Chapter 5 - The Doctor Who Disappeared
By evening, the hospital had become a place of unanswered questions.
I was admitted for observation.
Daniel refused to leave my side.
He kept calling Sarah, but her phone went straight to voicemail.
Finally, around eight o'clock, he received a message.
I'm safe. Don't come home yet.
He immediately called her.
No answer.
“Daniel,” I said quietly, “do you believe your wife?”
He looked exhausted.
“I don't know what to believe anymore.”
I reached for his hand.
“Then believe me. I didn't know any of this.”
His expression softened.
“I know, Mom.”
For a moment, he looked like the little boy who used to crawl into my lap during thunderstorms.
Then someone knocked on the door.
A hospital security officer stood outside with a woman in a dark coat.
“Mrs. Whitmore? This is Detective Elena Brooks.”
The detective was in her late forties, with observant eyes and a calm, serious manner.
She introduced herself and sat beside my bed.
“Dr. Collins contacted hospital administration after reviewing the clinic document. Bellwether Medical Institute was investigated more than a decade ago.”
“For what?” Daniel asked.
“Financial fraud, falsified consent forms, and allegations of unauthorized medical research.”
My stomach turned.
“Were they experimenting on patients?”
“That was one allegation.”
“What happened to the doctor who treated me?”
“Dr. Nathaniel Voss disappeared before investigators could question him.”
Daniel sat forward.
“Disappeared?”
“His vehicle was recovered near a lake. No body was found.”
I remembered Voss's cold smile.
And suddenly I felt as if he were standing beside my bed again.
Detective Brooks studied the document from Robert's envelope.
“Where did you get this?”
“My husband gave it to me before he died.”
She examined the signature.
Then she turned the paper over.
On the back was a faint handwritten number.
017-46-12.
“Do those numbers mean anything to you?” she asked.
I shook my head.
But Daniel stared at them.
“What?” I asked.
He swallowed.
“Forty-six was Dad's employee number at the engineering firm.”
Detective Brooks looked up.
“Your husband worked as an engineer?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Did he ever design medical equipment?”
I hesitated.
“He sometimes consulted on specialized machinery.”
The detective's expression sharpened.
“Margaret, your husband may have helped develop the equipment used at Bellwether.”
My heart sank.
“Are you saying he was part of it?”
“I'm saying we need to investigate.”
Before she could continue, her phone rang.
She listened without speaking.
Then she stood abruptly.
“What happened?” Daniel asked.
She looked at him.
“We've located your wife's car.”
“Where?”
“On a remote road near the old Bellwether property.”
Daniel rose so quickly his chair scraped the floor.
“Is Sarah there?”
The detective's expression darkened.
“No.”
She paused.
“But someone left a message on the windshield.”
“What message?”
May you like
Detective Brooks looked directly at me.
“MARGARET WHITMORE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE.”
