doctor glanced at an area near her desk where blood stained the tile floor. “I wish I was equally as convinced of their mother’s prognosis.”
“You don’t think she’ll survive?” Zach asked.
“Mary Kate lost a lot of blood. A whole host of complications could develop. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be key.”
“Why would someone harm Mrs. Powers?”
The doc shook her head, a bit too quickly.
Zach leaned closer. “Is there someone who might have reason to attack the girls’ mother?”
“You’d have to ask Mary Kate, although I doubt you’ll be able to question her for the next day or two.” Dr. Jacobsen glanced again at the floor. “Even then, I’m not sure...”
“I’ll contact the hospital,” Zach volunteered.
She glanced up at him, her eyes wide with hopeful optimism. “Would you let me know her condition?”
“Of course.”
She almost smiled.
Zach let out a breath, checked the notes he’d made and tried to get back to his questioning. “Could you tell me about your husband, ma’am?”
“My husband?”
Any positive steps he had made took a backward dive as her frown returned.
“You mentioned that he had worked at a research center in Pennsylvania,” Zach prompted. “Where is your husband currently working?”
“My husband...” She pulled in a ragged breath. “Quin died eight months ago.”
Not what Zach had expected. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Thank you. So am I.”
“You lived with him in Pennsylvania?”
“I did. That’s correct.”
“And after he passed away...” Zach let the statement hang.
“After his death, I moved to Georgia and opened this clinic.”
“Georgia must not be home, ma’am. I don’t notice a Southern accent.”
She tilted her head. “I’m originally from Ohio. I met and married my husband in Columbus when I was attending medical school at Ohio State. He was doing research for a private company.”
“What brought you South after his death?”
She touched the ring finger of her left hand as if searching for the wedding band she no longer wore.
“I came to Freemont because of the Amish who live in the area. Some of the families migrated here from Pennsylvania, a few from Ohio and Alabama. Seems everyone—even the ‘English,’ as they call us—wants a bit of the simple lifestyle. Land up north is hard to find, which forces young Amish farmers to settle new areas, away from the urban sprawl that has become a problem.”
“So you were looking for an Amish community?”
“I’m a pediatrician.” She sounded tired. Perhaps from too many questions. “I wanted to open a care clinic for Amish children.”
“But the Powers twins aren’t Amish.”
“Mary Kate grew up around here. As you probably know, her husband—the girls’ stepfather—is military and was deployed to the Middle East. Mary Kate and the girls moved home to be with her parents. My clinic is closer than going to town for medical treatment.”
Zach studied the notes he had taken. Something didn’t add up. “Your husband worked with the Amish in Pennsylvania?”
“Amish children. He specialized in newly emerging, genetically acquired diseases, as well as established conditions that impact the Amish.”
“What specifically?”
“Metabolic disorders such as pyruvate kinase deficiency, Crigler-Najjar syndrome, maple syrup urine disease.”
Zach held up his hand. “Evidently there are a number of conditions that attack Amish children.”
“Too many. As I mentioned, Quin worked to identify new diseases and researched treatment protocols.”
“Then you moved here after his death to carry on his legacy?”
“No.” Confusion washed over her face. “I came because I wanted to make a contribution.”
From the noticeable way she braced her shoulders and raised her head, Zach wondered if there was more to her statement than she cared to admit. Had the doctor been living in her husband’s shadow?
“What was the cause of your husband’s death, ma’am?”
She bristled. “I don’t see how that has bearing on what happened here tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am, but it’s my job to put the pieces together. Your husband’s death could play a role in the investigation.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Zach raised his brow and waited. Dr. Jacobsen had to realize that police questions needed to be answered.
“My husband’s cause of death is still under investigation,” she finally admitted.
“Could you provide a few more details?”
“Quin attended a medical research conference in Memphis, Tennessee. He left the hotel Saturday afternoon before the end of the event. His luggage was in the rental car found on the edge of a bridge that spans the Mississippi River.”
Her face twisted as if the story was hard to tell.
“Fishermen found his body washed up on the banks of the river some days later.”
“Was foul play suspected?”
She swallowed. “The police ruled his death self-inflicted.”
Suicide, but she failed to use the term. “Did you question their finding?” Zach asked.
“Of course. Anything could have happened. He could have fallen or been pushed.”
“You suspected foul play?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what I suspected. Quin was a perfectionist. He held himself to a high standard. Succumbing to the sense of unworthiness that predisposes someone to take their own life hardly seemed in keeping with Quin’s nature.”
“Did you explain your concerns to the police?”
“They weren’t interested in my opinions.”
A negative undercurrent was evident from her tone of voice. Zach doubted the good doctor had much regard for law enforcement, present company included, he felt sure.
“What about tonight’s assailant. Did you see anything that might identify the intruder?”
She raked her hand through her curly hair and shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
When Zach failed to comment, she leaned closer. “I passed out. Not long. A matter of seconds at the most, yet my recall is foggy at best.”
Opening her hands, she shrugged. “The truth is I can’t remember anything that happened shortly before or after I blacked out.”
“What’s the last thing you do remember, ma’am?”
“I was outside, trying to make the generator work. A scream came from the clinic. I hurried inside to make sure Mary Kate and the girls were all right.”
“What did you find?”
Her eyes narrowed. “A man shadowed in darkness stood over my desk.”
“Go on,” Zach encouraged her.