible? Kerry wondered. "But if Suzanne was in fear for her life, why did she stay with Skip Reardon?" she asked.
The morning sun was flooding the room in such a way that it shone on Smith's rimless glasses, making it so that Kerry could no longer see his eyes. Could they possibly be as flat as his expressionless voice? she thought to herself. "Because unlike her mother, my former wife, Suzanne had a sense of deep commitment to her marriage," he responded after a pause. "The grave mistake of her life was to fall in love with Reardon. An even graver mistake was not to take his threats seriously."
Kerry realized she was getting nowhere. It was time to ask the question that had occurred to her earlier, but that possibly held implications she wasn't sure she was prepared to face. "Dr. Smith, did you ever perform any surgical procedures of any kind on your daughter?"
It was immediately clear that her question outraged him. "Ms. McGrath, I happen to belong to the school of physicians who would never, except in dire emergency, treat a family member. Beyond that, the question is insulting. Suzanne was a natural beauty."
"You've made at least two women resemble her to a startling degree. Why?"
Dr. Smith looked at his watch. "I'll answer this final question, and then you will have to excuse me, Ms. McGrath. I don't know how much you know about plastic surgery. Fifty years ago, by today's standards, it was quite primitive. After people had nose jobs, they had to live with flaring nostrils. Reconstructive work on victims born with deformities such as a harelip was often a crude procedure. It is now very sophisticated, and the results are most satisfying. We've learned a great deal. Plastic surgery is no
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