Chapter 48: The Father's Hand

 

Rhys read the signature without blinking.

Elara wished she could give him back the father he remembered.

“That's his hand,” he said. “The capital M. He always made it too wide.”

Brandt held out his palm. “May I?”

Rhys handed him the phone.

The document was dated February 1998, two years before the photograph at Saint-Claire. A typed line near the center read: AUTHORIZATION FOR INITIAL ADMINISTRATION, SUBJECT R.C.

Below it stood Marcus Calloway's name.

“He fought the treatment,” Rhys said. “Marguerite told us he fought it.”

“She told us he fought it later,” Elara replied.

Rhys looked at her as if she'd struck him.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I hate the difference too.”

Brandt magnified the image. “A photograph of a signature proves very little. We need the original, and we need to establish who sent this.”

A second message appeared.

He must hear it from me. Not from the people who killed my father.

Rhys stared at the words.

“He thinks Marcus was murdered,” Elara said.

“His death was ruled an accident.”

Neither of them said what that might mean.

 

Brandt asked Priya to trace the locker payment while he contacted the hospital records custodian. They would not chase another anonymous message into darkness.

Elara followed Rhys to the vending machines at the end of the corridor.

He stood before the glass without seeing it.

“My father taught me to swim,” he said. “He wouldn't let me into the deep end until I could float on my back. He said trusting water wasn't the same as surrendering to it.”

Elara waited.

“I keep trying to remember whether he sounded kind or merely convincing.”

“Those aren't the only possibilities.”

“He signed it.”

“We have an image saying he did.”

Rhys gave her a tired look. “You don't have to spare me.”

“I won't.” She stepped beside him. “But I'm not letting somebody else use your grief as a shortcut to the truth.”

He lowered his head.

Then, unexpectedly, he caught her hand and brought her knuckles to his mouth. The kiss was brief. It left her speechless.

 

At eleven, Brandt called them back.

“The railway locker was rented with cash,” he said. “But we've confirmed something about the photograph. It was taken from a document inside a plastic sleeve. The reflection shows the sleeve's inventory number.”

He displayed the enlarged corner.

SC-0174.

Elara leaned forward. “Saint-Claire?”

“Possibly. The archive's index uses that prefix. Our officers recovered a separate inventory ledger from the annex office.”

“Then locate the document.”

“That's the problem.” Brandt turned the ledger toward them. Beside SC-0174, someone had written withdrawn.

“By whom?” Rhys asked.

“The entry has an employee number. No name.”

Priya appeared in the doorway carrying her tablet.

“I have the employee roster,” she said. “The number belongs to a records clerk who died in 2006.”

Rhys's expression darkened.

“Another dead person signing things.”

“Not necessarily,” Priya said. “The withdrawal was logged yesterday. Someone used his credentials.”

Elara looked at Brandt. “Can the archives tell you what else was stored under that number?”

“Not yet.”

“Then ask about the sleeve itself. If Gabriel has the paper, he may have taken it from someone who was keeping it hidden.”

Brandt nodded and returned to his call.

 

Rhys remained in the consultation room after the others left.

Elara watched the rain streak the window.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” she asked.

“No.”

It was the quickest answer he'd given all day.

She sat beside him.

“My mother wrote warnings,” she said. “Your father may have signed permission. Neither tells us what happened between those moments.”

“And if he knew?”

“Then we deal with that.”

Rhys turned the wooden horse over in his palm.

“I used to think loving someone meant knowing exactly who they were.”

“What do you think now?”

“That sometimes it means staying long enough to find out.”

Their eyes met. He leaned toward her, slowly enough that she could have moved.

Her phone rang.

Brandt.

Elara answered, still close enough to feel Rhys's breath.

“We found the contents list for SC-0174,” Brandt said. “There were two pages, a consent form and a witness statement.”

“Who witnessed it?”

“Lucille Quinn.”

Elara closed her eyes.

“And what did she write?”

Brandt went silent for a beat.

“According to the inventory, her statement was sealed separately. The description says: I heard Marcus refuse the order.”

Rhys sat upright.

Brandt continued.

“Elara, the consent form wasn't signed in February 1998. It was backdated. The clerk recorded the actual signing date in the witness statement.”

“What date?”

“The day after Marcus Calloway was reported dead.”