Chương 5
My hand went still beneath the blanket.
"You think your parents want neighbors knowing all this?"
He gestured toward my leg.
"You think a divorce attorney is going to magically hand you the house and half of everything because you fell and got emotional?"
Beatrice added, "Richard saw what happened."
That caught me.
"What did Richard see?"
She smiled again.
"He'll tell the truth."
Mason's confidence returned.
"He already has."
I heard movement in the hallway.
A cart wheel squeaked.
Somebody laughed near the nurses' station.
I kept my eyes on Mason.
"What truth?"
"That you slipped."
Beatrice said it this time.
I swallowed.
"You hit me."
"You were moving toward me."
"You swung a rolling pin three times."
"Because you were hysterical."
Mason cut in.
"Mom, enough."
But Beatrice was angry now.
Angry people often mistook momentum for control.
"You kept coming at me."
"I was standing by the stove."
"You raised your voice."
"I didn't."
"You always do this."
She pointed at me.
"You provoke and provoke, then when someone finally reacts, you become the victim."
Mason stood.
"We're leaving."
I looked at him.
"So that's the story?"
His eyes fixed on mine.
"You slipped."
"After she hit me."
"Stop."
"You refused to call an ambulance."
"Because you were being dramatic."
"My foot was numb."
"You survived."
The words hung between us.
Mason seemed to hear them only after they were out.
His shoulders stiffened.
Beatrice stood too.
"Come home when they discharge you."
I almost admired the certainty.
"Why?"
"Because that's where you live."
"No."
She stared.
Mason laughed once.
It sounded involuntary.
"You can't even walk."
The room became very quiet.
I reached beneath the blanket.
His expression changed when I pulled out my mother's phone.
I stopped the recording.
Mason's face went blank.
Beatrice whispered, "What did you just do?"
I looked at them for several seconds before answering.
"Exactly what you taught me to do."
Mason stepped toward the bed.
The door opened before he reached me.
Detective Ortiz entered with two uniformed officers behind her.
Mason stopped so abruptly that the visitor chair knocked backward against the wall.
Beatrice's hand flew to her purse.
Ortiz looked at me first.
"You okay?"
"Yes."
Then she turned toward Mason.
His face had become pale.
"Detective," he said, forcing a laugh.
"This is a family conversation."
Ortiz's expression did not change.
"Not anymore."
Mason looked past Ortiz at the officers as though one of them might recognize a misunderstanding and rescue him from it.
Neither moved.
Beatrice recovered first.
She lifted her chin and said, "This is outrageous."
Ortiz nodded toward the hallway.
"Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker, step outside with the officers."
Mason's eyes snapped back to me.
"Hannah."
I said nothing.
His voice softened instantly.
"Baby, don't do this."
The word baby made my stomach turn.
He had not called me that in months.
Beatrice touched his arm.
"Don't."
Mason pulled away from her.
"No, she needs to understand what she's doing."
Ortiz stepped between him and the bed.
"She understands enough."
"You don't know my wife."
Ortiz's expression stayed flat.
"I know she required surgery."
"Because of an accident."
Beatrice jumped in.
"Exactly."
Ortiz looked at her.
"Then you'll have an opportunity to explain that."
Something in the way she said it ended the performance.
One officer motioned toward the door.
Beatrice left first, rigid with anger.
Mason stayed where he was for another second.
His face shifted through several versions of itself.
Concern.
Confusion.
Injury.
Then the familiar coldness settled back into place.
"You'll regret humiliating us like this," he said.
Ortiz turned sharply.
"Mr. Whitaker."
He smiled at her.
"I was talking to my wife."
"No," I said.
Everyone looked at me.
I had not raised my voice.
"I'm not your wife anymore."
Mason's mouth opened.
No answer came.
The officer guided him into the hallway.
I heard Beatrice demand to know whether she was being arrested.
A nurse farther down the corridor told someone to lower their voice.
Then the door closed.
The room suddenly felt too large.
Ortiz picked up the visitor chair Mason had knocked over and set it upright.
"You recorded all of that?"
I held out the phone.
"Yes."
She did not take it.
"Keep the original file."
"I thought you'd want it."
"I do."
She sat.
"But your attorney may want to preserve it properly, and I don't want anyone later arguing about what happened to the original."
That practical answer steadied me.
I stared at the dark screen of the phone.
"What happens now?"
"Now they answer questions separately."
"Are they under arrest?"
"Beatrice is being detained while we determine charges related to the assault."
"And Mason?"
Ortiz paused.
"We have additional concerns about him."
The pause mattered.
"From the house?"
"Yes."
I waited.
She didn't continue.
"Detective."
She rubbed a thumb along the rim of her coffee cup.
"We found more than your documents."
My mouth went dry.
"What?"
"A second phone."
I frowned.
"Whose?"
"That's what we're establishing."
She watched my face carefully.
"It contained messages sent from accounts using your name."
My fingers went cold.
"To my parents?"
"Among other people."
I looked toward the door as though Mason might somehow still be standing there listening.
Ortiz continued.
"We also found printed copies of emails between your employer and an address that appeared to belong to you."
"It didn't."
"We know that now."
"How?"
"The recovery email was tied to one of Mason's accounts."
A laugh escaped me.
Not because anything was funny.
Because for months I had been afraid of sounding paranoid, and now reality was proving less reasonable than the things I had been afraid to say aloud.
Ortiz let the silence sit.
"There's more," she said.
I closed my eyes.
"Of course there is."
"When did you last have access to your primary checking account?"
"Maybe eight months ago."
"Why?"
"Mason said we should consolidate bills."
"Did you sign anything?"
"I signed forms."
"What forms?"
May you like
"I don't know."
She stopped.
