Chapter 4: What Happened at St. Agnes
We drove to St. Agnes just after midnight.
The hospital was almost empty.
Rain tapped against the windshield as Grant parked beneath the emergency department lights.
“You’re sure about this?”” he asked.
“No.””
“Good.””
I looked at him.
“That’s encouraging.””
“It’s realistic.””
We went inside.
The receptionist looked irritated when Grant introduced himself.
“Legal records from eighteen years ago?”” she asked.
“Yes.””
“That’s not exactly something I can pull up from a computer.””
“I understand.””
Grant showed her a letter authorizing historical record access.
Her expression changed.
“Give me ten minutes.””
She disappeared behind a set of double doors.
I stood beneath a television mounted to the ceiling.
A morning show played without sound.
My father had died less than twelve hours ago.
My stepmother had nearly lost control of his estate.
A woman who was supposedly dead had appeared in a photograph from last year.
And now I was standing in the hospital where that woman was supposedly identified after a car crash.
I turned to Grant.
“What is Northstar?””
“I don’t know.””
“You’re my father’s attorney.””
“I know.””
“You worked with him for twenty-two years.””
“I know that too.””
“Then why don’t you know?””
Grant looked at me.
“Because Richard stopped telling me the whole truth.””
The receptionist returned.
“I found something.””
She placed a thin file on the counter.
“There was an emergency admission eighteen years ago. Female patient. Severe trauma.””
“Lena Carter?”” I asked.
She checked the page.
“Unknown female.””
My heart sank.
“What?””
“The patient wasn’t identified when she arrived.””
Grant leaned closer.
“Then how was she identified?””
The receptionist turned the page.
“Family identification.””
“Who?””
“Vanessa Carter.””
I looked at Grant.
He said nothing.
The receptionist continued.
“Death recorded at 2:14 a.m.””
I asked, “Was there an autopsy?””
“Yes.””
“Can we see the report?””
“That’s restricted.””
Grant handed her another document.
She read it.
Then sighed.
“You’ll have to speak to Medical Records.””
Twenty minutes later, we were in a basement archive room.
An elderly hospital administrator brought out a box.
“The original files were transferred to storage after a system migration,” she explained.
“This is everything we have.””
She left.
Grant opened the box.
Inside were brittle papers, photographs, and handwritten notes.
He found the intake record.
Female.
Approximately twenty-one years old.
Multiple fractures.
Head trauma.
No identification.
Then we found the death certificate.
I stared at the name.
*Jane Doe.*
“Lena was never officially identified,” I said.
Grant nodded.
“Not by the hospital.””
“Then why does Vanessa say she identified her?””
“Because she did.””
I looked at him.
“How?””
He pulled out another paper.
A handwritten statement.
*I identify the deceased as my sister, Lena Carter.*
Signature:
*Vanessa Carter.*
Date:
June 3, 2008.
I felt something tighten in my chest.
“That doesn’t prove it was Lena.””
“No.””
“What else?””
Grant searched deeper.
There was an envelope marked PROPERTY.
Inside was a small evidence photograph.
A ring.
Silver.
Black stone.
I looked at Grant.
“The same ring.””
“Yes.””
“Then Vanessa was telling the truth.””
“Possibly.””
“Possibly?””
Grant turned the photo over.
There was writing on the back.
*Item collected from left hand. Claimed by Vanessa Carter.*
I stared at the words.
“Claimed?””
“She took the ring.””
“Why?””
“Maybe because it belonged to Lena.””
“Or because she needed something to prove a body was hers.””
Grant looked at me.
Neither of us spoke.
I reached for another paper.
There was a police report.
I scanned the names.
Driver unknown.
Vehicle registration unknown.
Reporting witness: Evelyn Carter.
I froze.
“Evelyn.””
Grant took the page.
“Your father’s note.””
“Exactly.””
The report stated that Evelyn Carter had called 911 after witnessing the accident.
I kept reading.
She had seen the crash.
She had seen the woman pulled from the vehicle.
But she had not seen the driver clearly.
And yet, near the end of the statement, there was a sentence that made my skin crawl.
*Witness states that the deceased appeared to be Lena Carter, but cannot provide positive identification.*
“Then why did Vanessa say she identified her?”” I asked.
Grant looked at me.
“Maybe she was told to.””
We heard footsteps outside the archive room.
The door opened.
A woman in a beige coat stood there.
She was in her late fifties.
Her hair was streaked with gray.
She looked directly at me.
“Marcus?””
I stood.
“Yes.””
She swallowed hard.
“My name is Evelyn.””
I felt the air leave the room.
“You knew my father.””
“I did.””
“You witnessed the crash.””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I wish I hadn’t.””
Grant approached her.
“What happened?””
Evelyn looked at the hospital file.
Then she looked at me.
“Your father came to me the morning after.””
“Why?””
“He begged me to change my statement.””
“Why?””
“Because he said your life depended on it.””
My pulse began pounding.
“What does that mean?””
She took a shaky breath.
“Lena wasn’t the only person in the car.””
Silence.
“Who was the other person?”” Grant asked.
Evelyn shook her head.
“I never saw his face.””
“Was he alive?””
“No.””
“Then why did my father need you to change your statement?””
Evelyn looked at the floor.
“Because someone was supposed to be dead.””
I stared at her.
“Who?””
She looked at me.
“Richard.””
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“What?””
“Your father was the man they wanted everyone to think had died in that accident.””
Grant stepped forward.
“That’s impossible.””
Evelyn shook her head.
“I know what I saw.””
“You saw Richard at the scene?””
“Yes.””
“Alive?””
“Yes.””
“What happened?””
Evelyn gripped the edge of the table.
“Richard was there when the car went over the embankment.””
I waited.
She whispered, “And Vanessa was there too.””
Everything inside me went still.
“She was screaming,” Evelyn continued.
“Not because Lena was dying.””
“Then why?””
“Because Richard had found out what she had done.””
“What had she done?””
Evelyn started crying.
“I can’t.””
“You have to.””
“She knows where I live.””
I stepped closer.
“Please.””
Evelyn looked at me for a long moment.
Then she reached into her handbag and pulled out an old photograph.
The image was badly faded.
But the faces were visible.
Lena.
Vanessa.
Richard.
And a fourth person.
A little boy.
Me.
I stared at it.
“I wasn’t there.””
“You were,” Evelyn whispered.
“No.””
“You were ten.””
“I was twelve.””
She shook her head.
“Your father lied about your age.””
I took the photograph with trembling fingers.
On the back, in handwriting I knew instantly, were six words:
*Marcus saw everything that night.*
Before I could speak, Evelyn’s phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
Her face turned white.
“What is it?”” I asked.
May you like
She showed me the message.
*Stop digging, or Marcus dies the way Lena did.*