The Doctor's Secret

by Cole Baxter

Genres: Psychological Thrillers; Suspense; Police Procedurals

Synopsis

She thought she loved an innocent man. She was wrong.

City coroner Doctor Stacy Lewis just learned that her fiance, Doctor Henry Goldberg, is the prime suspect in a serial murder case.

She can’t believe for a moment that the man she loves and trusts more than anything is responsible for killing three women.

But one man is convinced. And that’s her ex-boyfriend and the detective on the case, Matt Ensor.

Her coworker at the city hospital, the charming ER doctor Henry, swept in quickly to steal her away--something that Matt has never forgiven.

Stacy is convinced that Matt’s judgment is skewed by his hatred of Henry and desire to get Stacy back. She is willing to do anything to clear his name--even abuse her position as city coroner.

Determined to convince Matt that he’s got the wrong man, she goes ahead with her plan and gets Henry out on bail.

But then women start disappearing again.

She has to figure out how to get herself out of this situation. Before it’s too late.

The Doctor's Secret – the gripping psychological thriller perfect for fans of Freida McFadden, Daniel Hurst, and K L Slater.

 

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Release date: January 28, 2024

Print pages: 397

Sample

Henry got home even later than Stacy expected. She was still waiting, her stomach growling, at 8, 9, 10 at night, with no sign of Henry or the promised sushi. Stacy checked the news on her phone for news of the accident or some clue as to why Henry was still out, but she found nothing. The accident barely made the evening news, it was just a short report explaining the bad traffic, buried halfway into the 7 o'clock news. Stacy cobbled together a dinner made up of questionable leftovers and various snacks, knowing that Henry would get moody if he found out she ordered takeout for herself when he was coming home with dinner.

He couldn't be hurt. It was more likely that he got caught up in some other accident at work and forgot to tell her. Still, it was unlike Henry to come home this late without any warning. Sometimes he even got one of the nurses to call, if he had to go into an emergency surgery.

I could call the hospital, Stacy thought, they could at least tell me if he's still there. She did her best to calm down and keep from panicking. She often panicked when things didn't go as planned, that sense of unpredictability triggered feelings of fear Stacy thought she had either buried or worked on with a therapist. That's the whole point of being with Henry — that he didn't come home late unexpectedly or disappear without warning. He was her rock, and in moments like this Stacy felt like the ground was shifting underneath her feet.

"Stay calm, Stacy Lewis, there's no need to go off the rails. Henry has come home late before, today is a little later than expected. You feel vulnerable because of that phone call with Maeve, and you need to be comforted, that is why you feel a little more on edge than usual. Wrap yourself in a weighted blanket, take a deep breath, and call the hospital to check on Henry. He likely forgot to call when he got pulled away for an emergency — which is the nature of his job."

Stacy continued to monologue as she took a few slow, deep breaths. It was a tactic an old therapist had taught her — literally talking herself down off a ledge. Speaking aloud helped reinforce the reality of the situation and drown out the panic at the back of Stacy's brain. Her spiral soon slowed to a stop and when Stacy was ready, she called the emergency department.

"St. Vincent's Emergency Department, how may I help you?" a frazzled nurse answered almost immediately. Stacy recognized most of the voices, but this one was new to her.

"Hi, I'm looking for Dr. Henry Goldberg? I'm his fiancée," Stacy replied. "He isn't home yet, and I was just wondering if he was pulled in to a surgery or something?"

The night shift nurse sighed, and Stacy could practically hear her eyes rolling. The night shift nurses were all hard as bricks, and didn't like answering calls they thought were a waste of time. "He's not on the board, and it doesn't look like anyone was scheduled to have an emergency, so it looks like he isn't here."

"Can you page him?" Stacy asked, bracing herself for the answer.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, this isn't the information center at Disneyland. I can't just page a doctor at the request of someone who claims to be his fiancée over the phone. If I see Dr. Goldberg, I'll tell him to give you a call, I assume he has your number? Now if you'll excuse me—" the line clicked, and the nurse disappeared.

"So much for compassionate care," Stacy muttered.

