Page 52 of The Girl and the Lies

“Thank you,” I say.

He walks back out of the hospital, and I see Ander heading into the parking lot. Part of me is shocked by his actions, but at the same time, I know he is under a tremendous amount of pressure. He has only just faced the murder of his wife and made the decision to return to work immediately. Whether he thinks it was the right choice for his coping or not, it obviously pushed him past his own control. Lashing out at the protestor was his way of reacting to the intense emotions and turmoil he’s going through.

Turning back to Carla, I see her wrap her arms around herself and sway slightly on her feet. She’s clearly exhausted.

“What did the doctor say?” I ask her.

“Um,” she runs her hand over her face and back over her hair. “He said Marshall likely has internal injuries as well as that his head was hit several times.” Her phone rings in her pocket, but she ignores it. “They are going to run some additional tests to see the extent of the damage, but right now they have him sedated and are admitting him. They don’t know how long he’s going to have to be here.”

Her phone rings again, and she pulls it out of her pocket, looks at the screen, then shoves it away without answering.

“You really should go home and get some rest,” I tell her. “You’re running on pure adrenaline right now, and it’s going to run out soon enough. Marshall is in good hands, and they will take care of him. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I don’t want to leave him.”

“I know you don’t, but you can’t just keep going endlessly after what you’ve been through. Go home, and get some sleep. Everything will seem clearer in the morning, and you’ll be able to come back and get some more answers,” I say.

“I guess you’re right,” she says.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No. They wouldn’t let me ride in the ambulance with him because they needed to work on him, so I have my car. But thank you. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what else I find out.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll walk out with you.”

She goes to the registration desk to tell the nurse that she’s leaving and makes sure they have her contact information so they can get in touch with her if anything changes with Marshall. We walk out into the now-quiet night, and I escort her directly to her car.

“Thank you again,” she says.

“I’m glad you called me,” I say.

“So am I. I don’t know what I would have done without you here with me tonight.”

“Get some sleep,” I tell her, and she climbs into her car.

I wait until she is pulling away before I cross the lot to where I parked. As I’m approaching, I notice something tucked under my windshield wiper. I take the paper out and unfold it.

Back off the case or you’re next

I resist the urge to ball up the note. Instead, I fold it again and head right back inside the hospital. The nurse looks up at me from the desk, and I see her eyes flicker to the doors like she thinks that something else has happened.

“Yes?” she asks.

“I need to speak to someone in security,” I tell her. “It’s extremely important.”

It takes a while of me pacing through the waiting room again for a uniformed security officer to come meet me. His no-nonsense face expresses no emotion as he approaches me.

“Dan Wilder,” he introduces without reaching out to shake my hand.

“Agent Emma Griffin,” I tell him.

“What can I do for you, Agent?” he asks.

“I need to know if there are security cameras covering the parking lot,” I tell him.

“There are cameras,” he says. “They don’t cover the entirety of the lot, but most of it. Why?”

I show him the paper I found under my windshield.

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