Chapter 4 - The Doctor Who Signed a Death Certificate
Dr. Elias Walsh entered the courthouse annex with both hands raised and a face that suggested he had not slept in days. Nora met him in the lobby beside two uniformed deputies.
"You asked for Isabella Voss," she said. "Start with why."
"Because I made a mistake seven years ago."
"A mistake?"
"I signed paperwork I was told was accurate. A body was brought in after the terminal explosion. It was badly burned. The identifying records were supplied by the company. I never independently confirmed the dental records."
Nora's voice hardened. "You certified a death without verifying the identity?"
"I was a younger physician. I was threatened. None of that excuses it."
He handed her a sealed envelope. Inside were photocopies of an intake form and a photograph of a hospital wristband.
The name on the band was not Thomas Bell.
It was Peter Doran, a maintenance worker who had vanished the same night.
Nora stared at the photograph. "Where is Thomas Bell?"
"I don't know. But I know he was taken from the terminal alive."
Isabella stood behind the glass door, listening. Her knees weakened. She gripped the frame.
Seven years of grief did not vanish in an instant. It transformed into something jagged. If her father had survived, where had he been? Why had he never called? Why had her mother died believing he was gone?
Walsh saw her. "I'm sorry."
"Don't," Isabella said. "Don't tell me you're sorry until you tell me everything."
He lowered his eyes. "The ambulance carrying your father was redirected to a private clinic near Joliet. I saw the transport order. The person who signed it was Celeste Voss."
"Do you have a copy?"
"Yes."
Nora asked the deputies to secure the documents. Then she called an assistant U.S. attorney whose office had been quietly reviewing freight fraud complaints. For once, Isabella did not have to convince someone to take her seriously. The records were enough to open doors.
Adrien arrived an hour later. Nora refused to let him inside until she had spoken to the prosecutor. He waited in the lobby, wet coat hanging from his shoulders, watched by deputies who recognized his face.
Isabella saw him through the glass. He looked less like the man who owned half the city and more like a man who had come too late to an apology.
"You should leave," she said when Nora finally allowed them to speak in a conference room.
"If that's what you want."
"You let me go."
"Yes."
"You knew I was scared."
"I knew something was wrong. I didn't know whether I was the reason."
She looked away. "Your sister threatened me."
"I know."
"She said my father deserved what happened."
Adrien placed Daniel's folder on the table. "I believe you. And I brought evidence that may help prove it."
Isabella opened the folder, recognized her father's handwriting, and had to sit down.
"Where did you get this?"
"Mercer. He's cooperating."
"He lied to me."
"He lied to everyone. He's trying to stop."
She looked up. "Did you know about the terminal?"
"No. But my family profited from operations I never examined closely enough. I can't claim ignorance makes me innocent of every consequence."
She had expected denial, or anger, or the cold reassurance powerful men offered when they wanted the conversation to end. His answer left her without a script.
"I went into your house under a false name," she said. "My real name is Isabella Bell. I took that job to find out what happened to my father."
Adrien nodded slowly. "Then you were braver than I understood."
"I deceived you."
"You were investigating people you had reason to fear."
"You aren't angry?"
"I'm angry that you had to."
Silence settled between them. It was not forgiveness. It was the first honest thing they had shared.
Nora returned. "The prosecutor wants to speak with both of you separately. And the clinic records suggest someone matching Thomas Bell's description was transferred three times over the last seven years."
Isabella stood so quickly her chair scraped the floor. "Where is he now?"
"We don't know yet."
Adrien moved toward her, then stopped before touching her. "I can help find him."
"Not your way," she said.
"Tell me the way you need."
"No threats. No men dragged into basements. No private justice. I want him found alive, and I want everyone responsible in court."
Adrien held her gaze. "Then that's what we'll do."
Outside the conference room, a television showed breaking news about a financial investigation into a freight consortium. Celeste's face appeared briefly in a photograph beside the company's logo.
Nora's phone rang. She listened, frowned, and put it on speaker.
A man's voice said, "We found a former patient at a long-term care facility in Indiana. His records were altered. He has a head injury and memory impairment. He answers to the name Thomas."
Isabella covered her mouth.
"Is it him?" Nora asked.
"We need a family member for identification."
"I'm coming," Isabella said.
The caller hesitated. "There's something else. Someone requested his transfer this morning. The order came from a company linked to Celeste Voss."
Adrien reached for his phone, then looked at Isabella. She nodded once.
May you like
"Call the prosecutor," she said. "Tell them we're on our way."
For the first time, the two of them moved toward the same door with the same purpose.
