Chương 3
Julian felt his jaw lock. “How old?”
“Several days. Possibly longer. Bruising is not a clock. We don’t date it with certainty.”
“Were her wrists restrained?”
“The pattern is concerning. A forensic nurse is documenting everything.”
“Will she wake up?”
“We expect her to. I can’t promise when.”
The doctor paused before continuing.
“There are also signs that she may have been struck in the ribs. Nothing is broken. That does not make it minor.”
Julian sat down because his knees had begun to feel unreliable.
Dr. Nand pulled another chair closer but did not touch him. “The detective will ask difficult questions. Let your sister answer them when she can. Do not pressure her to remember quickly. Do not make decisions for her because you’re frightened.”
Julian looked at the doctor.
“I’m her brother.”
“I know.”
“You say that as if it’s a diagnosis.”
“Tonight, it may be.”
Elliot Ward arrived at five-forty wearing a navy overcoat over a white shirt with no tie. He had always seemed composed without looking rehearsed, which Julian had once admired. At thirty-six, Elliot possessed the kind of face that appeared trustworthy in annual reports: open brow, level eyes, a mouth that turned serious at exactly the right moment.
He crossed the waiting room directly toward Julian.
“Where is she?”
Julian stood.
Elliot stopped a few feet away. “Marcus called me.”
Julian looked past him. Marcus stood near the elevators, his overcoat unbuttoned, the discreet earpiece still in place. He met Julian’s eyes without apology.
“Why was my wife taken from the estate in an ambulance?” Elliot asked.
“Because she was unconscious.”
“She has panic episodes.”
“Do panic episodes bruise both wrists?”
Elliot’s expression changed by less than a degree. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing yet.”
“That is not true.”
Detective Ortiz approached. “Mr. Ward?”
Elliot turned. “Yes.”
“I’m Detective Ortiz. I need to speak with you privately.”
“After I see my wife.”
“That may not be possible right now.”
“I am her husband.”
“And the medical team is treating her.”
Elliot looked at Julian again. “What did Beatrice tell you?”
“That Clara fell.”
“She did.”
Julian stepped closer. “You were there?”
“No.”
“You answered quickly.”
“Because Beatrice called me.”
“When?”
“Earlier.”
“What did she say?”
“That Clara arrived at the estate intoxicated and became combative.”
Julian’s hand closed around the broken clasp in his pocket. “Clara whispered, ‘Don’t let him.’”
Elliot’s eyes held his. “She has been terrified of your father for half her life. Sometimes she talks about him when she’s sedated.”
Their father had been dead for three years.
The answer was cruel enough to sound plausible. Julian felt the old family instinct to close ranks before strangers could witness damage.
Ortiz interrupted. “Mr. Ward, come with me.”
Elliot removed his coat and folded it over one arm. Before following the detective, he said, “Ask the hospital to test for more than sedatives. Clara has been using again.”
Julian stared after him.
Marcus moved to the far end of the waiting room and stood near a vending machine.
Julian waited until Elliot disappeared through a door.
“What did you tell him?”
“That Mrs. Ward had been transported.”
“Why?”
“He is listed in the family emergency protocol.”
“Clara is not a protocol.”
Marcus looked at the rows of candy behind the glass. “No, sir.”
“Stop calling me sir.”
“It would be unwise to call you what I’m thinking.”
Under different circumstances, Julian might have appreciated the answer. “Did you know Elliot hurt her?”
“I suspected something was wrong.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Marcus turned from the vending machine. His face had the strained stillness of a man standing on a narrow ledge. “Three weeks ago, Mrs. Ward came to the estate wearing gloves indoors. She said she was cold. Two weeks ago, she asked me whether security recordings from the city residence were retained. I told her the residence used a separate contractor.”
“Did you ask why?”
“She said it was nothing.”
“And you accepted that?”
“I worked for your father for eleven years. In this family, ‘nothing’ has always been an instruction.”
Julian’s anger rose, found no clean direction, and settled back into him.
“Who ordered the exterior cameras turned off tonight?”
Marcus glanced toward the elevator. “Mrs. Ashford.”
“Beatrice?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She said Clara needed privacy.”
“How did Clara arrive?”
“Rideshare at one-fifty-eight. Alone.”
“Was she injured?”
“She was limping. There was blood at the corner of her mouth.”
Julian’s voice dropped. “And you didn’t call anyone.”
“She refused an ambulance. She asked for Beatrice.”
“Why Beatrice?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where was Elliot?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who called Dr. Wren?”
“Beatrice.”
“What happened before Clara fell?”
Marcus’s attention returned to the elevator display. “You should hear it from your sister.”
“She’s unconscious.”
“Yes.”
“That is why I’m asking you.”
Marcus pressed his lips together. “She wanted the keys to one of the cars. Beatrice refused. Clara grabbed the handbag because the keys were inside. The bracelet caught on the handle. Beatrice pulled back. Clara lost her balance.”
“On a staircase?”
“Near the library landing.”
“Did she hit her head?”
“On the edge of a table.”
“And then?”
“She stood up. She said she was going to the police.”
Julian waited.
Marcus’s gold badge looked absurdly bright under the fluorescent lights.
“Beatrice told me to keep her inside,” he said.
“Did you?”
“I stood in front of the door.”
“Did Clara ask you to move?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Julian looked away before his anger produced something useless. The sleeping man beneath the television had awakened and was drinking orange soda. On the screen, a smiling couple examined white kitchen cabinets.
“What did Clara do?”
“She tried the service entrance. Beatrice followed. They argued. Clara said Beatrice had known for months.”
“Known what?”
“Elliot was taking money from the trust. That was what I heard.”
May you like
Julian turned back.
Marcus continued. “Clara said she had proof. Beatrice told her not to ruin the family because of one bad night. Clara said it wasn’t one night.”
