Caleb entered the hospital room at 3:11 p.m. with the same cautious expression he had maintained throughout the afternoon.
The ceramic cup was balanced in her right hand.
The steam from the pale lemon tea rose in thin, sinuous wisps, carrying the sweet scent of honey throughout the cold room. Rebecca felt a knot in her stomach even before the cup reached the tray.
Behind him was Dr. Harris.
But this time, the doctor was not alone.
A woman in a dark gray blazer followed him in, her hair pulled back and her badge pinned to her pocket instead of around her neck. Beside her stood a hospital security guard, his hand resting casually on his walkie-talkie.
Caleb's smile lasted half a second longer.
—Rebecca —he said softly—, I've brought you the tea.
His fingers remained gripping the tablet under the lid.
Dr. Harris looked at the cup.
"Put it down, Mr. Ward."
Caleb slowly turned his head. "Pardon?"
"On the counter," Dr. Harris clarified. "Not next to you."
The room temperature changed without the thermostat being touched. Rebecca could hear the monitor, the faint hiss of the oxygen coming from the wall, and the sound of the security guard's rubber soles moving near the door.
Caleb was still holding the cup.
"It's tea," he said, laughing slightly. "She drinks it every night."
The woman in the blazer stepped forward.
"That's why we're interested."
Caleb gripped the handle with his thumb until his knuckle turned white.
Rebecca didn't say anything. Her mouth was very dry. Her pulse was already responding on the monitor.
Dr. Harris took a sealed plastic bag containing evidence and opened it.
"Mr. Ward," he said, "place the cup inside."
Caleb's gaze once fell upon Rebecca.
I'm not afraid yet.
Calculation.
Then she smiled again.
"Doctor, my wife is very ill. I understand that everyone is moved, but it's useless."
Rebecca watched as the woman in the blazer bowed her head.
"What is unnecessary," he said, "is for a husband to leave his terminally ill wife's room, drive to his house to open her private safe, and return with an unauthorized drink after being prohibited from bringing in liquids from outside."
Suddenly, Rebecca felt that the tablet under the blanket was very heavy.
Caleb remained motionless.
For the first time since the diagnosis, her face stopped expressing pain.
"How would you know which way I've driven?"
Dr. Harris looked at Rebecca, no longer with pity, but with approval.
Rebecca took the tablet out from under the case and turned the screen towards him.
In the still images from the security cameras, Caleb could be seen in his private office, Vanessa next to him, the empty safe open behind them, and the brown envelope in his hand.
The cup shook once.
A single drop of tea slid over the edge and fell onto Caleb's shirt cuff.
The woman in the blazer took another step.
"I'm Detective Inspector Maren Cole. We received a call from lawyer Whitaker at 3:04 p.m. We also received a video file transmitted by Ms. Ward at 3:09 p.m."
Caleb's jaw tightened.
"Rebecca is confused. She has a fever."
Rebecca's lips parted slightly. At first, she made no sound. She swallowed with difficulty; her throat felt cracked.
"Then why," he murmured, "did you go to my safe?"
Caleb looked at her the same way he used to look at employees who served him the wrong wine at fundraisers.
Upset.
Superior.
The patient only because there were witnesses present.
"She was gathering documents for her medical care."
Detective Cole's gaze fell upon the cup.
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