Chapter 4: The Last Injection
I stared at the photograph until the edges of the screen blurred.
Monica stood beside Daniel's hospital bed, one hand resting on the metal rail and the other holding a syringe. My husband looked impossibly small beneath the white blanket. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, and the oxygen tube beneath his nose cast a faint shadow across his cheek.
I recognized the room immediately.
It was the private hospital suite where Daniel had spent the final three days of his life.
I had been there that night.
I had held his hand until a nurse insisted I go home to rest. I remembered kissing his forehead, promising to return before sunrise, and watching the elevator doors close while guilt pressed against my chest.
I had believed he was safe.
Now a stranger was telling me that the woman who had destroyed his memorial might have had something to do with his death.
My phone rang.
Marcus.
I answered so quickly that I nearly dropped it.
"Mom, where are you?""
"At home. Marcus, are you all right?""
There was a crash in the background, followed by Monica's voice.
"Give it back!""
Marcus lowered his voice.
"Something happened. Monica found the photograph. She says it was planted in her desk.""
"Is she there with you?""
"Yes.""
"Listen to me. Don't leave her alone with anything that could hurt you. And don't accuse her of anything until we understand what we're looking at.""
"Mom, I found another picture. Dad was holding her hand in it. It was taken years before she supposedly met him.""
My throat tightened.
"I know.""
"You know? How?""
"Someone just sent me a photograph of Monica standing beside your father on his last night. She's holding a syringe.""
Silence.
Then Marcus whispered, "What?""
"I don't know who sent it. I don't know whether the photograph proves anything. But I need you to listen carefully.
Your father told me there were things about the company you must never sign away. He also warned me not to trust the person responsible.""
"Responsible for what?""
"I don't know yet.""
Monica's voice rose in the background.
"Marcus, who are you talking to?""
He ignored her.
"Mom, I'm going to the hospital.""
"Why?""
"Because I need to find out who was there that night. I need to know what happened to Dad.""
I closed my eyes.
"Then I'm coming with you.""
"No. Meet me there. I'll send you the address.""
The call ended.
I grabbed my handbag, the brass capsule, and Daniel's letter. Before leaving, I called Arthur Bennett.
He answered immediately.
"Evelyn?""
"Someone sent me a photograph of Monica holding a syringe beside Daniel's hospital bed on his last night alive.""
His silence lasted several seconds.
"Have you sent the photograph to anyone?""
"No.""
"Good. Preserve the original message. Don't forward it or delete it. We need the original file and its metadata.""
"Arthur, what if she killed him?""
"Then the authorities must investigate. But a photograph of a syringe doesn't establish what was in it, who administered it, or whether it was authorized. We must not jump ahead of the evidence.""
"I understand.""
"Do you? Because if Monica suspects you believe she harmed Daniel, she may destroy evidence or pressure witnesses.""
I looked toward the garden, where the shattered pieces of Daniel's statue had been collected into a cardboard box.
"She already knows I've found something.""
"Then don't go alone.""
I told him about Marcus and the hospital.
"I'm coming," Arthur said.
"Wait for me.""
But I couldn't wait.
For four years, I had told myself that Daniel's death was an unavoidable tragedy. His heart had failed after months of declining health. His doctors had explained the complications, and I had signed the necessary forms with trembling hands.
I had never questioned the details.
Not once.
At the hospital, the familiar smell of disinfectant brought back memories so vivid that I had to stop beside the reception desk to steady myself.
Marcus was waiting near the elevators.
His face was pale. His shirt was wrinkled, and his wedding ring was missing.
I noticed it immediately.
"Where's your ring?""
He looked down at his hand.
"I took it off.""
"Marcus—"
"I can't look at it right now.""
I put my arms around him. For several seconds, he stood rigidly. Then his shoulders collapsed, and he held me like the little boy who used to run to me after nightmares.
"I'm scared, Mom," he whispered.
I pressed my cheek against his hair.
"So am I.""
He pulled away and wiped his face.
