Chương 4
“A respiratory infection.”
“Did he name it?”
“No.”
“Did he say who pronounced her dead?”
“He said a doctor had come to the house.”
Morales’s pen stopped.
“A doctor came to the residence?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Do you know the doctor?”
“No.”
“Did you see any medical personnel when you arrived?”
“No.”
“When did you get there?”
“Around ten yesterday morning.”
“And the casket was already present?”
“No.”
“It came that afternoon.”
Morales leaned back slightly.
“Who brought it?”
“Two men.”
“Funeral home?”
I gave him the name.
He wrote that down too.
“Did they prepare the body there?”
“I assumed they had.”
“Did you see them examine her?”
“No.”
“Did you see paperwork?”
“No.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Mrs. Hale.”
“I didn’t ask anything.”
He closed the notebook for a moment.
“You had been told your granddaughter died.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“It explains some things.”
“It doesn’t explain enough.”
A nurse opened the double doors.
“Family for Chloe Mercer?”
I stood too fast and had to catch the chair.
“I’m her grandmother.”
The nurse looked at Morales, then back at me.
“Come with me.”
He started to follow.
She raised a hand.
“Not yet.”
He sat down again.
I followed her through a hallway full of carts, curtain dividers, and people who looked as if they had been waiting for bad news for years.
Chloe was in a treatment room with three people around her.
Someone had removed the funeral dress.
She wore a hospital gown now, and the pearl clip had been placed inside a clear plastic belongings bag.
A physician introduced herself as Dr. Patel.
She looked younger than Julian and had tired eyes behind rectangular glasses.
“We have her breathing more comfortably.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I hated the answer because I trusted it.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“There are signs consistent with sedative exposure, but we’re running toxicology and other tests.”
“Can you tell what drug?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“Standard screens don’t identify everything.”
She spoke calmly.
No promises.
No unnecessary terror.
“She also appears dehydrated, and there are some areas on her wrists and ankles that concern us.”
I looked down.
Red marks circled Chloe’s skin.
Not deep wounds.
Pressure marks.
I had seen one on her wrist in the laundry room and convinced myself it came from the casket restraint.
The ankle marks were older.
Some were yellowing at the edges.
“What are those?”
Dr. Patel waited a fraction too long.
“We’re going to document them.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
She pulled the curtain farther closed.
“We can’t determine the cause of every mark from appearance alone.”
“You think somebody tied her up.”
“I think she has injuries that need to be evaluated carefully.”
A woman in navy scrubs entered carrying a tablet.
She introduced herself as a pediatric social worker named Dana Brooks.
My first reaction was irrational resentment.
I did not want a social worker.
I wanted a doctor to tell me Chloe would wake up tomorrow and demand pancakes.
Dana seemed accustomed to being unwanted.
She moved a chair into the corner and sat.
“Is Chloe able to talk?”
“A little.”
Dr. Patel looked at me.
“We need to be careful with questions.”
“I’m not interrogating her.”
“I know.”
Dana said, “Children can change what they say when frightened adults ask the same thing repeatedly.”
“I’m not frightening her.”
“No one said you were.”
It felt like everyone was correcting me while my granddaughter lay unconscious.
I turned toward the bed.
Chloe’s face looked very small against the white pillow.
“I want to stay with her.”
“You can,” Dana said.
“For how long?”
“As long as the medical team allows.”
“And then what?”
Dana did not answer immediately.
That delay frightened me.
“Police are involved.”
“I know that.”
“We’ll also notify child protective services.”
“Fine.”
“If Chloe is admitted, there may be restrictions on who can visit.”
“Julian is not coming near her.”
“That decision won’t be made by you alone.”
I turned on her.
“It should be.”
Dana held my gaze.
“Tonight, I understand why you feel that way.”
“You understand nothing about how I feel.”
“No.”
She nodded once.
“That’s true.”
The lack of argument took some of the force out of me.
Dr. Patel checked Chloe’s pupils again.
Then Chloe stirred.
Her eyes opened halfway.
“Grandma?”
I moved to the bed.
“I’m here.”
“Can I have water?”
Dr. Patel said, “Not yet, honey.”
Chloe frowned at her with surprising suspicion.
“Why?”
“We need to make sure your tummy is ready.”
“It is.”
Dr. Patel almost smiled.
“We’re going to negotiate about that later.”
Chloe turned back to me.
“Where’s Mommy?”
No one answered.
I brushed hair from her forehead.
“We don’t know right now.”
Her face tightened.
“Did she leave?”
“Yes.”
“Because I woke up?”
The room became very still.
Dana leaned forward but did not interrupt.
I took Chloe’s hand.
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
The words were soft and flat.
Six years old, and she had caught me pretending.
“You’re right.”
She stared at the ceiling.
“Daddy said Mommy would go away if I told.”
“Told what?”
Dana raised one hand gently.
I stopped.
Chloe’s fingers curled into the sheet.
“I don’t want Daddy to go to jail.”
My mouth went dry.
Dana said, “You don’t have to talk about anything right now.”
Chloe looked at her.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Dana.”
“Are you police?”
“No.”
“Do you tell police?”
“Sometimes I have to tell people things to help keep kids safe.”
Chloe considered that with the grave concentration children gave to adults who had disappointed them before.
“So yes.”
Dana’s face changed.
Only slightly.
“Yes.”
Chloe looked at me.
“Everybody tells.”
I squeezed her hand.
“Sometimes they have to.”
“You told.”
“I called for help.”
She pulled her hand away.
May you like
It was the first time she had rejected me.
The movement was weak, but it landed harder than anything Julian had said.