The nurse must be new, even the overworked night staff were usually pretty accommodating for her — a former colleague and soon-to-be-bride of the hardest working doctor at St. Vincent's. She sent Henry a text, waited for a moment and then sent another. It was past their bedtime, even if he had brought sushi they weren't going to eat it now. She could call the police station — or better yet, she could call Matt. He was still in her phone, and would probably do more than the missing person's line. Her finger hovered over Matt Ensor's name, once gain Stacy was deciding whether or not it was worth opening that can of worms.

Just then, she heard a thud coming from downstairs. Stacy crept out of bed, clutching her phone. She slowly walked to the staircase, and heard the same thud. It was coming from the front door, a loud heavy thud against the wood. Stacy tiptoed down the stairs, listening to the strange shuffling and jingle of keys — it reminded her of her father coming home drunk late at night — but it couldn't be? Henry never got that —

"Fuck!" She heard a cry outside the door followed by another thud. It was Henry all right, and he definitely sounded drunk. She hadn't heard his car come up the drive, Stacy hoped it wasn't wrapped around a pole somewhere as she scurried to the front door. She whipped the door open, and Henry practically fell through, stumbling into the hallway and reeking of whiskey.

"Henry? What's going on?"

"The stupid key won't work. It doesn't fit, did you do something to the door?" he slurred, slumping down to the floor. "I think you did something to the door. It rejected my key."

Stacy looked outside and saw Henry's keys — his car keys — lying on the welcome mat.

"That's because this is your house, not your car," Stacy said, her voice deadpan and her jaw clenched.

Henry was wasted, she could hear his groaning as he picked himself off the floor. Stacy threw the keys into a bowl, harder than she needed to, and Henry winced.

"What, are you angry? Are you mad? I figured you'd be used to this, someone coming home drunk. It's nothing you've never seen before anyway," Henry said as he stumbled into their living room and collapsed onto the couch with a sigh. "I'm drunk, Stacy. I need some water."

"I'll get you a coffee," she said through clenched teeth.

She couldn't believe a moment ago she was actually worried about Henry. Meanwhile he was out at some bar drinking with his work buddies, not even thinking about Stacy and the fact that she was sitting at home going hungry. When she came back into the living room, Henry had kicked off his shoes and thrown his coat to the floor, and was sitting with his head between his hands.

"Henry? Are you okay?" Stacy asked, this behavior wasn't something she was used to. Henry rarely drank, and when he did, he could hold his liquor better than any drunk she'd ever known. Something must have happened on the operating table, or—

"How can you even ask me that? Today, you seriously asked me if I'm 'okay' TODAY?" Henry roared at Stacy before dropping his head back in his hands and violently sobbing.

Suddenly it dawned on Stacy that today was the three-month anniversary of his mother's suicide. Amanda was found in her apartment next to an empty bottle of sleeping pills and a half-finished glass of whiskey. All day Stacy had been questioning whether Henry was the right person for her, meanwhile he was mourning the death of his mother — a death that had been caused by his engagement to Stacy. Neither truly believed that Amanda would do it — she was hysterical and often made empty threats when her beloved son wasn't doing as she said. Neither thought she'd take her own life in protest of their marriage. Both were wrong, Amanda Goldberg would stop at nothing to get her way.

"Henry, I'm so sorry." Stacy collapsed into the couch next to Henry and wrapped her arms around him. "I didn't even—"

"Yeah, you didn't even say anything. I thought you might say something when we were on the phone, but there was nothing at all. You just ignored me."

"I'm so sorry, Henry, I really I—I must have got the days confused. I've been a little turned around lately — I didn't — I wish—"

"You wish, you apologize, blah, blah, blah," Henry said as he pushed Stacy off of him and got up, grabbing his coffee as he did. "I'm gonna go to sleep. I'll stay in the guest room, so I don't disturb you."

Henry stumbled off and Stacy sat there, listening to him bang into the wall as he plodded into their guest bedroom and slammed the door.

I probably deserve that, Stacy thought. She couldn't believe she had forgotten. The day was burned on Henry's memory, his mother — the person he was closest to — had died very suddenly. He had probably been thinking about her all day, meanwhile Stacy was debating whether or not she should break off her engagement, and she'd almost contacted her ex-boyfriend twice in one day. Stacy felt like a complete idiot, she wanted to crawl out of her own skin in shame. How could she have forgotten today? Years later she never forgot the day her own mother died. The date was etched into her soul, she remembered even when she tried to forget, of course, Henry would be feeling the same way.

