Frank had passed forty-five minutes ago.
I sat with that for a moment.
Miriam had come to stand in the doorway between the hall and the living room.
She read my face before I said anything.
Her hand went to the doorframe.
“He’s gone,” I said.
She nodded once.
Her eyes closed.
I called Paulson back.
“He’s gone,” I said again.
“My father just passed.”
“I’m sorry.” A beat.
“Claire, I need you to listen to me carefully.
Don’t contact Gerald Marsh tonight.
Don’t call him, don’t text him, don’t let him know where you are.
Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“The nurse’s statement — do you have the original document with you?”
“It’s in my hands.”
“Don’t let it out of your sight.
I’m going to make a call in the morning to someone I know in the county medical examiner’s office.
