Chapter 12 - THE AIRFIELD
Police set the trap before sunset.
Grant carried a duplicate bank box filled with blank paper.
Brooks hid a transmitter inside.
The private airfield sat beyond a row of warehouses.
One hangar door was open.
No Thomas.
No Elise.
No Nathan.
Just Martin.
"Where's the person who injected Vivian?"
Martin held out his hand.
"The box."
"Name first."
"You always negotiate like your wife."
Grant said nothing.
"Vivian trusted the wrong person."
"Who?"
"Someone she let into the bedroom."
Martin saw it.
"No, not me."
"Think domestic."
Rosa.
Grant's stomach dropped.
"That's the beauty of it. The maid had access."
Grant's eyes hardened.
"You're lying."
"Am I?"
He took the box.
Opened it.
Blank paper.
His face snapped up.
Police lights came on.
Brooks shouted.
Officers chased him between the hangars.
Martin jumped into a maintenance cart and drove straight through a chain barrier.
Grant followed until Brooks yelled, "Stay back!"
The cart crashed near the runway.
Martin stumbled out.
An officer tackled him.
As he hit the pavement, something flew from his jacket.
A phone.
The screen was unlocked.
One message thread open.
The contact name:
R.
Brooks picked it up.
The messages were weeks old.
R: SHE TAKES HER TEA AT 9.
MARTIN: DO NOT CHANGE THE DOSE.
R: I DON'T WANT HER HURT.
MARTIN: TOO LATE FOR MORALS.
R.
Rosa?
At the hospital, Rosa was sitting beside Vivian alone.
Grant called her.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Brooks checked location.
Rosa's phone was still inside Vivian's room.
May you like
Grant whispered, "Oh, God."
Then Vivian's heart monitor sent an emergency alert to the nursing station.