Stacy quietly picked up after her fiancé and went upstairs. Behind the door to the guest room, she could hear Henry snoring. It was too late for her to apologize again; she would have to wait until the morning. She slipped a piece of paper under the door, her final apology for the night, before padding down the hall to their bedroom and putting herself to bed.

***

The next morning, Stacy woke up early and prepared breakfast for both of them. Henry barely spoke to her; he ate in silence and grunted his thanks before leaving for work. She felt relieved she hadn't brought up her hesitations about their wedding, it would have only made matters worse. Stacy went to work stressed out about how things had been left with Henry. How could she make it up to him? This wasn't exactly a situation in which you could buy a 'sorry I forgot your mom died' cake. She couldn't send flowers to his work because they'd likely get lost in the chaos of the ER. Besides, Stacy didn't want to catch any more angry comments from the nurses. She had all day to think and stew in her guilt. Henry didn't answer any of her text messages — except one, to tell her to stop messaging him, and they'd talk at home that night.

"This is probably how Maeve feels when I'm avoiding her," she said to the corpse on her autopsy table.

The corpse stared blankly into the atmosphere in return. Stacy resolved to stop turning Henry's feelings around in her head. He was allowed to be upset, after all. She would have been just as upset if Henry callously asked her, "What's for dinner," on the anniversary of her own mother's death. He was probably hungover this morning, not exactly in the mood to talk. Stacy was just glad he didn't drive home last night; she couldn't handle any more guilt over his feelings.

"Maybe I'll get him flowers on my way home. Dahlias, he loves them and will never admit it because he thinks it makes him less manly or something. I'll bring home a bottle of wine too, and we can sit and talk about our feelings like grown-ups. That seems like it could be a good idea, right?" Stacy asked the body on her table. She gently nudged the dead woman's head, so it looked like she was nodding. "That settles it then. I'll bring home I'm-sorry flowers and a bottle of his favorite red. I'll cut out of here early and make his favorite dinner, then when he's home we can talk in a way we couldn't have done yesterday."

Stacy sighed, settling the matter. She finished her work quickly and efficiently, eager to get out of the morgue that day.

***

"Honey? I'm home!" Stacy called out to the empty townhouse when she arrived carrying a large bouquet of dahlias and the 'Special Menu B' from their favorite sushi place.

Henry didn't answer, but Stacy knew he was home, his car was parked in the drive.

"Henry? You home?" She listened for the sounds of life as she tiptoed through the house, still hoping to surprise Henry with the flowers. He was nowhere to be found, not in the kitchen nor his office upstairs.

"Hey, hon, where are you? Stuck at work again?" Stacy texted Henry, hoping this was all some misunderstanding and that she hadn't forgotten another important date.

"Obviously," he replied, "I'll be home soon just finishing up."

Stacy's heart sank. He was still angry, which meant tonight was going to be a quiet one. She put the dahlias in a vase and left the sushi on the kitchen counter. Stacy decided she'd give him an hour before she dug into dinner herself. She knew what this night was going to be like — passive-aggressive silence from Henry, confrontational avoidance from her. If their loving relationship had become boring, their arguing had become tense and quiet. They didn't passionately argue and make up anymore, the tension just stretched below the surface, pulling them farther away from each other, until finally one of them gave up and eased the tension.

Once again, Stacy started to feel as though she had made the wrong choice in accepting Henry's marriage proposal. But what could she do? She couldn't break up with him now — not while he was grieving his mother, the woman who would rather commit suicide than see her son get married. Stacy thought about having another bath, or maybe doing some yoga while she waited for Henry. All she could think to do was try to find some balance in herself, so that maybe she'd be able to get Henry to actually talk about his feelings for once.

He arrived an hour later, seemingly in a good mood. Henry smiled at Stacy, thanked her for the flowers and kissed her on the cheek.

"Did you already make dinner, is that why you texted?" he asked, fingering the sharp petals on the dahlia.

"No, I figured we could have that sushi dinner, since we couldn't have it last night." Stacy smiled and pulled out the takeout containers from behind a bread box. She saw Henry smirk, but couldn't figure out what emotion was behind it. He could be pleased — but he could also be annoyed that she dared mention anything that happened last night.

