Chapter 4: The Man He Plays Golf With
Okafor read Charlotte's paper twice without speaking.
She set it down, picked up the pharmacy record, read that too, and then placed both documents side by side on the desk with the careful precision of someone who understood exactly what she was looking at.
"He prescribed it himself," she said.
"Under his own credential," Terrence confirmed.
"Same pharmacy he uses for his practice patients.
Transaction timestamped at 1:52 p.m.
today."
"And the missing-child report came in at—"
"4:09.
He filed it seven minutes after the girls walked through our door."
Okafor looked up.
"He knew they were here before he filed it."
"He knew."
She turned toward the window.
Douglas was still in the parking lot, standing very still now, watching the entrance.
"Charlotte," Okafor said, turning toward the desk, her voice dropping into the careful register Terrence recognized as her way of speaking to frightened people.
"The officer who helps your father.
Do you know his name?"
Charlotte thought about it.
"Daddy calls him Garrett."
Okafor's expression didn't change.
"Last name?"
"I don't know.
But he came to our house once for dinner.
He had a badge on his belt.
I remember because it was shiny and I asked if I could touch it and he said no."
Okafor looked at Terrence.
He looked back at her.
There were two officers named Garrett in the department.
One was twenty-three years old and had been on the force for eight months.
The other was Lieutenant Ray Garrett, who had been there for nineteen years and ran the overnight shift scheduling.
Neither of them said the name out loud.
"I'm calling child protective services directly," Okafor said.
"And I'm calling the hospital to make sure the medical team documents everything on intake — every symptom, every observation, chain of custody on the syringe."
"Douglas is going to try to get ahead of it," Terrence said.
"I know." She was already dialing.
"That's why we move faster than he does."
The ambulance arrived four minutes later.
The paramedics came through the side entrance, the one Okafor had used, away from the parking lot.
Terrence watched them assess Delilah with the quiet efficiency of people who had seen this kind of presentation before and knew what questions to ask.
One of the paramedics, a woman with close-cropped hair and a calm that felt deliberately constructed, crouched beside Delilah and spoke to her in a low voice.
Delilah answered in single words, her eyes half-open.
Charlotte didn't let go of her sister's hand until the gurney was ready.
"Can I go with her?" Charlotte asked.
"You're going together," the paramedic said.
"I'll be right beside you the whole way."
Charlotte looked at Terrence.
"Will you come too?"
He looked at Okafor.
She gave him a single nod.
"I'll be right behind the ambulance," he said.
They were moving toward the side exit when the front desk phone rang.
Terrence stopped.
Okafor picked it up.
"Callahan's desk."
A pause.
Then her face went very still.
"I understand," she said.
"I'll pass that along." She set the phone down slowly.
"Who was that?" Terrence asked.
"Lieutenant Garrett," she said.
"He wanted to know why the station cameras were redirected to internal recording."
Terrence hadn't redirected the cameras.
He looked at the camera panel on the far wall.
May you like
The indicator light that should have been green was dark.
Someone else in the building had already done it.
