Chapter 8 - The Bag
Detective Chen paused the video on the black bag.
“Do you recognize it?”
“No.”
“Could it belong to his mother?”
“She’s not a doctor.”
Neither was Ethan.
Lena called while we were still staring at the frame.
“I found the physician named in the paperwork,” she said. “Dr. Evan Cole. Private psychiatrist. He signed a preliminary letter saying Ethan reported concerns about your judgment and possible self-harm.”
“I’ve never met him.”
“That’s the problem.”
Detective Chen asked, “Does Dr. Cole make house calls?”
Lena went quiet. “Why?”
We told her about the bag.
Twenty minutes later, Lena called back.
“Cole’s office says he did not visit Margaret’s home. But one of Ethan’s companies purchased a home medical kit last week under his name.”
“For what?”
“Sedatives were not included, if that’s what you’re thinking. But there were specimen containers, blood-pressure equipment, and empty prescription bottles used for training kits.”
A chill traveled over my arms.
Empty bottles.
Margaret’s words came back to me.
Nobody saw what happened.
But they had planned as if they needed more than a fall.
I suddenly remembered something from the morning before the attack. Margaret had been in our bedroom while I showered. She said she was looking for a spare phone charger.
“What if they planted something?” I asked.
Detective Chen didn’t answer immediately.
“What would they want people to find?” she asked.
“Something that made me look unstable.”
The detective stood. “Do not go back to that house.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“We’ll work on lawful access. In the meantime, is there anyone inside who might photograph your belongings without touching anything?”
I thought of Rosa, Margaret’s housekeeper of eleven years.
Rosa had once slipped me coffee in the laundry room after Margaret made me cry at Thanksgiving.
I texted her one sentence.
PLEASE LOOK IN THE TOP DRAWER OF THE GUEST BEDROOM DRESSER. DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING. SEND ME A PHOTO.
Eight minutes later, my phone buzzed.
The photograph showed an orange prescription bottle beside a folded sheet of paper.
May you like
The paper began with the words:
I’M SORRY. I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE.
