It was folded inside the envelope, paper-clipped to Frank’s letter.
I read the nurse’s statement twice.
She had seen Gerald Marsh in the corridor outside Catherine’s room that night.
She had thought nothing of it at the time — he was family, he was there for the birth.
But she had seen him go in.
And she had seen the attending physician come out of that room looking shaken in a way she had never forgotten.
And she had heard Gerald’s voice through the door, low and steady, saying something she could not make out.
Catherine had d*ed forty minutes later.
The nurse had never reported it.
She had told herself she had misunderstood.
She had told herself it was grief making her suspicious.
She had told herself that for forty years, until Frank’s letter arrived and she finally wrote down what she had seen.
I set the pages on the table.
Miriam was watching me.
“He’s been at every family event,” I said.
“Every holiday.
He came to Frank’s hospital last week.
I let him into the room.
I left them alone together.”
Miriam’s face changed.
“You left them alone.”
“For twenty minutes.
I went to get coffee.” My voice was very steady in a way that frightened me.
“Frank got worse that same afternoon.
The doctors said it was the progression, that it was expected—”
The detective’s name was Paulson.
I had his number because he had handled a break-in at my house three years ago and I had never deleted the contact.
It was the only reason I called him instead of a general line.
I needed a name, not a queue.
He picked up on the third ring.
“This is Claire Holt.
You won’t remember me—”
“The Drayfield Road break-in.
I remember.” His voice was alert in the way of someone used to late calls.
“What’s happened?”
I told him.
Not everything — not the birth certificate, not Catherine, not the thirty years of questions.
I told him about the nurse’s statement.
I told him about Gerald being alone with Frank.
I told him that Frank had deteriorated sharply afterward and that I needed someone to tell me whether any of this was worth reporting or whether I was a grieving daughter falling apart at midnight.
Paulson was quiet for a moment.
“Is your father still living?”
