Chương 4
The second went to a retired toxicologist named Samuel Ortega, who had spent twelve years consulting for Hale Diagnostic Systems and another eight complaining that retirement was “a poorly designed product.”
The third went to nobody.
Richard had typed it to Claire and then deleted it.
Are you trying to kill me?
At 2:18, footsteps moved away from the door.
Richard waited another ten minutes.
Then his phone vibrated.
Samuel had answered.
YOU HAVE THE TABLET?
Richard typed:
YES.
Samuel replied:
DON’T HANDLE IT MORE THAN NECESSARY. BAG IT. BRING IT TO ME.
Richard looked at the locked door.
YOU’RE THREE HOURS AWAY.
Samuel’s answer came quickly.
THEN I GUESS YOU’RE GETTING UP EARLY.
Richard smiled despite himself.
He had forgotten how irritating the man could be.
At 5:47, Claire knocked.
“Dad?”
Richard had been dressed for twenty minutes.
He opened the door.
Claire stood there holding coffee.
He looked at the cup.
She noticed.
Something small changed in her face.
“You want me to drink it first?”
Richard looked at her.
The question hung between them.
Claire’s eyes reddened.
Not with tears.
With anger.
“Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“You’re looking at me like I’m carrying a syringe.”
Richard stepped into the hallway.
“I’m looking at coffee.”
“No. You’re not.”
She put the cup on the console table hard enough to spill some over the rim.
“What did Noah tell you?”
Richard adjusted the cuff of his pale shirt.
“Ask Noah.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He said he didn’t remember.”
Richard almost smiled.
Good boy.
Claire stared at him.
“Dad, something is wrong with you.”
“I’m seventy. There’s a list.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I agree.”
She folded her arms.
For a moment they were not a wealthy founder and a successful attorney in a mountain estate.
They were simply father and daughter, each waiting for the other to admit something first.
Claire looked away.
“You’ve never trusted me.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“I trusted you with your mother.”
Her face hardened.
Richard regretted the sentence immediately.
Eleanor had died four years earlier after a long neurological illness. Claire had managed appointments, nurses, insurance disputes, medication schedules, and the thousand humiliating details Richard had been too frightened to face directly.
He had paid for everything.
For years he had mistaken that for doing his share.
Claire picked up the coffee.
“You should get your coat.”
She walked away.
Richard stood alone in the hallway.
He could have called her back.
He did not.
That failure, unlike the others, was entirely ordinary.
At 6:31 they left the estate.
Noah sat in the back seat with headphones around his neck but no music playing.
Claire drove.
Richard watched the mountain road unwind through wet pines.
The storm had passed, leaving fog between the trees.
Nobody spoke for twelve minutes.
Then Noah said, “I’m hungry.”
Claire laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because after the night they had had, hunger was somehow reassuring.
“There are crackers in my bag.”
“They taste like cardboard.”
“They’re wheat.”
“That’s why.”
Richard turned slightly.
“He has a point.”
Claire glanced at him.
For half a second they almost shared the old alliance—the one in which Eleanor bought healthy food and Richard taught Claire how to hide cookies behind the flour.
Then Claire looked back at the road.
The moment disappeared.
At the first gas station in town, Richard said he needed the restroom.
Claire pulled in.
“I’ll come inside.”
“I have been urinating independently since 1959.”
“Dad.”
“I’m touched by your concern.”
She gripped the steering wheel.
Richard regretted the sarcasm.
Again.
He got out.
Inside the convenience store, he bought a bottle of water, a banana he did not want, and a padded mailing envelope.
In the restroom he sealed the pill inside two plastic bags and put them in the envelope.
Then he called Samuel.
“You awake?”
“I’m seventy-six. Sleep is a rumor.”
“I need a courier.”
“No.”
Richard frowned.
“No?”
“You need chain of custody.”
“I’m not prosecuting anybody.”
“You don’t know that yet.”
Richard leaned against the sink.
“What do I do?”
“Bring it yourself.”
“I’m being admitted in an hour.”
“Then don’t be.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Sam.”
“You called me because you’re afraid somebody tampered with medication you’re expected to take before a cardiac procedure. If that sentence is accurate, you do not proceed as though everything is normal.”
Richard looked at himself in the mirror.
His beard needed trimming.
There was toothpaste on the collar of his shirt.
He rubbed it with a wet paper towel.
“I may be wrong.”
“I hope you are.”
“My daughter arranged the procedure.”
Silence.
Samuel knew Claire.
“That complicates things.”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t change the chemistry.”
Richard slipped the envelope inside his cardigan.
“What can you tell from one tablet?”
“A lot. Maybe nothing useful. Depends what’s in it.”
“How fast?”
“If you bring it to the university lab and I make myself unpopular? A few hours for a preliminary screen.”
“You enjoy being unpopular.”
“It keeps people honest.”
Richard smiled.
“Fine.”
He hung up.
When he returned to the car, Claire looked at the convenience-store bag.
“You bought a banana?”
“I’m exploring new experiences.”
“You hate bananas.”
“I remain open-minded.”
Noah leaned between the seats.
“Can I have it?”
Richard handed it back.
Claire stared at him.
“What?”
“You’re acting strange.”
“So are you.”
Her face closed.
There it was.
The mistake.
Richard had pushed too hard.
Claire pulled onto the road.
Twenty minutes later his phone rang.
Martin Voss.
Richard watched the name.
Claire noticed.
“You going to answer?”
“No.”
Martin called again.
Richard declined it.
A message arrived.
CALL ME BEFORE THE PROCEDURE.
Richard felt the pill against his chest inside the envelope.
He typed:
WHY?
The reply took less than ten seconds.
BECAUSE YOU NEED TO KNOW WHAT CLAIRE DID.
Richard stared at the words.
Claire glanced at him.
“Who is it?”
“Martin.”
Her hands tightened on the wheel.
That was not ambiguous.
May you like
“Why is he calling?”
“He says I need to know what you did.”
