“Not to the point of doing something plainly illegal,” Robert said. “You are obsessed with this thing, and irrational. It’s become a crusade, and it’s driving me crazy. I can’t believe you. You’re still trying to justify unjustifiable behavior.”

“What if I told you we discovered eighteen cases of TB salpingitis in the Women’s Clinic alone?” Marissa asked. “Do you think that might bear out my suspicions? And that eighteen probably isn’t even counting Rebecca Ziegler. Her record was already erased from the computer. What do you think about that?”

Robert shrugged irritably.

“I’ll tell you what I think. I think they have something to hide,” Marissa said. “I think there was something in Rebecca’s record that they didn’t want anyone to see.”

“Come on, Marissa!” Robert snapped. “Now you’re getting melodramatic and paranoid. This is all conjecture. In the meantime, we’ll be footing some all-too-palpable legal fees to try to keep you out of jail.”

“So it all comes down to money,” Marissa shot back. “That’s your biggest concern, isn’t it?”

Marissa closed her eyes. Sometimes she wondered what had ever possessed her to marry this man. And now she had the threat of a jail sentence looming in her immediate future. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse to worse still, like the unraveling of a Greek tragedy.

Marissa opened her eyes and stared at the onrushing road. Her mind jumped from one anxiety to another. She wondered what effect the guard’s blows might have had on her embryo transfer. Monday was to be her day of reckoning in more ways than one. Not only was she to be arraigned on an array of criminal charges, she was scheduled for her pregnancy blood test.

Fresh tears welled in her eyes. The way things were going, it wasn’t hard to predict how that blood test would turn out. All of a sudden it wasn’t so surprising that Rebecca Ziegler had jumped to her death. Maybe she’d been under similar stress. But, then again, maybe she hadn’t jumped. Maybe she’d been pushed . . . .

8
April 2, 1990
9:35 A.M.

Although Marissa and Wendy had spoken on the phone early Saturday morning, Marissa did not see her friend until Monday morning at the courthouse. As she and Robert entered the courtroom, they saw Wendy, Gustave, and their lawyer sitting in the pewlike benches on the left. Robert tried to steer Marissa to an empty row on the right, but she resisted and went over to her friend.

Wendy looked awful. She stared ahead as if in a trance. Her eyes were red, rimmed, and sunken. It was obvious she’d been crying, probably a lot. Marissa touched her on the shoulder and whispered her name. Seeing Marissa, fresh tears began to streak down her cheeks.

“What’s the matter?” Marissa asked. Wendy seemed more distraught than expected.