Chapter 8 - THE BEDROOM PHOTO
I wanted to cross the street and drag Adrian out of the car.
Instead, I stayed where I was.
That was harder than any fight I had ever been in.
Ortiz arrived in an unmarked sedan and took over. Officers followed Claire after she left. Another team documented Bianca and Adrian’s movements.
Because I had no legal right to seize the envelope, we had to wait.
I hated waiting.
That night, Mom and I sat in the den with every curtain closed.
“Did Claire ever come into my bedroom?” I asked.
Mom thought for a moment.
“Once. Bianca said she needed to see where you slept in case I had an emergency at night.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know that now.”
So did I.
At 9:40 p.m., Ortiz called.
Claire Benson had agreed to speak after officers confronted her about unlicensed access to private medical records.
“Come to the station,” Ortiz said.
Claire looked smaller without the confidence she had worn at our house.
Her hands trembled around a paper cup.
“I didn’t know anybody was going to get hurt,” she said.
Ortiz didn’t react. “Then tell us what you did know.”
Claire stared at the table.
Bianca had paid her to review Mom’s medications and identify combinations that could cause dizziness, confusion, and memory problems without immediately looking like poisoning.
My throat went dry.
“Did you give her anything?” I asked.
“No. I swear.”
“Then why the picture of me?”
Claire closed her eyes.
“That wasn’t for your mother.”
The room went still.
She told us Adrian had asked a second question.
What common prescriptions could make a healthy man in his forties appear exhausted, disoriented, or impaired over time?
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Why?”
Claire whispered, “He said they needed a medical history before the wedding.”
Ortiz leaned forward. “A medical history for what?”
Claire looked directly at me.
“For you.”
May you like
Then she added one final sentence.
“Bianca said Martha was only phase one.”