"That's cute, making up for a lost sushi dinner. To be honest I didn't much care about it, I wasn't craving sushi yesterday, it just seemed like an easy meal to pick up after work."

"Isn't any meal an easy meal to pick up?"

"Well sushi is served cold, so it doesn't exactly matter when you pick it up, right? For all I know you picked this up at lunch and it's been sitting around all day."

"Why would I pick up our dinner at lunch time?"

"Because it was more convenient for you, I don't know. It was just a hypothetical answer, I know you prefer to do what's convenient for you."

Well, I guess we're having another passive aggressive night. No matter how relaxed or calm Stacy was, Henry's anger was penetrable. He was still upset and no matter what she said or did, he'd continue to live in his funk until he decided enough time had passed. Stacy could just back away, wait until this round of passive-aggressive anger was over. She didn't have to talk to Henry about his mother and what feelings might have been dredged to the surface on the anniversary of her death. What was the point? After all, in their day-to-day life Henry was doing pretty well. Anyone would react poorly and get the blues while remembering their parent's death, even if the relationship they had with that parent was strained.

But for some reason, that night Stacy just couldn't let it go. She couldn't let Henry retreat into himself and push her away. Stacy needed something more, if only to remind her why she fell in love with Henry in the first place. Why it was even worth being with a man whose mother was so overbearing that she could control his emotions from beyond the grave.

"Henry, I want to say something."

"I'm all ears, Stae," Henry said, pressing his lips together until they stretched into a smile.

"I'm really sorry about last night. I should have remembered that it was the three-month point since Amanda died and I'm sorry if you felt I was being insensitive. I know her death was traumatic for you, and I wanted to know if you wanted to talk about it with me." Stacy smiled and gently placed her hand over Henry's. She could feel his fingers tapping the table beneath her own.

"Nope, I'm fine." He smiled again and reached for the sushi.

"It's okay to not be okay, you know. Obviously, your mother was never very…impressed with me. I know she was very manipulative, and you didn't believe that she'd actually…do anything like that. You know it's not your fault, right?" Stacy asked, her voice calm and gentle.

"I know," Henry said, stirring wasabi paste into his soy sauce.

Stacy was quiet for a while. Henry scrolled on his phone as he chewed on his California roll.

"Aren't you gonna have any?" he asked, gesturing to the small sushi platter.

Stacy nodded and snapped apart her chopsticks. Why was Henry so content to avoid real emotion? He tapped the edge of his plate with his chopsticks, clearly agitated, all Stacy wanted was for him to let go a little bit and let her in.

"Henry, have you thought about seeing a therapist at all?"

Henry's head whipped up when Stacy said it. The unspoken rule between them was broken — Stacy was determined to force a conversation about feelings, emotion, and trauma. Henry finished chewing as he watched Stacy carefully select a piece of Spicy Salmon Maki and bring it to her lips. Shee didn't know if he was angry or aroused, but every cell in her body was on edge at his look. He looked as if he wanted to get away, or that he wanted to strangle her, or maybe he wanted to throw up, and cry all at the same time. She couldn't determine which of those thoughts were true though.

"What?" he said, in a monotone voice that hid his clear inner turmoil which swam in his eyes.

"When my mother died — and I know it was under different circumstances — I went to a therapist, and it helped me a lot. Especially on those days that were particularly painful, like her birthday and the anniversary of her death. Even on Mother's Day, it was really helpful to have someone to talk to," Stacy said, avoiding eye contact with Henry.

"Isn't that what you're here for?  For me to have someone to talk to?" Henry asked, his voice practically at a growl.

"Of course, but—"

"But? What do you mean 'but'? If I can't talk to you — and if I can't communicate to you that I don't want to talk and have that boundary respected — then what are we even doing this for?" His voice was starting to get louder. Henry seemed to be straining against his anger trying as hard as he could to stay calm.

"But last night you came home wasted, I practically had to carry you up the stairs to bed. You've barely said a single word to me all day, and I've been trying to talk to you, but clearly you can't for some reason—"

"I just don't want to talk about it right now, why is that so hard for you to understand? I want a little space and I want you to just leave it alone, it's a sore subject, you should know better than to push my boundaries like this!"

