Chapter 5: Russell's Wife
Her name was Diane.
I called her from a small family room down the hall from my examination bay, with Patricia sitting three feet away and the door closed.
My fractured wrist made holding the phone uncomfortable.
I held it with my other hand.
She answered on the second ring.
"Nora." Her voice was careful.
Controlled.
Like someone who had rehearsed staying calm for a long time.
"I wasn't sure you'd call."
"How do you have my number?"
"Russell's phone.
Before I left him, I copied everything I thought I might need one day." A pause.
"I'm sorry it took me this long to reach you.
I didn't know how bad it was for you until tonight."
"How did you know about tonight?"
"Russell called Graham two hours ago.
I still have a contact inside that house.
Someone who tells me things." Another pause.
"Nora, they're already talking about how to handle this.
Graham wants to say you fell.
Judith is going to back him up.
And Russell—" She stopped.
"What about Russell?"
"Russell said to let Graham deal with it.
That you'd come around.
That you always do."
My hand tightened on the phone.
"What proof do you have?" I asked.
"Your text said you have proof."
"I have recordings.
Three of them.
Russell used to make calls from our home office and forget I was in the next room.
One of them is him and Graham discussing what to do after the incident with your shoulder.
The one Graham told you was an accident."
The bedroom wall.
The flowers he brought afterward.
"They discussed it?" My voice came out smaller than I intended.
"Graham called Russell that same night.
He was worried you'd go to a doctor.
Russell told him to take you somewhere himself so he could control what you said." Her voice stayed level.
"I recorded that call, Nora.
I recorded it because I was already planning to leave, and I didn't know what I might need."
Patricia had moved closer.
She could hear both sides.
"Why didn't you go to the police?" I asked.
"I did.
Eighteen months ago." The steadiness in Diane's voice cracked, just slightly, at the edge.
"They spoke to Russell.
Russell called his father's attorney within the hour.
Two weeks later, the detective on my case was reassigned.
The new one told me my recordings might not be admissible and suggested I speak to a family counselor." She let that sit.
"So I waited.
I kept the recordings.
And I waited for someone else in that family to finally say something out loud."
I thought about the resident who had frozen when I said *she pushed me intentionally.* I thought about Dr.
Alvarez asking Graham to leave the room.
I thought about six years of waiting for someone to simply believe me without asking me to be quieter about it.
"I believe you," I said.
A sound on Diane's end.
Not quite a cry.
Something smaller and older than that.
"I know," she said.
"I know you do."
Patricia touched my arm gently and held up her legal pad.
She had written: *Ask her if she will speak to a detective tonight.*
"Diane," I said.
"There's a social worker here with me.
Her name is Patricia.
She wants to know if you'd be willing to speak to a detective tonight.
Not the same department.
A different one."
Silence.
Then: "Which department?"
Patricia leaned in and said a name clearly enough for Diane to hear.
Another silence.
Longer.
"Yes," Diane said finally.
"Yes.
I'll speak to them."
I exhaled.
"Nora." Diane's voice dropped.
"Before you hang up — Graham is going to come at you hard when he realizes you're not backing down.
He's going to use the family.
The money.
He's going to tell people you're unstable.
He's already started."
"I know."
"Do you have somewhere safe to go tonight?"
"My sister."
"Good." A breath.
"Don't go home.
Don't let him get you alone.
Whatever he says to you tonight or tomorrow — don't be alone with him."
The door to the family room opened six inches.
Graham was standing in the hallway.
Not the security officer.
Graham himself, in his rain-damp jacket, his jaw set, his eyes moving from me to Patricia to the phone in my hand.
"Nora." His voice was the careful, reasonable one.
The one he used when other people were watching.
"It's late.
Let's just go home and talk about this in the morning."
I looked at him.
Patricia stood up.
"Mr.
Mercer," she said.
"This room is restricted."
"I'm her husband."
"And this room is restricted."
His gaze stayed on me.
"Nora.
Please."
I raised the phone back to my ear.
"Diane," I said clearly.
"I'll have Patricia call you with the detective's information."
May you like
Graham's face did something I had never seen it do before.
It went completely still.
