Chapter 7 - A FUNERAL WITH AN EMPTY COFFIN
Two days later, I learned that Isabel Vale had been buried without a conventional funeral.
Her family had held a private memorial service.
The burial followed several days later.
Only Adrian, his younger sister Celia, and a small group of relatives attended.
I found that strange.
A woman whose family foundation supported dozens of organizations had disappeared from public life almost overnight.
Adrian explained that he couldn't tolerate the idea of reporters photographing his grief.
I believed him.
But I still had questions.
"What happened to her hospital records?"
He looked up from the papers on his desk.
"They're with the attorneys."
"And her death certificate?"
"Also with the attorneys."
"Who arranged the funeral?"
"Marcus handled the logistics."
My stomach tightened.
Again.
Marcus.
That afternoon, Dr. Bennett called.
"Hannah, I have the final toxicology report from Lucas's medical emergency."
I gripped my phone.
"What did it show?"
"The laboratory confirmed an unexpected sedating medication residue in the material collected from his mouth and from an item used around his feeds."
My throat closed.
"Was he poisoned?"
"The findings support an inappropriate exposure, but investigators are still establishing the exact route, dose, and who was responsible."
I looked toward Lucas's nursery.
"Could it have killed him?"
"In a medically vulnerable infant, exposure to an unprescribed sedative can be dangerous."
I closed my eyes.
Dr. Bennett continued.
"The police have the results. They are treating the circumstances as suspicious."
I thanked him.
Then I called Adrian.
He answered immediately.
"What happened?"
"The results are back."
Adrian arrived in the nursery less than a minute later.
I told him everything.
He stood very still.
Then he looked at Lucas.
His son was sleeping with one tiny fist raised beside his face.
Adrian whispered, "Someone wanted him helpless."
I swallowed.
"Maybe they wanted to make him too ill to remain here."
He turned toward me.
"What?"
I showed him the FirstLight transfer paperwork.
"If Lucas became medically unstable, somebody might have used that as a reason to move him into a private facility."
Adrian stared at the documents.
"Without my permission?"
"I don't know how they intended to do it."
He looked toward the door.
"Marcus had emergency medical authorization forms prepared after Isabel died."
My blood ran cold.
"Did you sign them?"
"Some. I was barely functioning."
The admission hurt to hear.
He had lost his wife.
His newborn son was struggling to feed.
And people around him had continued placing documents in front of him.
I asked quietly, "Do you know what you signed?"
His silence frightened me.
The following morning, Celia Vale arrived.
She was thirty-one, with Adrian's dark eyes and Isabel's apparent talent for cutting through nonsense.
She examined me from head to toe.
"So you're Hannah."
"Yes."
"The baker."
"Yes."
"The woman my brother has mentioned approximately seventeen times in forty-eight hours."
Adrian sighed.
"Celia."
She ignored him.
"Thank you for helping Lucas."
I smiled.
"He's a beautiful baby."
Her expression softened.
"He looks like Isabel."
For several moments, she stood beside his crib.
Then I asked her about the funeral.
Celia's face changed.
"Why?"
"Something about the paperwork doesn't make sense."
She looked toward Adrian.
"Have you told her?"
He stiffened.
"Told her what?"
Celia crossed her arms.
"That Isabel's coffin was empty at the memorial."
I stared.
"What?"
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"It was a symbolic casket. Her body was still with the medical examiner."
"Why?" I asked.
Celia looked directly at her brother.
"Because Isabel had requested an independent examination if anything happened to her."
The room became silent.
Adrian shook his head.
"I didn't know about that request."
"I know. Marcus told me you'd approved the funeral arrangements."
I felt cold.
"Did Isabel receive that examination?"
Celia hesitated.
"An initial examination was performed. But I never received the complete report."
Adrian stood.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you wouldn't speak to anyone after she died! Marcus told me the matter had been resolved!"
He stared at her.
Then Celia said something that changed everything.
"I called the medical examiner's office yesterday. They told me the requested supplemental examination was never completed."
I looked at Adrian.
His face had gone white.
For weeks, he had believed his wife was buried.
For weeks, he had accepted that her death had been fully investigated.
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But somewhere along the way, someone had prevented the questions Isabel herself wanted answered.
And that someone had been standing beside him every day.
