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“No, we have Dr. Spicker taking Dr. Michaelson’s patients, and Ms. O’Riley seeing hers and others. We’re going to try to see everyone who’s booked. Dr. Michaelson and Dr. Spicker were talking about Dr. Spicker joining the practice, so Marta felt . . .”
They passed an offshoot with a couple of chairs, counters with clipboards and tubes and cups, and a scale where someone else in a lab coat—with flowers all over it—weighed another pregnant woman.
“How long did Dr. Michaelson know Dr. Spicker?”
“Oh, since Dr. Spicker was a boy. They’re family friends, and Dr. Spicker just finished his residency. Marta—Ms. Beck’s office is . . .”
She trailed off as a tall, broad-shouldered woman in a black suit stepped out of a doorway.
“Thank you, Holly.” She stuck out a hand. “Marta Beck.”
“Lieutenant Dallas.” Eve accepted the brief shake. “Detective Peabody.”
“Please come in. Would you like some tea? I can’t offer coffee. We don’t have any in the offices.”
“We’re fine.”
Marta quietly closed the door. “Please sit.”
Eve took one of the straight-backed chairs in the ruthlessly organized room. Not unfriendly, she supposed, with a couple of thriving green plants, a row of fancy teacups, even a small sofa with fancy pillows.
But you knew business was king here.
Marta sat behind her desk, folded her hands. “Do you have any suspects?”
“The investigation is ongoing. Did Dr. Michaelson have any problems with anyone on staff, any patients, anyone you know of?”
“Brent was well liked. He was a good doctor, a caring one, and his patients loved him. We have some who’ve moved to Brooklyn, New Jersey, Long Island. They still come here because he forged relationships. The patient mattered, Lieutenant. The wall in our break room is covered with photos of the babies he helped bring into the world. Photos of them as they’ve grown up. I worked for him for twenty years. He was a good doctor and a kind man.”
She took a breath. “I assumed, from the media reports, this was a random killing. Some lunatic.”
“We’re investigating all possibilities.”
“I can think of no one, absolutely no one, who would have wished Brent dead. I’d tell you if I did. He was a friend, a good friend, as well as my employer.”
“What will happen to his practice now?”
She sighed. “It will go to Andy—Dr. Spicker—if
he wants it. Brent discussed this with me while Andy was still a resident. Andy’s parents are—were—Brent’s oldest friends. He’s Andy’s godfather, and has been his mentor. They’re all very close. Brent felt he himself could begin to cut back if and when Andy wanted to join the practice, and he felt he’d leave the practice in good hands with Andy. And with Faith—our midwife—when he decided to retire, or to simply travel more.”
“Any doctor, however good, who’s practiced for a couple decades has losses.”
“Of course.”
“Losses can cause loved ones to behave irrationally.”
“Of course,” she said again. “Several years ago Brent had a patient who lost her child, miscarried in her seventh month after her partner beat her severely. He left her unconscious on the floor, and by the time she came to, was able to contact nine-one-one, it was too late. The man who caused this threatened Brent when he was tried, when Brent testified. But that man was himself killed in prison two years ago. I assume that’s the sort of thing you mean.”
“I do. What about the woman who had the miscarriage?”
“She came back to Brent two years later when she’d conceived again with a very nice young man she married shortly after. They have a lovely daughter. Her photo’s on the wall, and the mother remains a patient. There are a few others, and like any medical practice we’ve dealt with malpractice suits. But as far as an actual threat, that’s the only one I know of.”
“Any recent firings, issues with employees?”
“None. It can be a challenging practice to manage, as Brent tended to spend more time with patients than the industry norm. I learned years ago to factor in more time between appointments. Adding a PA—eight years ago now—has helped cut back on the wait time. And plans to bring Andy on would have helped even more. But that’s a moot point, isn’t it?”
She looked away for a moment. “I have to hold the line here. We can’t fall apart. I’ve never experienced this kind of thing before. Loss, yes, everyone’s lost someone, but not like this. I can’t wrap my head around it. I know you need answers, but I don’t have them. I just can’t think of anyone, anyone at all, who’d want to do this to Brent.”
