Chapter 3 - The Patient in Room Twelve
Samuel Price had arrived at St. Catherine’s at 11:18 on a Monday night.
Seventy-one years old.
Chest pain.
Difficulty breathing.
No identification except an old union card in his wallet.
I remembered him because he had refused to let go of my hand.
“You’re Claire?”
I had smiled.
“It’s on my badge.”
“No. Claire Bennett?”
The question had bothered me then.
Now it terrified me.
Detective Reed leaned forward.
“What exactly did he say?”
I told her.
Every word I could remember.
Samuel had asked whether anyone had gone through his coat.
Then he had said, “Don’t let DeLuca find it.”
“What did you think he meant?” Reed asked.
“I thought he was confused.”
“Did he give you anything?”
“No.”
“Did you take anything from his belongings?”
“Absolutely not.”
Maya suddenly went still.
“What?”
She looked at me.
“Claire, when we changed him into a gown, you put his personal effects into the property bag.”
“Yes.”
“You complained there was something sharp in his coat lining.”
Memory returned.
A small hard corner beneath the fabric.
I had assumed it was a broken zipper.
Detective Reed stood.
“Where’s that coat?”
Hospital property storage.
We reached it at 2:47 a.m.
The bag was there.
The coat was not.
Someone had signed it out ninety minutes earlier.
The signature belonged to me.
Except I had been lying in an examination room at the time.
Reed stared at the forged signature.
“This just became bigger.”
By sunrise, two detectives were reviewing security footage.
At 7:10, Luca DeLuca walked into the hospital.
No entourage this time.
Only the silver-haired man from the street.
I was drinking terrible coffee when Luca stopped outside my room.
“May I come in?”
That question again.
Permission.
“Yes.”
He entered.
“You heard about my apartment?”
“Yes.”
I studied him.
“Samuel Price.”
For the first time, Luca’s control cracked.
Barely.
But I saw it.
“You know him.”
“I knew him.”
“Was he part of your organization?”
“Thirty years ago.”
My pulse quickened.
“He told me not to let you find something.”
Luca absorbed that.
Then he did something I didn’t expect.
He smiled faintly.
“Sounds like Samuel.”
“You’re not offended?”
“He distrusted everyone. It kept him alive seventy-one years.”
“Until Monday.”
The smile vanished.
Luca looked toward the window.
“Samuel handled accounting for my father. Then he disappeared after my father was murdered.”
“Murdered?”
“Twelve years ago.”
The silver-haired man interrupted.
“Luca.”
A warning.
Luca ignored it.
“Samuel believed someone inside my father’s organization arranged the killing.”
“And the file?”
“Could prove it.”
My skin prickled.
“Why would Ethan want it?”
“That is the question.”
I studied Luca.
“Did you know who I was before last night?”
“No.”
“Did you know Samuel had been treated at my hospital?”
“No.”
“Can I believe you?”
His eyes met mine.
“You shouldn’t believe anyone because they ask you to.”
That answer scared me less than reassurance would have.
He turned to leave.
“Luca.”
He stopped.
“If you find the file first, what happens?”
“To the person who killed my father?”
“Yes.”
A long silence.
Then he said, “I’m trying very hard to become a man who lets courts answer that question.”
Trying.
Not pretending.
He left.
By afternoon, Ethan made bail.
That terrified me more than anything.
A protective order existed on paper.
Paper did not stop fists.
Maya insisted I stay with her, but Detective Reed recommended the hotel because the location was confidential.
At 6:00 p.m., I checked in.
At 6:18, someone slipped an envelope beneath my door.
No knock.
Inside was a photograph of me standing beside Samuel’s hospital bed.
On the back:
ASK THE NURSE WHAT HE GAVE HER.
My hands shook.
Then I noticed Samuel’s hand in the photograph.
He wasn’t holding my wrist.
He was reaching toward the pocket of my scrub jacket.
I grabbed the jacket from my hospital belongings.
My fingers searched the lining.
Nothing.
Then they touched a tiny tear near the seam.
Something was inside.
A key.
Small.
Brass.
Stamped with three numbers.
317.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered without thinking.
Ethan’s voice whispered:
“You found it.”
I froze.
“You’re violating the protective order.”
He laughed softly.
“You still think this is about us?”
The line went dead.
Thirty seconds later, the hotel fire alarm began screaming.
I opened my door.
Smoke filled the hallway.
And at the far end of the corridor, through the haze, a man in a maintenance uniform was walking directly toward me.
May you like
He wasn’t evacuating.
He was carrying a knife.
