Chương 4
Then deleted the conversation from his screen, though not from the phone.
A county deputy arrived at 11:36 p.m.
Daniel had finally managed to call emergency dispatch during the drive. He had said his wife had been medicated against her wishes and almost placed on a private aircraft. The dispatcher had asked whether she was in immediate danger. Daniel had looked at the monitor and said, “I don’t know.”
Now Deputy Marisol Vega sat across from him near the emergency-department entrance with a notebook balanced on one knee.
She listened without interrupting until Daniel mentioned the silver case.
Then she held up a hand.
“Where is it?”
Daniel looked at the chair beside him.
Empty.
His stomach dropped.
He stood.
“What?”
“The case.”
He looked under the chair as if a metal case large enough to transport organs might somehow be hiding beneath it.
It was gone.
He had carried it from the SUV.
He remembered setting it beside the chair when the triage nurse came out to ask about Emily’s medications.
After that—
Daniel looked toward the automatic doors.
Cole.
The security man had been in the waiting room for several minutes.
Then gone.
“Son of a bitch.”
Vega stood too.
“Who had access?”
“Everybody walking through here.”
“What’s in it?”
“I told you.”
“You told me what you saw. I’m asking what you know.”
Daniel looked at her.
“I know Richard Whitmore wants it badly enough to keep my wife from going to a hospital.”
“Did you see him take it?”
“No.”
“Did you see his employees take it?”
“No.”
“Then right now we have a missing case.”
“My brother’s blood is in it.”
Her expression changed slightly.
Daniel realized how insane that sounded.
“Fourteen-month-old blood?” she asked.
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“They had his name.”
“Sealed?”
“Yes.”
“Any lab labeling?”
“I didn’t check.”
“Did you touch them?”
“No.”
“The paper?”
“Yes.”
“The recorder?”
“No.”
“The memory card?”
“No.”
Vega wrote something.
Daniel hated her calmness.
He also understood why she needed it.
Behind the curtain, somebody laughed in another bay. A television mounted high on the wall was showing a home renovation program with subtitles on and no sound. A man in work boots slept under a denim jacket, mouth open, while a woman beside him filled out paperwork.
Real life, Daniel thought bitterly, had terrible timing.
Deputy Vega looked up.
“You said your wife gave you a key.”
Daniel touched the chain under his shirt.
“I have it.”
“What does it open?”
“The case.”
“Only the case?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Mr. Whitmore touch the case?”
“Yes.”
“Who owns it?”
“He says he does.”
“Does it have company markings?”
Daniel pictured the lid.
“No.”
“Serial number?”
“I didn’t look.”
She nodded.
“That’s not criticism. I’m trying to understand what we can actually establish.”
Daniel sat down again.
He rubbed his face.
The slapped cheek had begun to ache.
Vega noticed.
“Did he do that?”
“Yes.”
“You want to make a report for assault?”
Daniel almost laughed.
“My wife may have falsified evidence in my brother’s death and somebody stole a case full of his blood from a hospital waiting room.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
“No, he didn’t hit you?”
“No, I don’t care about the slap.”
Her expression remained neutral.
“You may care tomorrow.”
Daniel looked toward the curtain separating him from Emily.
“Tomorrow seems ambitious.”
A doctor came out at midnight.
Emily’s blood pressure had stabilized. Her breathing was good. The sedative level was higher than expected but not currently life-threatening. They were sending a comprehensive blood panel to the lab.
“Can I see her?”
“In a few minutes.”
“Was she overdosed?”
The doctor hesitated.
“We can say she had more sedating medication in her system than the history initially suggested. We can’t tell you yet exactly what she took, when, or why.”
“She says she took two clonazepam tablets.”
“We’ll compare that with the lab results.”
“And the midazolam?”
“We’re accounting for the medication documented by the transport clinician.”
Daniel stared.
“Documented?”
The doctor nodded.
“So they wrote down that they gave it?”
“Yes.”
That complicated his anger.
People covering a kidnapping generally did not document the drugs.
Then again, Richard had spent his life making dangerous things look legitimate.
Daniel sat beside Emily at 12:21 a.m.
She was awake.
No makeup, no jewelry, hospital blanket to her chest. She looked smaller than she had in the hangar.
“You look terrible,” she said.
He stared at her.
Her mouth twitched.
“I’m serious. Your face.”
“Your father slapped me.”
“I saw.”
“Right.”
The tiny attempt at humor died.
Daniel pulled the visitor chair closer and sat.
“The case is gone.”
Emily’s eyes sharpened.
“What?”
“Somebody took it from the waiting room.”
“Richard?”
“I don’t know.”
“Cole?”
“Maybe.”
She turned her face toward the ceiling.
“Damn it.”
Daniel waited.
She seemed to feel him waiting.
“Daniel.”
“Tell me what Owen took.”
She shut her eyes.
“No more almost telling me.”
“I know.”
“No more deciding what I can handle.”
“I know.”
“You said you were home that night.”
“I was at first.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know.”
He stood.
She opened her eyes.
“Please don’t leave.”
Daniel almost said something cruel.
The sentence formed cleanly.
You left first.
He swallowed it.
Not because it was untrue.
Because he knew exactly how much he wanted it to hurt.
He sat again.
Emily looked at the IV taped to her hand.
“Owen called me at ten fourteen,” she said. “He was at Hangar Three at Whitmore Air. He sounded strange. Not drunk. Panicked.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he’d found transfer records that didn’t match billing records.”
Daniel frowned.
“What transfer records?”
“Medical flights.”
Richard’s company operated executive aircraft and a small medical-transfer division. Emily had worked there as a flight nurse before marrying Daniel. She stayed after the wedding. Left two years later. She had always described the departure as burnout.
May you like
Daniel had believed her.
“Some flights were billed as critical medical transfers,” she continued, “but the patients either didn’t fly or were moved on cheaper contracted aircraft. Whitmore’s jet was being logged for reimbursable medical hours while it was actually being used by private clients.”
