Chapter 3 - One of the Eleven Nurses Had Left Behind a Hidden Voice Recording, and It Contained Enzo’s Name Alongside MineMaria's room was in the old west wing.
Nobody used it anymore.
I found a box beneath the floorboards.
Inside were nursing notes.
Medication charts.
Photographs.
And a small recorder.
I pressed play.
Maria's voice filled the room.
“If someone finds this, don't trust Dr. Ricci.”
I froze.
“Enzo's paralysis isn't what they say.”
A pause.
“Someone is poisoning his recovery.”
Then:
“The new nurse, Lena Hart, may be connected.”
I stopped the recording.
Connected?
How?
I played it again.
Maria continued.
“Lena was the nurse who treated Thomas Vale.”
My blood ran cold.
She had known.
Thomas.
The man who'd asked about Enzo.
The man who died.
Maria had been investigating.
“Lena may not know what her role is.”
The recording ended.
I sat down.
Why would Maria suspect me?
Because my history connected me to Thomas.
Because the hospital I worked for had received anonymous funding from Marchetti-linked companies.
Because I had been at the hospital when Thomas died.
I searched my employment records.
There were missing months.
My original nursing application had been altered.
Someone had removed my previous address.
Someone had changed the reason I left my former hospital.
And the person who signed the altered document was Victor.
I confronted Enzo.
“Why did you hire me?”
He looked at the folder.
“You found Maria's recording.”
“Yes.”
“She suspected you.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You've been testing me.”
“Yes.”
I was furious.
“I am not a puzzle.”
“I know.”
“You don't get to use my life like evidence.”
“I needed to know whether you were part of it.”
“Part of what?”
He hesitated.
“My brother's death.”
I stared.
“You think I killed your brother?”
“No.”
He leaned forward.
“I think you know what happened.”
I didn't.
At least not consciously.
But then something returned.
A memory.
Thomas Vale had been dying.
I had been beside him.
He had pressed something into my palm.
A key.
A small brass key.
He said:
“Find the man who doesn't bleed.”
I never understood.
I had thrown the key away.
Or thought I had.
Suddenly I remembered where I'd put it.
In my old apartment.
Before I could speak, Enzo's phone rang.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then:
“She's gone.”
I looked at him.
“Who?”
“Your brother's widow.”
“Why?”
“Because she found the key.”
I felt cold.
“What key?”
He looked at me.
“The one Thomas gave you.”
I froze.
“How do you know?”
His face became unreadable.
“Because Thomas gave it to me too.”
Two keys.
May you like
Two pieces.
And suddenly I knew this case was much older than the job.
Related Stories