"I called the hospital records department. They said some of Dad's archived records can be requested, but because it's been four years, we need authorization.""
"Arthur can help.""
"I also spoke to the nurse who cared for Dad during his last shift. She still works here.""
"Did she remember him?""
"She remembered his name. When I mentioned Monica, she became very quiet.""
My stomach tightened.
"What did she say?""
Marcus looked toward the elevator.
"She said she wanted to speak to us somewhere private.""
We found the nurse in a small consultation room on the third floor. Her name was Patricia Collins. She was in her late fifties, with short gray hair and a silver watch fastened tightly around her wrist.
When she saw us, she closed the door.
"I wondered whether this day would ever come," she said.
Marcus stepped forward.
"What do you mean?""
Patricia glanced at me.
"Your father was a kind man. He treated the staff with respect, and he was always asking whether the nurses had eaten. I remember him very clearly.""
"Then tell us what happened that night," I said.
She folded her hands.
"Your father was stable when I began my shift. Weak, yes, but alert. He had been speaking with your mother earlier that evening.""
"I left at ten fifteen," I whispered.
Patricia nodded.
"After you left, a woman came into his room. She told the desk she was family.""
"Monica," Marcus said.
Patricia didn't answer immediately.
"She had permission to visit, according to the chart. But she wasn't listed as the person authorized to make medical decisions.""
"Did she give him medication?"" I asked.
"I saw her speaking to him. Later, when I returned, she was standing near the IV stand.""
"With a syringe?""
Patricia's eyes widened.
"Who told you that?""
I showed her the photograph on my phone.
She stared at it, then covered her mouth.
"That's her.""
Marcus gripped the edge of the table.
"What did you see?""
"I saw her holding a syringe. When I asked what she was doing, she said the doctor had requested a medication adjustment.""
"Did you verify that?""
"I should have. I know that now.""
Her voice cracked.
"But at the time, the doctor had been discussing changes to your father's treatment. I assumed she was carrying out instructions someone had already given.""
"Did you see her inject anything?"" Marcus demanded.
Patricia shook her head.
"No. I left the room to check the medication chart. When I returned, she had gone.""
"Why didn't you report it?""
"I did report that she had been in the room, but I didn't document the syringe because I never saw her administer anything. I was afraid of making an accusation I couldn't support.""
I watched her carefully.
"Did Daniel's condition change afterward?""
Patricia looked down.
"Within an hour, his blood pressure dropped. His heart rhythm became unstable. We called the physician, and the team intervened, but he deteriorated rapidly.""
Marcus stepped back as if she had struck him.
"You're saying she caused it?""
"No," Patricia replied firmly.
"I'm saying the timing concerned me. I cannot tell you whether the events were connected. Only the medical records, medication logs, and a proper investigation can establish that.""
Arthur arrived ten minutes later.
He listened without interrupting, then asked Patricia whether she remembered the medication chart.
"I remember that a revised order appeared in the electronic system," she said.
"But I didn't enter it.""
"Do you remember who did?""
Patricia hesitated.
"I thought it was the attending physician. The system showed a valid authorization.""
"Can you still access the archived record?""
"Not directly. But the hospital keeps audit logs. They should show who entered the order, when it was entered, and whether the record was later amended.""
Arthur nodded.
"Would you be willing to provide a formal statement?""
Patricia looked at Marcus.
"I would. I should have spoken more clearly four years ago.""
Marcus's voice was barely audible.
"Did my father know she was coming?""
Patricia frowned.
"Your father asked me something before she arrived.""
"What?""
"He asked whether visitors could be admitted without his permission. I told him the rules depended on his condition and the hospital's security procedures.""
My hands went cold.
"Why would he ask that?""
Patricia opened a drawer and removed a small notebook.
"I kept personal shift notes. We were advised to document unusual circumstances in case we needed to reconstruct an incident later. I wrote down what your father said because he seemed frightened.""
She turned several pages.
Then she stopped.
Her finger rested against a line written in blue ink.
