Chapter 4 - The police searched the house before sunrise.No one was inside.
The bedroom door had slammed because the attic window above Emma’s room had been forced open.
Detective Hayes stood beneath it.
“Someone was here.”
I felt sick.
“They came inside while Emma was in the hospital?”
“Possibly.”
“Why?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she examined the floor.
There were muddy footprints.
One set.
Large.
Heavy.
They led from the attic ladder to Emma’s bedroom.
Then stopped at the bookshelf.
Detective Hayes moved the books.
A small compartment opened.
Inside was a child's drawing.
I recognized it.
Emma had drawn it two days earlier.
Our family.
Me.
Mark.
Rachel.
And herself.
Except Mark had been drawn without a face.
I laughed nervously.
“She does that sometimes.”
Detective Hayes looked at the drawing.
“Kids notice more than adults think.”
Then she turned it over.
Written on the back were three numbers.
My pulse jumped.
“What is that?”
“I don't know.”
Rachel did.
Her expression changed.
“That's the room number.”
“What room?”
“At the Harbor Hotel.”
“What is that?”
She wouldn't answer.
I grabbed her arm.
“Rachel.”
She looked at me.
“Mark used to meet someone there.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Detective Hayes took the drawing.
“Let's find out.”
Later that morning, Mark called from the police station.
“I need to see you.”
“Why?”
“I know who gave you that warning.”
My throat tightened.
“Who?”
“I can't say over the phone.”
“When?”
“Now.”
I drove to the station.
Mark looked older.
His shirt was wrinkled.
His eyes were bloodshot.
I sat across from him.
“Tell me everything.”
He shook his head.
“I can't.”
“Emma almost died.”
“I know.”
“You lied to me.”
“I know.”
“You gambled away our money.”
“I know.”
“You met Malcolm seventeen times.”
He looked up.
“I didn't sell him anything.”
“What did you sell?”
His face went white.
I leaned forward.
“Nothing?”
He whispered.
“I sold access.”
“To what?”
“My hospital.”
I couldn't speak.
Mark worked in surgical supply management.
He had access to controlled medications.
He could request stock.
Track inventory.
Move sealed vials.
He couldn't legally take them.
But he knew exactly how to make shortages disappear inside paperwork.
I felt my stomach twist.
“You stole medication from the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“For Malcolm?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Mark looked toward the interrogation-room window.
“People who paid more.”
“Why?”
“To repay the debt.”
“Did you put it in Emma’s drink?”
He closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then who did?”
His voice dropped.
“I think someone is framing me.”
I almost laughed.
“You're telling me someone knew about your stolen sedatives, knew about the missing money, knew about your meetings, knew about the vial in your car, and chose Emma's birthday to frame you?”
Mark stared at me.
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if they needed the police to believe I was desperate enough.”
I sat back.
“Who?”
He whispered a name.
“Rachel.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“She knew about the debt.”
“She gave you money.”
“She knew where I kept the medication.”
“She was afraid of you.”
“She had access to the house.”
I stood.
“Why would my sister hurt Emma?”
Mark said nothing.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
Nobody spoke.
After five seconds, a distorted voice said:
“You should have killed Malcolm when you had the chance.”
Mark went rigid.
The call ended.
I looked at him.
“Who is Malcolm?”
Mark finally told me the truth.
“Malcolm isn't the man I was selling to.”
“Then who is he?”
May you like
Mark stared directly into my eyes.
“He's the man who wants me dead.”
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