Chapter 3 - THE DOCTOR WHO RAN
Victor did not chase Dr. Soren.
That surprised Aliyah.
He simply called someone.
“Photograph him leaving.”
Then sat again.
“You're letting him go?”
“No.”
“You literally are.”
“If I grab him in a diner, he becomes a victim.”
Aliyah stared.
“That was unexpectedly rational.”
“I dislike how surprised you sound.”
Five minutes later, Victor received a message.
Soren's car.
Plate.
Destination tracking.
Legal surveillance, Victor insisted.
Aliyah had doubts.
Still, Soren's reaction mattered.
A retired physician had seen Victor Malenkov beside Renee Brooks's daughter and fled.
Not subtle.
The following morning, Aliyah went to class.
Because cardiovascular pharmacology remained cruelly indifferent to murder conspiracies.
Halfway through lecture, Professor Helen Grant discussed sedative dosing.
Aliyah stared at the board.
Midazolam.
Dose adjusted for age, weight, hemodynamic status.
Her mind returned to Renee's notebook.
She raised her hand.
“What happens if someone who's hypotensive receives repeated doses?”
Professor Grant answered carefully.
Respiratory depression.
Blood-pressure collapse.
Greater risk when combined with opioids or other sedatives.
Aliyah's pulse accelerated.
After lecture, she showed Professor Grant an anonymized version of the numbers.
No names.
No hospital.
The professor frowned.
“This is unusual.”
“Dangerous?”
“Potentially.”
“Could it kill someone?”
“With other factors, yes.”
Aliyah's stomach turned.
“What would you expect documented?”
“Continuous monitoring. Rationale. Reassessment.”
None appeared in the official chart.
That afternoon Victor called.
“Soren left Boston.”
“Where?”
“Rhode Island.”
“Why?”
“He owns a cottage.”
“Convenient.”
“More convenient: he emptied a safe-deposit box first.”
Aliyah stopped walking.
“What was inside?”
“I don't know.”
“Can you find out?”
“Yes.”
“Legally?”
Long pause.
“Victor.”
“Yes.”
“Legally?”
“I am exploring legal enthusiasm.”
She closed her eyes.
“Do not commit a felony because of me.”
“Technically it would be because of my dead wife.”
“That isn't better.”
He almost laughed.
Then his voice changed.
“Someone entered your apartment.”
Aliyah stopped.
“What?”
“My security team—”
“Your what?”
“I had someone watching the building.”
“You had me followed?”
“Protected.”
“Without asking?”
Silence.
Wrong answer.
Aliyah hung up.
She ran home.
The apartment door showed no damage.
Inside, drawers had been opened.
Closet emptied.
Mattress lifted.
Laptop untouched.
Television untouched.
Cash envelope untouched.
Only Renee's storage box had been disturbed.
The original notebook was gone.
Aliyah stood in the wreckage.
Then noticed something.
The thief had taken the obvious notebook.
Not the envelope beneath the cardboard liner.
She had never noticed it herself.
Aliyah pulled it free.
Her mother's handwriting.
For Aliyah.
Her hands shook.
She opened it.
Baby,
If you ever read this, either I finally became brave enough to tell you everything, or I failed.
Aliyah sat on the floor.
I did not kill Elena Malenkov.
She was awake when she arrived.
She told me someone inside her husband's family was stealing from the children's fund.
She said she had proof.
Then Nikolai Malenkov arrived.
Aliyah covered her mouth.
Her mother continued.
Dr. Soren ordered me out.
I refused.
Security removed me.
Twenty minutes later Elena was dead.
The chart I signed that night was changed afterward.
I kept copies.
Not at home.
Aliyah's heart accelerated.
Where?
The final paragraph:
If anyone ever tries to reopen this, find June Kline.
She saw the original medication pump log.
Aliyah immediately called Victor.
He answered.
May you like
She said:
“I found the witness.”