"I wouldn't push your boundaries if I wasn't concerned! I just want to know that you're okay, but you keep coming at me with sarcasm and—"

"When was I sarcastic? I think I've been pretty clear that I just don't want to talk about my mother today — or any other day for that matter! The reason she is dead is that I decided to be with you, isn't that enough? I feel guilty about it constantly, but I don't want you to feel that because I know it isn't your fault and I don't want you to think that. My mother was controlling and manipulative and I work against that every single day. Sometimes I don't want to open that can of worms, sometimes I just don't think there's much of a point. The moment has passed, it's a new day, I've had a long work day, and I want to eat this sushi in peace, is that too much to ask?"

Stacy took a deep breath to fight down the lump in her throat. She could hear Henry taking his own long deep breaths to control his own temper. The two of them went back to their sushi, and didn't say another word during the meal. The cloud of their argument hung low over the tempura and California rolls. When they were finished, Henry cleaned up and Stacy went into the living room and turned on the TV. She expected Henry to go straight upstairs, but he sat down next to her and handed her a glass of wine.

After an episode of some dumb sitcom, Stacy cleared her throat and said, "I'm sorry for pushing you. If you don't want to talk to me, I still think it's best you see a therapist."

"I'm fine, Stacy. If anything, it's a relief to be out from my mother's suffocating shadow," Henry replied.

"I know— I believe you. Last night scared me, that's all. I think you'd feel better if, every once in a while, you could talk to someone without worrying about judgement or anything."

"Stacy, I am fine. I'm sorry about yesterday, I went for drinks after a stressful day, and I went a little overboard. You don't have to worry about me turning into a drunk." Henry got up and took their empty glasses back into the kitchen. Without another word, he went upstairs. Stacy soon heard the shower running.

I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, that's all he'll ever say, she thought. She didn't know if it was because of his manipulative mother or just because he was a man, but Henry dismissed just about every emotion that passed through him. It frustrated Stacy to no end, seeing him bottle everything up. Stacy was slowly starting to realize it wasn't actually that much better than the opposite. Her father and her ex-boyfriend had both allowed their emotions to take over and govern their actions. To Stacy, the sign of stability was someone who could keep all that under control — but Henry took it one step further. It made Stacy feel a strange combination of anxiety and fury, keeping her restless until their long drawn-out low-key argument was over. Since their sex life had stalled, she didn't even have an outlet for her restless anxiety.

"Maybe I'll book a spin class or something," Stacy muttered as she went upstairs and got ready for bed.

Henry smiled as she came into the room, giving her a hug and a perfunctory kiss on the forehead. They took turns brushing their teeth and changing into pajamas before crawling into bed with their books. Not even twenty minutes later, Stacy turned off the light and closed her eyes, hoping she could trick her body into feeling tired and falling asleep. Henry did the same a minute later. Stacy could hear that he was wide awake, but felt too nervous to say anything to him.

What's the point, she thought, we'll just keep going round and round in passive aggressive circles. She stared at the ceiling and waited to sleep.

Stacy managed to fall asleep, but not for very long. She woke up to the sound of Henry getting out of bed and padding down the stairs. She turned to the clock by her bedside to look at the time — barely even 10 p.m. Henry was going for a drive, an old habit of his. Whenever Henry couldn't sleep, he'd drive around the city until he felt tired enough to come to bed. There was a time when this little habit added to Henry's mysterious allure. Nowadays, Stacy saw it for what it was — yet another way for Henry to avoid having any emotions.

Let him drive. Maybe he'll drive into a therapist's office and finally get some help. Stacy fitfully turned over, but she couldn't get back to sleep. She was awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, waiting for Henry to come back. Lying with her thoughts, she couldn't help but wonder if she had trapped herself in a gilded cage. It was her fault Henry's mother died, so she couldn't very well break up with him — yet Stacy was growing increasingly unsure that this was the right relationship for her.

It's fine, Stacy. You had a fight, so what? Sometimes relationships are just fine. Everyone goes through growing pains; everyone goes through rough patches and boring spells. Just because it isn't all fireworks and euphoria doesn't mean it's not a good relationship. You are fine. Just let it be fine.