Chapter 4 - The Woman in the Parking Garage
Claire Donnelly survived.
I learned that before anything else.
Naomi insisted I remain at the funeral home while officers secured Westhaven, but she allowed me to speak with Claire once paramedics determined she was stable enough.
The call lasted less than a minute.
Her voice was weak.
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I should have protected Savannah.”
My knees weakened.
“What happened to her?”
A pause.
“I know enough to tell you her death wasn’t natural.”
Before I could ask another question, a paramedic took the phone.
Claire was transported to the hospital.
The police went with her.
Connor went with his attorney.
Not in handcuffs.
That angered me more than I expected.
Naomi explained it carefully.
Suspicion was not evidence.
A frightened child’s observation was not enough.
A hidden card was not proof of homicide.
Savannah’s recordings showed fear, not necessarily the cause of death.
I understood every word.
I hated every word.
An hour later, Lucas and I left the funeral home under police escort.
Savannah stayed behind.
Not to be cremated.
Instead, she would be transferred to the Mecklenburg County medical examiner.
I stood beside her casket before leaving.
“They’re going to listen now,” I whispered.
Lucas slipped his hand into mine.
“Mommy knows.”
I looked at him.
“How?”
He shrugged.
“She isn’t crying anymore.”
I did not ask more.
Some questions can wait.
We went to my sister Joanne’s house in Davidson.
Joanne had already sent her husband to pick up clothes for us.
Lucas ate half a grilled cheese sandwich.
Then he fell asleep on the couch with his head in my lap.
Children have a strange ability to surrender to exhaustion even while adults remain trapped inside it.
At 5:26 p.m., Naomi called.
“We identified the second vehicle.”
“Helen’s?”
“Yes.”
“Why was it there?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Where is Helen?”
“Hospital.”
“Can she talk?”
“Soon.”
“And Claire?”
“Also stable.”
“What happened to her?”
“Possible sedative exposure. No major trauma.”
“Was she abducted?”
“She says she went voluntarily.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“She received a message claiming Savannah had left something for her in the garage.”
A trap.
“Who sent it?”
“Unknown number.”
“Same as mine?”
“Different.”
Someone was coordinating.
“Was Connor at Westhaven?”
“We confirmed his vehicle entered yesterday at 3:08 p.m. and left at 3:41.”
“With Claire?”
“No. She was there today.”
“What was he doing yesterday?”
“He’s not answering questions on counsel’s advice.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Naomi continued.
“We recovered surveillance footage.”
“And?”
“Connor met a woman.”
“Who?”
“We’re working on identification.”
“Was it Helen?”
“No.”
A new woman.
Another thread.
Then Naomi said, “Margaret, I need to ask you something about Savannah.”
“All right.”
“Did she know someone named Dr. Elias Grant?”
The name struck a faint memory.
“Maybe.”
“Think.”
I did.
Savannah had mentioned an Elias months earlier.
Company dinner.
Research physician.
I remembered because she complained he had spent twenty minutes explaining wine to people who had not asked.
“Yes. Northgate.”
“He was the medical director.”
“Was?”
“Resigned six weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“Officially, family reasons.”
“And unofficially?”
“We’re trying to find him.”
“Missing?”
“No known current address.”
My nurse instincts sparked.
“Did Savannah communicate with him?”
“Repeatedly.”
“How do you know?”
“Her card contains encrypted email exports we hadn’t opened at the funeral home.”
“What do they say?”
“Most require forensic review.”
“Most?”
“One subject line was visible.”
She paused.
“IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“From Savannah?”
“To Dr. Grant.”
“When?”
“Two weeks before she died.”
“Find him.”
“We are.”
I heard movement at Naomi’s end.
Then she said, “I have to go. I’ll call tonight.”
She did not.
At 9:10, another detective arrived at Joanne’s house.
Not Naomi.
Evan Cole.
His expression told me something had changed.
“Where’s Detective Brooks?”
“At the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“Helen woke up.”
I stood.
“And?”
“She asked for Detective Brooks specifically.”
“Why?”
“Helen says she was the person who hid the card in Savannah’s dress.”
I stared at him.
“How did she get it?”
“Savannah gave it to her.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
That made no sense.
“How would Savannah know Helen?”
