Chương 4
The vending machine compressor clicked on.
“Then Dr. Wren arrived,” Marcus said. “Clara became frightened. She tried to leave again. Dr. Wren said she was in withdrawal and could harm herself. Beatrice told me to hold the corridor.”
“Did the doctor examine her?”
“Briefly.”
“And injected her?”
“After Clara said no.”
Julian’s mouth went dry.
Marcus looked directly at him. “I should have opened the door.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“No. You know now, because there are detectives and hospital lights. You knew then too.”
Marcus accepted the words without defending himself.
Julian walked away.
At seven-ten, a nurse led him into Clara’s room. Morning had begun to lighten the sky beyond the sealed windows, though the city below remained colorless. Clara lay beneath a thin hospital blanket with adhesive leads on her chest and a pulse monitor clipped to one finger. Without the estate’s carved bed and warm lamps, she looked less like a tragic figure and more like a sick woman whose body had been handled by too many people.
Julian took the chair beside her.
He placed the broken clasp on the bedside tray. The small piece of silver seemed cleaner than anything connected to the night had a right to be.
Clara’s wedding ring remained in a clear plastic bag with her other belongings. The forensic nurse had removed it to photograph the bruising. Julian turned the bag over and read the printed inventory twice.
RING, SILVER COLOR, ONE.
He had never noticed that official language reduced possessions to what could survive dispute.
His phone rang. His business partner, Mae Chen, appeared on the screen.
Julian declined the call.
It rang again three minutes later.
He answered in a whisper. “What?”
“You vanished from the airport.”
“My sister is in the hospital.”
Mae’s voice softened but did not become sentimental. “Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Are you?”
He looked at Clara. “Unclear.”
“The Copenhagen team is waiting for your revisions.”
“Handle it.”
“They need your approval on the cantilever change.”
“Then don’t change it.”
“The client will walk.”
“Let them.”
Mae was silent for a moment. They had worked together for twelve years. She knew that Julian threatened to abandon projects only when he wanted someone to stop him.
“I’ll delay the meeting,” she said. “Not cancel it.”
“I don’t care.”
“You employ forty-three people who do.”
He rubbed his eyes.
Mae continued. “Send me one sentence I can use. Family emergency. Medical emergency. Act of God.”
“Family.”
“Those are usually worse.”
Julian almost laughed. Nothing came out.
“Stay there,” Mae said. “I’ll keep the roof from collapsing.”
After the call, Julian rested his elbows on his knees. Clara’s fingers twitched against the sheet.
He looked up.
Her eyelids opened slowly. Her gaze moved across the ceiling, then to the window, then to him without recognition. A small crease appeared between her eyebrows.
“Clara?”
She tried to lift her left hand. The IV line pulled.
“Don’t,” Julian said. “You’re in the hospital.”
Her lips were dry. He held a cup with a sponge swab to her mouth, as the nurse had instructed.
Clara turned her face away.
“Where’s Beatrice?”
“At the estate, I think.”
“Elliot?”
“He’s here.”
Her pulse quickened on the monitor.
Julian stood. “I can have him removed.”
“No.”
“He doesn’t have to come in.”
“No police.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Clara—”
“No police.”
“They’re already involved.”
Her eyes closed.
Julian sat again. “I found the bruises.”
She swallowed.
“I found the bracelet clasp,” he said.
Her eyes opened at that.
“You locked me in,” she whispered.
Julian leaned closer. “What?”
“You all did.”
“I wasn’t there.”
“You’re always there when the building has your name on it.”
The words came slowly, blurred by medication, but they struck with precision.
“I called an ambulance.”
“After.”
“After what?”
Clara’s gaze drifted toward the door. “Don’t let Elliot take my phone.”
“Where is it?”
“Beatrice.”
“Why does she have it?”
Clara shut her eyes again.
The nurse entered to check the monitor and asked Julian to step outside. He resisted until Clara said, “Please.”
In the corridor, Detective Ortiz was waiting.
“She spoke to you,” the detective said.
“Briefly.”
“What did she say?”
Julian considered lying. The impulse surprised him less than it should have. Secrecy had never been taught as a rule in the Ashford family. It had been taught as manners.
“She said Beatrice has her phone.”
Ortiz wrote it down.
“She also asked for no police,” Julian said.
“That is common.”
“Will you leave her alone?”
“No. We will give her time and choices. Those are not the same thing.”
“What happens if she refuses to cooperate?”
“Then we document what we can. The assault at the estate may still be investigated. There were witnesses.”
“Marcus?”
“And Dr. Wren. Mrs. Ashford. Possibly staff.”
Julian looked through the narrow window in Clara’s door. The nurse adjusted her pillow. Clara’s face had turned away.
“Elliot says she has a substance problem.”
“Does she?”
“She went to treatment six years ago for prescription medication.”
“How did that begin?”
“A skiing injury. Then our father died badly and took a long time doing it.”
Ortiz closed her notebook. “Addiction history does not explain bruises.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Julian looked at her.
“Families with money often spend too much time deciding which version of a victim will be most believable,” Ortiz said. “The one who never drank, never lied, never relapsed, never went back, never made anyone angry. That person is easy to defend because that person does not exist.”
“You think I’m discrediting her.”
“I think you’re trying to get ahead of what Elliot will say.”
“He will use it.”
“Probably.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Stop helping him.”
May you like
Elliot was permitted to see Clara at nine-thirty because she asked for him. Julian learned this from a nurse, not from Clara.
He stood at the end of the corridor while Elliot entered the room. Detective Ortiz remained nearby but could not prevent a legal spouse from visiting after the patient consented.
