Page 93 of Defend Me

Charlotte and I share a private smile. Alistair is topping up our glasses as my phone rings. It’s Alice Forrester, Patrick’s wife.

“Hi Alice,” I say. “Happy Thanks—” I’m cut off as she sobs into the phone. “Alice hold on, I can’t under—what?”

My entire body goes cold. The hand holding the phone shakes. My eyes widen.

Noah is at my side in an instant. “What’s happened,” he says.

I hang up the phone, my mind numb and blank. “Patrick relapsed.”

“What?” Noah says. I grab his arm to steady myself.

“He’s at Magnolia Bay Memorial,” I say.

Noah nods. “Let’s go.”

Alex drives me and Noah to the hospital.

“What did Alice say exactly?” Noah asks.

“That they were at her parents for Thanksgiving. That Patrick had said he wasn’t feeling well and stayed behind. She found him…” I pause and swallow. “She found him passed out and covered in his own vomit. He wasn’t breathing.”

Noah turns a delicate shade of gray. “Oh no.”

We sit the rest of the ride in tense silence. When we arrive, Noah and I hurry into the emergency room. The nurse at the front desk tells us where Patrick’s room is, and we rush down the hall. Mrs. Forrester is sitting on a plastic chair outside, a crumpled tissue in her hand.

“Alice,” I say, hurrying up to her. “How is he?”

But one look at her bleak, bloodshot eyes stops me in my tracks.

“He’s dead,” she croaks. Then she collapses into sobs.

Noah hurries over to hold her as she starts to wail. I’m stunned, numb, a faint flutter of panic at the back of my throat.

“How?” I finally get out. “How did this…he was sober! How did this happen?”

“They wouldn’t stop hounding him,” Alice moans, wiping at her eyes. “They kept calling, threatening him…”

“Wait, what?” I demand. “Who?”

“It started with those interviews with that prosecutor. He kept pushing Pat, insisting he didn’t remember what really happened that day, that he was too drunk, that he would be putting a murderer on the streets if he testified. And then the phone calls started.”

“What phone calls?”

Alice slumps back in her seat, fumbling in her purse for another tissue. Her hands shake and Noah helps her. “Someone calling late at night, threatening Pat, telling him he shouldn’t testify, saying he would be sorry…”

“Mrs. Forrester, who exactly was he speaking to?” I say carefully. If this was set up by Wilbur, it’s witness intimidation.

“I don’t know who it was,” she says. “They never gave their name. Pat tried to keep it from me. He said he was doing the right thing. He said this was part of making amends.”

“Alice, I—I’m so sorry,” Noah says. My head is spinning. Why didn’t Patrick tell me about those calls? I could have helped. I could have done something.

Tears prick my eyes. How can he be dead?

“I know you needed his testimony,” Alice says. “He told me everything about that morning but I…I don’t think I can…”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about that,” I say. I’m not about to put her through more trauma. Or put her family at more risk.

Alice’s lip trembles. “I’m sorry,” she says to Noah, who shakes his head firmly.

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