“Yes.”
The detective’s voice stayed low.
“Once we make contact, things may happen quickly. There may be calls. Statements. Family pressure. I need you not to answer anything from the Mercers without telling me.”
Emily thought of Paul’s shaking shoulders beside the window.
She thought of Diane standing at the foot of the bed, staring at Emily’s wedding ring.
She thought of Nathan’s face turned toward her in the ruined car.
“Does Paul know?” Emily asked.
Detective Ward did not answer fast enough.
That was an answer by itself.
Emily’s mother sat down slowly, as if her knees had forgotten what they were for.
“Emily,” she said. “Baby.”
But Emily was looking at the phone record.
One highlighted call.
Fifty-eight seconds.
That was all the time it took to turn a wedding night into a crime scene.
By noon, the hospital hallway outside Emily’s room had changed.
It was still the same hallway.
Same waxed floor.
Same nurses moving with clipboards.
Same vending machine humming by the waiting area.
But the air felt different.
Detective Ward had stationed an officer near the elevator.
Emily’s mother had stopped answering unknown numbers.
The hospital intake desk had been told not to release updates without permission.
At 12:17 p.m., Paul Mercer called Emily’s mother.
She let it go to voicemail.
At 12:19 p.m., Diane called.
Emily watched the phone vibrate on the tray table until it went still.
At 12:23 p.m., a text came through from Diane’s number.
Please call me before you listen to anyone.
