Chapter 2 - The Red Light
What they didn't understand was that I had already noticed something in that hospital room they completely overlooked.
I looked past Patricia’s shoulder toward the corner of the room. A small red light blinked above the door: a hospital security camera. Then I noticed the second detail: Abigail’s bedside monitor had been recording audio through the emergency response system because she had arrived under a suspected domestic violence protocol.
Patricia followed my gaze, and for the first time, her smile weakened. “What are you looking at?” she asked.
I turned back to her. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
Gregory laughed, but Nicholas didn’t. He had finally realized I wasn’t staring at them anymore. A nurse entered with a physician and two hospital security officers. I asked one question.
“Has my daughter requested protective status?”
Abigail nodded immediately. The physician answered, “Yes. She also gave permission for staff to document her injuries and preserve all relevant records.”
Nicholas stepped forward. “This is ridiculous. She’s my wife.”
One of the officers blocked him. “And right now, sir, she has asked that you not approach her.”
Patricia’s voice sharpened. “Do you know who we are?”
The officer’s expression didn’t change. “Yes, ma’am. I checked your identification.” That answer unsettled her more than shouting would have.
I sat beside Abigail and asked her to tell me how she escaped. She whispered that a housekeeper had found her unconscious in the guest house, called an ambulance, then disappeared before the Fergusons arrived. “Dozens of times, Mom. She was terrified. She said they’d hurt her too.”
Gregory suddenly interrupted. “There is no housekeeper.”
Abigail looked at him. I did too. “You’re certain?” I asked.
“Absolutely.”
I reached into my jacket and removed my phone. Before entering the room, I had received a message from an unknown number. One photograph. One sentence. The photograph showed Abigail locked behind a barred guest-house window. The message read: I saw what they did. I have everything.
Patricia went pale. Nicholas whispered, “Who sent that?”
I looked at him. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
Then my phone rang. Unknown caller. I answered. A woman was crying.
May you like
“Colonel Gardner,” she whispered, “don’t trust the police chief. He was at the house that night.”
Behind me, Patricia smiled again.
