Chapter 8: The Man From the Hospital
Detective Brooks photographed the messages before I could reply.
"Don't respond," she said.
"We need to preserve the number and the original messages.""
I nodded, although my mind was racing.
Someone knew I had found Emily's letter.
Someone knew Michael had been at the hospital.
And someone was warning me to stop investigating.
"Can you trace the number?"" I asked.
"We can request the relevant records, but I can't promise an immediate answer. For now, I want you and your daughter somewhere secure.""
"I have a house outside Atlanta.""
"Does Ms. Reed have a key?""
"Yes.""
"Then don't go there until we've discussed a safety plan.""
The suggestion unsettled me.
My house had been the one place I believed Sophie and I could retreat from the world. Now I couldn't even be certain who had access to it.
Detective Brooks arranged for another officer to accompany us to a nearby hotel under a different reservation name. Before we left, I checked on Sophie.
She was sitting beside a hotel employee, coloring a picture of our family.
She had drawn herself and me holding hands beneath a yellow sun.
A third figure stood several feet away.
It wore a white dress.
I sat beside her.
"Who's that, sweetheart?""
Sophie covered the drawing with her arm.
"Nobody.""
I didn't push her.
Instead, I helped her pack her rabbit and coloring pencils.
For the first time in years, I understood how much courage it took for a child to tell the truth when the adults around her had made silence feel safer.
At the new hotel, Detective Brooks asked me to call Michael again, this time with her present.
He arrived forty minutes later.
He looked older than he had that morning. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes were bloodshot, and he kept rubbing his palms against his trousers.
When he saw me, he stopped in the doorway.
"Daniel.""
I didn't stand.
"Sit down.""
He obeyed.
For a moment, we simply looked at each other.
Then I placed Emily's letter on the table.
"You were there when she died. You saw the medication tray. You photographed the label. You heard her say someone had accessed her records.""
Michael nodded.
"Yes.""
"And you never told me.""
"I thought I was protecting you from something I couldn't prove.""
"You were protecting yourself from having to explain why you lied.""
He flinched.
I continued before he could interrupt.
"Did anyone pay the orderly?""
Michael looked at Detective Brooks.
"I don't know.""
"Think carefully," she said.
"Did you see anyone speaking to him? Did you hear a name? Did you notice anything unusual?""
Michael stared at his hands.
"After Emily died, I went back to the parking garage. I was sitting in my car when a man approached me.""
"What man?"" I asked.
"I didn't recognize him. He said he worked for the hospital's outside pharmacy contractor. He asked whether I'd seen anything unusual in Emily's room.""
Detective Brooks leaned forward.
"What did you tell him?""
"That I had seen the medication tray and that Emily had complained about the pills.""
"What happened then?""
"He asked me to hand over the photograph.""
My stomach tightened.
"Did you?""
Michael nodded.
I stood.
"You gave away the only evidence you had?""
"I made a copy first.""
"Where is it?""
"In the box at my apartment.""
"Why didn't you tell me any of this?""
Michael's face crumpled.
"Because the man said the hospital was investigating a dispensing error. He told me the family would be contacted if anything suspicious was found. Then, two days later, I received an envelope with money inside.""
Detective Brooks became very still.
"How much money?""
"Ten thousand dollars.""
I stared at him.
"You accepted money from a stranger after your sister-in-law died?""
"I didn't know what it was for! I thought it was some kind of compensation. The envelope had no letter, no name, nothing.""
"And you kept it?""
"I kept it for three days. Then I panicked and tried to return it. The man never contacted me again.""
"Where is the money now?"" Detective Brooks asked.
"I donated it to a local hospice. I have the receipt.""
I wanted to hate him.
Part of me already did.
But I could see the shame in his face, and I knew that whatever had happened, Michael had spent three years trying to bury it.
That didn't make his choices acceptable.
It only made them human.
Detective Brooks wrote down the details and asked him to provide the receipt and any remaining records.
Then she asked about Vanessa.
Michael looked at me.
"She contacted me about six weeks ago.""
"Before or after she proposed marriage to me?""
"Before.""
I felt the room grow colder.
"What did she want?""
"She said she was worried about you. She claimed you'd been making impulsive financial decisions and that you needed someone to protect your interests.""
"She wanted information.""
"Yes.""
"What did you tell her?""
"That you had a will. That Sophie was the primary beneficiary. That you'd taken out life insurance years ago.""
I looked away.
Michael swallowed.
"Then she asked whether Emily had ever mentioned a problem with her medication.""
Detective Brooks stopped writing.
"How did Ms. Reed know about that?""
"I don't know. I asked her the same question. She said she'd read something in Emily's old medical records while helping you organize the house.""
I had never given Vanessa access to Emily's complete medical records.
I had kept them in a locked filing cabinet in my study.
Only Michael and I knew where the spare key was hidden.
"Did you give Vanessa that key?"" I asked.
"No.""
"Did you tell her where it was?""
Michael hesitated.
"I might have mentioned the cabinet when she helped me look for your will.""
I closed my eyes.
Another mistake. Another small act of trust that had opened a door.
Detective Brooks stood.
"Mr. Carter, I'd like you to come with me to collect the photograph and any other documents you mentioned. Mr. Carter, you can remain here with your daughter.""
Michael nodded.
Before he left, I stopped him.
"One more question.""
He turned.
"When you were at the hospital, did you recognize the orderly?""
Michael's face changed.
At first, I thought he was confused.
Then he looked directly at me.
"Yes.""
"Who was he?""
Michael's answer came so quietly that I almost missed it.
"He was the same man who stood beside Vanessa in the photograph from your house.""
My pulse hammered.
"The attorney?""
"No. The man in the photograph was the orderly. He had changed jobs, but I recognized his face.""
Detective Brooks exchanged a glance with her partner.
"Do you know his name?"" she asked.
Michael nodded.
"I learned it after Emily died. His name was Andrew Price.""
I searched my memory.
The name meant nothing.
Then Detective Brooks checked something on her phone.
Her expression shifted.
"Andrew Price," she repeated.
"Former hospital contractor. He was questioned in connection with a medication theft investigation two years ago.""
"Was he convicted?"" I asked.
"No. The case was closed when a key witness withdrew their statement.""
"Who was the witness?""
Detective Brooks looked at Michael.
He had gone pale.
"I was," he whispered.
I stared at my brother.
"You gave a statement about him?""
Michael nodded.
"I told the investigators what I saw. Then I received a phone call warning me that if I continued, people would start asking questions about the money I'd accepted.""
"Who called you?""
"I don't know. They never gave their name.""
Detective Brooks closed her notebook.
"We'll need to revisit that investigation.""
Just then, an officer entered the room and handed her a printed report.
She read it once.
Then again.
"What is it?"" I asked.
She turned the page toward me.
It was a record showing that Andrew Price had been released from his most recent job three days earlier.
The reason was listed as misconduct.
And beneath it was an address.
My address.
Someone had hired Andrew to perform maintenance at my house the previous month.
May you like
The authorization carried my electronic signature.
A signature I had never provided.
