Chapter 8 - The Doctor Who Ran
Dr. Peter Hollis had delivered half the babies in our county and buried nearly as many secrets.
By midnight, Elena had his office records, three state warrants, and a federal contact who owed her enough favors to stop asking questions after the second one.
By dawn, we knew Hollis had not left for any conference.
His car was found behind a closed gas station forty miles south. The trunk was open. His wallet was inside. His phone had been smashed under the rear tire.
There was blood on the steering wheel.
Not enough to prove death.
Enough to prove fear.
My mother’s attorney arrived at eight in the morning.
He was a tall man named Warren Pike who carried a leather briefcase and the expression of someone paid not to notice evil unless it failed to pay him.
“Mrs. Alden will not be answering further questions,” he announced in the foyer.
Elena looked at him. “Mrs. Alden is free to remain silent. She is not free to interfere with an investigation.”
“My client is a grieving mother-in-law.”
“My friend’s wife is dead.”
Pike glanced at me. “Mr. Alden, my condolences. Your mother is deeply concerned about your mental state.”
I almost smiled.
There it was.
The second act of her plan.
I shifted Noah higher against my shoulder. “My mental state is better than your client’s legal position.”
Pike’s mouth tightened.
Mother stood behind him in black silk, perfect as a widow at a funeral she had arranged for someone else.
“Daniel,” she said softly, “you need help.”
I walked toward her slowly.
The trooper near the stairs tensed.
I stopped a safe distance away.
“You stole my wife’s letters.”
Pain flickered across her face, but not guilt. Annoyance.
“You were in a war zone.”
“You pretended to be me.”
“I protected you from distraction.”
“You isolated a pregnant woman until she died.”
Her eyes hardened.
“Emily was never as fragile as she wanted people to believe.”
I stared at her.
That sentence told me more than she intended.
Because people who kill often need their victims to deserve it.
Before I could answer, Elena’s phone rang.
She listened for ten seconds, then turned away.
I knew that posture.
Bad news entering.
When she faced me again, her expression was controlled.
“They found Hollis.”
My grip tightened around Noah.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Mother’s face changed.
It was so quick most people would have missed it.
Not relief.
Alarm.
“Where?” I asked.
“An urgent care clinic outside Richmond. He checked in under another name with a knife wound.”
Pike immediately said, “My client has no connection to—”
Elena raised one finger without looking at him.
He stopped.
“Hollis is asking for protection,” she said. “And he says he’ll only talk to Daniel.”
My mother took one step forward.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
She recovered too late.
“I mean, Daniel is exhausted. He should not be dragged into every unstable accusation made by a frightened doctor.”
I handed Noah to Anna, who had become fiercely protective in less than a day.
Then I looked at Elena.
“Let’s go.”
The clinic smelled like antiseptic and vending machine coffee.
Hollis lay in a curtained room with his left arm bandaged and his face swollen. He looked twenty years older than when I last saw him smiling at my wedding reception, telling Emily she had “excellent hips for motherhood,” a comment that had made her squeeze my hand under the table until I promised not to punch him.
Now he couldn’t meet my eyes.
“Daniel,” he whispered.
I stood at the foot of his bed.
“You helped murder my wife.”
He began crying immediately.
Not dignified tears.
Ugly, relieved, cowardly tears.
“I didn’t know she would die.”
The room went silent.
Elena activated a recorder.
“Say that again,” she said.
Hollis shook his head. “Vivian said Emily was hysterical. She said if Emily went to the hospital, she’d accuse everyone of poisoning her and Daniel would come home ruined. Vivian had paperwork. Judges. Sheriff. I thought—I thought it was a family custody issue.”
“You signed a home-birth authorization Emily never consented to,” Elena said.
“Yes.”
“You delayed hospital transfer.”
His lips trembled.
“Yes.”
My voice was low.
“Why?”
Hollis closed his eyes.
“Because Vivian had something on me.”
“What?”
He looked toward the curtain.
“Grace.”
My dead sister’s name entered the room like a ghost.
“What about Grace?”
Hollis whispered, “I was a resident when she died. I altered the record.”
My chest tightened.
“At my mother’s request?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
Hollis opened his eyes.
“Because Grace wasn’t premature.”
Nobody spoke.
“She was full term?” Elena asked.
He nodded again.
“Then why did everyone say she came early?”
Hollis looked at me with raw terror.
“Because your father had been away for ten months.”
The words struck with no sound.
My mother had not only buried a baby.
She had buried proof.
“And Emily found out?” I asked.
May you like
Hollis cried harder.
“She found everything.”
