Chapter 11 - THE PHOTOGRAPH
I stared at the photograph until my vision blurred.
Griffin.
My husband.
Standing beside my father's hospital bed.
Holding a syringe.
The timestamp showed the night before my father died.
My hands went numb.
Griffin came downstairs carrying a suitcase.
He saw my face.
"What happened?"
I turned the phone toward him.
He stopped.
"I can explain."
"Then explain."
He stared at the photograph.
"I was there."
"You were holding that?"
"Yes."
My heart shattered.
"Why?"
"Your father asked me to."
I didn't believe him.
"Why would he ask you?"
"Because he was sick."
"That's not an answer."
"He was receiving medication."
"What was in the syringe?"
"I don't know."
I stepped back.
"You expect me to believe that?"
Griffin's voice broke.
"Claire, listen."
"No."
I pointed toward the door.
"Get out."
He didn't move.
"Please."
"Get out!"
He left.
I immediately called Evelyn.
She arrived within twenty minutes.
I showed her the photograph.
Her expression changed.
"Where did you get this?"
"Unknown number."
She studied the timestamp.
"Don't respond."
"Why?"
"Because this is exactly what your father warned us about."
"What?"
"Fabricated evidence."
"But Griffin admitted he was there."
"That doesn't mean he killed your father."
I stared at her.
"Then what happened?"
She opened her briefcase.
"I finally received your father's complete medical file."
She placed it on the table.
"There was no syringe in the official inventory."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"Which means whoever took this photograph wanted you to believe it was medication."
She pointed at the image.
"Look closely."
I zoomed in.
The syringe had no label.
"Exactly."
Then Evelyn pointed to the clock.
"Look at the wall."
The clock read 11:42.
My father's official time of death was 10:18.
I stared.
The photograph had been altered.
"Someone changed the timestamp."
"Yes."
I sat down.
"So Griffin didn't kill him."
"We don't know."
"But the photograph is fake."
"At least partially."
Then my phone rang.
The police.
They had found Evan's car.
Abandoned at the airport.
Inside was a suitcase.
And a passport.
But Evan was gone.
They also found something else.
A key.
Engraved with a number.
17.
Evelyn stared at it.
"I know that number."
"What is it?"
"The hospital room your father was in."
My blood went cold.
The person who created the photograph had access to the hospital.
Someone had been there.
Someone close enough to know everything.
And then I remembered something.
A nurse.
A nurse who had visited my father every night.
A nurse whose name appeared on the medical records.
I looked at Evelyn.
"Who was assigned to him?"
She opened the file.
Her face went pale.
"I don't know."
May you like
"Why?"
"Because the nurse's name was removed."