"Patient requests that Mrs. Whitmore not be permitted to enter without staff present. States that she may be attempting to obtain documents from his belongings.""
The date was the evening before Daniel died.
Marcus stared at the words.
"Mrs. Whitmore?""
Patricia nodded.
"He didn't say her first name. I assumed he meant a relative.""
Arthur photographed the page with Patricia's permission.
"Did you report this request?""
"I told the charge nurse. But the note was never added to his official chart. I don't know why.""
I pressed my fingers against my mouth.
Daniel had been afraid.
Not of dying, perhaps, but of what might happen before he did.
He had tried to warn someone.
And we had all missed it.
Marcus paced to the far side of the room.
"I need air.""
I followed him into the corridor.
He stopped beside a window overlooking the hospital parking lot.
"Mom, if Monica was there that night, and Dad was afraid of her, why didn't he tell me?""
"Maybe he was trying to protect you.""
"From what? A woman he supposedly barely knew?""
I looked at him.
"Marcus, I think your father knew Monica long before you met her.""
He turned sharply.
"Then why did he let me marry her?""
"I don't know.""
"Why didn't he stop me?""
His voice broke on the last word.
I reached for his hand.
"Perhaps he tried. Perhaps he didn't have enough proof. Perhaps he thought he could solve it before you got hurt.""
Marcus stared at the floor.
"I defended her every time she insulted you.""
"I know.""
"I told you that you were making things difficult. I made you apologize to her after she mocked you at Christmas.""
"You were trying to keep your marriage together.""
"And she used that.""
He swallowed hard.
"She used me to get to Dad, didn't she?""
I couldn't answer.
Arthur emerged from the consultation room.
"We need to contact the hospital's legal department and request preservation of the complete medical record, including medication administration logs, access records, and audit trails. If anything was altered, we need the original data.""
Marcus straightened.
"Do it.""
Arthur studied him.
"Are you prepared for what we might discover?""
Marcus looked toward the elevator.
"I thought my father died because his heart gave out. If someone deliberately harmed him, I need to know. And if I helped that person without realizing it, I need to know that, too.""
He looked at me.
"But there's something else.""
"What?""
"Monica didn't just want Dad's company. She wanted something from him before he died.""
He reached into his pocket and removed a folded piece of paper.
"I found this in the wooden box with the photograph.""
He handed it to Arthur.
It was a hospital visitor authorization form.
The signature at the bottom belonged to Daniel.
But the handwriting above it was Monica's.
She had requested access to Daniel's private medical records and personal belongings.
The form had been submitted three days before his death.
Arthur turned it over.
A second signature appeared on the back.
Marcus's.
My son stared at it.
"I didn't sign this.""
Arthur examined the signature carefully.
"Then someone used your name to authorize something you never agreed to.""
Marcus's breathing became shallow.
"What was she trying to get?""
Arthur looked at the form again.
"There's a reference number here. It corresponds to an item held in the hospital's secure property room.""
"What item?"" I asked.
Arthur's expression darkened.
He read the handwritten description aloud.
"One sealed envelope, collected from the patient's bedside drawer.""
I remembered Daniel's letter.
The capsule.
The warning about documents that Marcus must never sign away.
But the envelope in the capsule had been addressed to me. This was something else.
"Does the hospital still have it?"" Marcus asked.
"We'll find out," Arthur replied.
He photographed the reference number and called the hospital's legal department.
After several minutes, he ended the call.
His face had gone pale.
"What is it?"" I asked.
"The envelope was released to an authorized family representative the morning after Daniel died.""
"Who collected it?""
Arthur looked directly at Marcus.
"The receipt bears your signature.""
Marcus shook his head.
"No. I never went to the hospital that morning. I was with Mom at the funeral home.""
Arthur turned the page toward us.
Below the signature was a printed name.
*MONICA WHITMORE.*
May you like
And beside it, in small handwriting, were four words that made me understand why my husband had hidden a capsule inside his memorial.
*Contents transferred to private custody.*