“Helen prepared Savannah’s father’s funeral four years ago.”
My husband, David.
Suddenly I remembered.
A quiet woman with silver glasses who had stayed after everyone left because Savannah could not make herself walk away from the casket.
Helen had sat with her.
They must have remained in contact.
Evan continued.
“Savannah told Helen that if she died unexpectedly, the card needed to stay with her body until you were present.”
My heart cracked open.
Savannah had planned it.
Not the death.
The possibility.
“She trusted Helen.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Helen disappear today?”
“She panicked when she saw Connor.”
“Why?”
“Helen says Connor visited the funeral home last night.”
I felt cold.
“Why?”
“He claimed he wanted private time with Savannah.”
“Was he alone?”
“For about twenty minutes.”
“Did he touch her clothing?”
“Helen doesn’t know.”
“But the card was still there this morning.”
“Yes. She checked.”
“What made her panic?”
Evan hesitated.
“She recognized the woman who came with Connor.”
The unknown woman from Westhaven?
“Who?”
“Dr. Rebecca Sloan.”
I knew the name.
Not personally.
Charlotte was large, but medical circles overlapped.
Rebecca Sloan was a cardiologist.
More importantly, she was the physician listed as having pronounced Savannah dead at the hospital.
“What was Savannah’s doctor doing at the funeral home with Connor the night before the service?”
Evan said nothing.
He didn’t need to.
I asked, “Where is she?”
“Unknown.”
“You said Connor met a woman at Westhaven yesterday. Was it Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t Naomi tell me?”
“We identified her after your phone call.”
Every path led back to the same people.
Connor.
Northgate.
Rebecca.
Savannah.
I looked down at Lucas.
He was awake.
Listening from the couch.
I sent him upstairs with Joanne.
He resisted until I promised I would not leave.
Once he was gone, I asked Evan, “Did the blood results come back?”
“Preliminary testing did.”
My heart began pounding.
“What did they find?”
“I’m not a physician.”
“I was an ER nurse for thirty years. Tell me.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Elevated potassium.”
“How elevated?”
“Significantly.”
That could cause fatal arrhythmia.
But postmortem potassium was complicated.
Except this blood had been collected while Savannah was alive.
The day before she died.
“Anything else?”
“A sedative metabolite.”
“Which one?”
He gave me the name.
I knew it.
Not normally lethal.
But in combination with other substances?
Possibly dangerous.
“Was Savannah prescribed it?”
“No prescription found.”
My mouth went dry.
“Connor’s pills?”
“We don’t know.”
“When will the autopsy be completed?”
“Initial examination tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Given the circumstances, the case was prioritized.”
Good.
I hated myself for thinking good about my daughter’s autopsy.
But good.
Truth requires courage from the living because the dead can no longer demand it.
At 10:04 p.m., Joanne came downstairs.
“Lucas wants you.”
I went upstairs.
He sat in the guest bed holding one of Savannah’s old scarves.
Joanne kept a box of family things in the closet.
“How did you find that?”
“Aunt Jo gave it to me.”
I sat beside him.
“What’s wrong?”
He looked at the doorway.
“Mommy wants me to remember.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“The night she got sick.”
I did not push.
“Tell me whatever you remember.”
“Dad was downstairs.”
“Okay.”
“Mom came into my room.”
“When?”
“Really late.”
“Did she say anything?”
“She gave me something.”
My heartbeat stopped.
“What?”
“I forgot.”
“Lucas.”
“I really forgot.”
He began crying.
I pulled him against me.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Mommy told me not to forget.”
“You were scared.”
“She said if anything happened, I had to give it to you.”
My entire body became alert.
“Give me what?”
He wiped his face.
“I hid it.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
Connor’s home.
Potential crime scene.
“What did she give you?”
Lucas whispered:
“A key.”
“What kind of key?”
“Small. Silver.”
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
Then he looked toward the window.
Headlights had appeared at the end of Joanne’s driveway.
A car stopped with its lights off.
I moved to the curtain.
The driver’s door opened.
A woman stepped out.
Even in the darkness, I recognized her from the hospital photograph Evan had shown me.
May you like
Dr. Rebecca Sloan.
She walked toward Joanne’s front door carrying Savannah’s missing purse.
