Chapter 10 - THE ROOM THAT DISAPPEARED|
Special Agent Chen studied the photograph for a long time.
Then she turned it over.
On the back was a handwritten note.
SAMUEL WHITAKER — ROOM 214 — DO NOT TRANSFER WITHOUT MY AUTHORIZATION.
Below it was a signature.
LT. CLARA BENNETT.
I felt an ache behind my eyes.
Clara had known.
She had found Samuel after the evacuation.
She had tried to protect him.
And somehow, despite all her courage, he had disappeared.
"What happened to Room 214?" I asked.
Chen looked toward Mercer.
"That is what we need to determine."
She contacted the organization responsible for the surviving hospital archives.
Several hours later, we learned that St. Agnes had been a civilian medical facility used under contract for certain patients.
The original building had been demolished.
Many of its records had been destroyed according to ordinary retention schedules.
But a partial administrative index remained.
Room 214 was listed as having been taken out of service in November 1969.
The reason was recorded as structural maintenance.
I stared at the report.
"Structural maintenance?"
Chen nodded.
"That's what the record says."
I thought of the photograph.
Of Samuel lying in bed.
Of Clara's handwritten warning.
"Was there a patient listed?"
"Not in the surviving index."
"Then somebody erased him."
Chen looked at me carefully.
"Possibly."
I could tell she was choosing her words.
Investigators live in a world where possibilities must be separated from proof.
Nurses live in a world where someone can die while you're still deciding what to call the problem.
Both jobs require discipline.
But they require different kinds.
"Laura," I said.
She looked up.
"Yes, Mrs. Braddock?"
"If Samuel was alive four days after the evacuation, the official casualty report was wrong."
"Yes."
"And if Clara was trying to protect him, somebody must have known he was there."
"That's a reasonable line of inquiry."
"Then we need to find out who signed the discharge."
Chen nodded.
"We're working on it."
By late afternoon, Edward arrived with David Bennett.
Edward moved slowly with his cane.
His breathing was rough.
But when he saw Samuel's photograph, he stopped.
His face went gray.
"That's him."
I touched his arm.
"Yes."
Edward took the picture.
For several seconds, he stared at it.
Then he sat down.
"I heard him," he whispered.
Nobody spoke.
"I heard him calling through the wall."
His eyes filled with tears.
"For fifty-six years, I wondered if I'd imagined it."
I knelt beside him as carefully as my knees allowed.
"You didn't imagine it."
He covered his face.
"I should have found him."
"Edward."
"I should have gotten up."
"You were wounded."
"I should have tried harder."
I took both his hands.
"Look at me."
He lowered them.
"You were nineteen years old."
He began to cry.
"You were badly injured."
I squeezed his fingers.
"You survived something terrible, and the responsibility belongs to the people who caused it."
He shook his head.
"Samuel was my friend."
"I know."
"I promised his wife I'd bring him home."
My own tears came.
"Then we finish the promise now."
That evening, Mercer received an update from the investigators.
A former hospital employee had been located.
Her name was Margaret Ellis.
She was ninety-two years old and lived in a nursing facility near Nashville.
She had worked at St. Agnes in 1969.
More importantly, she had been assigned to the second floor.
Including Room 214.
I insisted on going.
Mercer didn't argue this time.
He simply brought my coat.
We reached the facility shortly before sunset.
Margaret Ellis sat beside a window, knitting a blue blanket.
She was a tiny woman with sharp eyes and a voice that sounded surprisingly strong.
When Chen introduced us, Margaret looked at me for a long time.
"Braddock," she repeated.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Were you the captain?"
I nodded.
Margaret set down her knitting.
"Well, I'll be."
She looked toward the ceiling.
"I thought I'd die before you found me."
My breath caught.
"You know why we're here?"
She nodded.
"The boy in Room 214."
I sat beside her.
"Samuel Whitaker."
Margaret's eyes filled.
"He was a sweet boy."
"Do you remember him?"
"Of course."
She took a tissue from the table.
"He had a photograph of his wife."
I swallowed.
"Her name was Ruth."
Margaret nodded.
"He kept asking me to call her."
"Did you?"
"I tried."
"What happened?"
Margaret looked toward Chen.
"A man came."
"What man?"
"Military officer."
"Do you remember his name?"
She closed her eyes.
"Harlan."
The room became still.
"Colonel Frederick Harlan?" Mercer asked.
Margaret nodded.
"He came with another man."
"Major Bell?"
"Yes."
She opened her eyes.
"They told me the patient was being transferred."
I leaned forward.
"Was Samuel conscious?"
"Yes."
"Could he speak?"
"Yes."
"Did he want to leave?"
Margaret's lips trembled.
"No."
I felt tears sliding down my cheeks.
"What did he say?"
Margaret looked directly at me.
"He said they were going to kill him."
Edward made a sound beside the door.
Margaret continued.
"He begged me to call his wife."
"Did you?"
She shook her head.
"They wouldn't let me."
Her voice broke.
"I was twenty-five years old."
I took her hand.
"So was I."
Margaret looked at me.
"I've regretted it every day."
I squeezed her fingers.
"Then tell us what happened."
She took a deep breath.
"Lieutenant Bennett came that evening."
"Clara?"
"Yes."
"Did she see Samuel?"
Margaret nodded.
"She was furious."
"What did she do?"
"She demanded to know where they'd taken him."
"Did anyone answer?"
"No."
Margaret's eyes filled again.
"Then she asked me to keep something safe."
My heart began to pound.
"What?"
"A patient transfer register."
Chen leaned forward.
"Do you still have it?"
Margaret nodded slowly.
"I gave it to my daughter years ago."
"Where is your daughter?"
"Nashville."
"Can we contact her?"
Margaret reached for the telephone beside her chair.
Then she looked at me.
"Captain, there's something you need to understand."
I held my breath.
"The men who took Samuel weren't trying to get him medical treatment."
"I know."
She shook her head.
"No."
Her eyes sharpened.
"You don't understand."
She leaned closer.
"They took him out through the back entrance because he was already dead."
The words struck me like a blow.
"Dead?"
Margaret nodded.
"He died before they moved him."
I stared at her.
"But you said he could speak."
"He could."
"When?"
"That morning."
Margaret looked down.
"By evening, he was gone."
May you like
A terrible silence filled the room.
Then she whispered, "I saw Bell leave his room carrying an empty syringe."
