Chapter 4: The Witness Who Wasn't There
The officer relayed the question to dispatch and waited.
Ryan stood in the middle of the nursery with his phone in his hand and watched Oliver's chest rise and fall under the thin hospital blanket the paramedics had left behind.
Slow.
Even.
Better than an hour ago.
The radio crackled.
"Dispatch says the name given is Patricia Holt.
Mrs.
Whitmore says Ms.
Holt was present in the home earlier this evening and witnessed the altercation."
Maya's head came up.
"Patricia."
Ryan turned.
"You know her?"
"She's your mother's friend.
They've known each other for years." Maya set the cold pack down on the bed.
"She was here this afternoon.
She came by while you were at work.
She said she just wanted to drop something off."
"What did she drop off?"
Maya thought.
"A casserole dish.
She said she'd made too much soup." Her eyes changed.
"She stayed for almost an hour, Ryan.
She sat in the kitchen while I gave Oliver his afternoon treatment.
She watched the whole thing."
Ryan looked at the officer.
"If Patricia Holt was here this afternoon and Evelyn is claiming she witnessed something tonight, one of those two things is a lie."
"We'll need to speak with Ms.
Holt separately," the officer said.
"She won't tell you the truth." Maya's voice was flat.
Not bitter.
Just certain.
"She does whatever your mother asks.
She has for thirty years."
Ryan knew that was true.
Patricia Holt had been at every Whitmore family event he could remember.
She laughed at Evelyn's jokes.
She agreed with Evelyn's opinions.
She had never, in Ryan's memory, contradicted Evelyn about anything.
He sat down on the edge of the crib.
"What exactly did she see this afternoon?"
"Me giving Oliver his inhaler treatment.
The nebulizer.
He was fussy — he hates the mask — and he was crying and pulling at it.
I had to hold his hands." Maya looked at Ryan steadily.
"If someone wanted to describe that scene a certain way, they could make it sound like I was restraining him."
Ryan closed his eyes for two seconds.
Then he opened them.
"The camera."
He looked at the officer.
"The hidden camera was aimed at the crib.
What time does the footage start?"
The officer got on his radio.
The answer came back in under a minute.
"Footage begins at approximately two-fifteen this afternoon."
"Oliver's treatment was at two-thirty," Maya said quietly.
Ryan stood up.
"Then the camera recorded the whole thing.
It recorded Patricia Holt sitting in this house.
It recorded Maya doing exactly what a careful mother does." He looked at the officer.
"Whatever story my mother told Patricia to tell — the camera already has the truth."
The officer nodded slowly.
"We'll need to pull the full footage."
"Pull all of it."
Ryan's phone buzzed.
A text from a number he didn't recognize.
*Mr.
Whitmore.
My name is Daniel Rourke.
I'm a family law attorney.
Your wife contacted me six weeks ago.
I think it's time we spoke.*
Ryan read the message twice.
He walked to the doorway of the nursery, away from the officer, and called the number.
It rang once.
"Mr.
Whitmore." The voice was calm and unhurried.
"I've been expecting your call for a while, actually."
"Maya contacted you six weeks ago?"
"She did.
She came to my office alone.
She told me she believed her mother-in-law was building a legal case against her and that she was afraid to tell you because she didn't think you'd believe her."
Ryan's hand tightened on the phone.
"She brought me copies of two documents she'd found in your mother's car," Rourke continued.
"A draft guardianship petition and a letter addressed to a family court clerk.
She was right to be concerned.
What she brought me was enough to open a file."
"You've had an open file for six weeks."
"I have.
And tonight, when the police were called to your home, my answering service flagged it." A brief pause.
"Mr.
Whitmore, your mother filed the guardianship petition four days ago.
It was accepted for review.
You have a hearing date."
The hallway felt very still.
"When?"
"Eleven days from now."
Ryan turned and looked back through the nursery doorway at Maya, who was sitting beside Oliver with her hand resting on his small back, watching him breathe.
She had known.
She had known for six weeks, and she had been carrying it alone.
"Mr.
May you like
Rourke," Ryan said.
"Tell me everything."
