According to the signature on the form, a signature that was a dead ringer for her own, she had signed out morphine and given it to Gloria Inman.
* * *
LIAM SPENT HALF the night reviewing his father’s files on the Inman case and Jacob’s on the fire. He’d been through them a dozen times already, but each time he hoped something would pop out and lead him to the answers.
Were the two connected?
They seemed to be. Then again, he and Jacob had chased the missing child angle with Cora’s baby for so long and it hadn’t been related to the fire, so he could be mistaken now.
But he had to pursue any lead that presented itself. Five years had not lessened his need for the truth and justice for his father’s death and the other lost lives.
He used a whiteboard to scribble the key components he’d identified and marked it off into categories. Facts, Suspects, Evidence, Leads, Motives.
He listed Inman’s name and wrote Wife’s Death/Lawsuit beneath it. Beneath the section labeled Motive, he scribbled the word revenge.
He added Peyton’s name to the list of suspects. For motive, he wrote Cover Up for Mistake in the ER?
Although they had no proof there had actually been a mistake, much less that Peyton had caused it. Only hearsay that she might know who did.
He combed through the file again, focusing on an interview with the attending physician Dr. Butler. The doctor had seemed concerned about Inman’s accusations and claimed he and the hospital staff had followed protocol and were not at fault. He denied any knowledge of the alleged conversation between Peyton and another staff member, and insisted Peyton was a top-notch nurse who prided herself on attention to detail.
Liam stood and stretched, then poured himself a scotch and returned to the files. He combed through interview after interview of the staff and studied Herbert Brantley’s again. It sounded almost verbatim to what he’d told them today. Had he practiced what he was going to say? Was he lying?
Curious, he reviewed the lawsuit filed by Inman, then made a note of the prosecutor’s name who’d represented Inman along with the hospital’s attorney.
Bill Packard had represented Inman. Travis Ames the hospital. He sipped his scotch. Tomorrow he’d question them himself.
* * *
ANXIETY RIDDLED EVERY CELL in Peyton’s body. Someone had been inside her apartment, and left paperwork which pointed the finger at her for negligence in Mrs. Inman’s death.
She was being framed. Set up by whoever wanted her to take the fall if the case went to court.
She laid the document on the kitchen table, grabbed her flashlight from the laundry room and studied the signature. It looked like hers, but she had not signed out morphine or administered it to Gloria Inman that night. Following protocol, she’d given the woman a shot of epinephrine to jump-start her heart.
What in the world was going on?
She narrowed her eyes and checked the signature again. Could a handwriting analyst be able to tell that it had been forged?
Terrified of losing her license and her job and the possibility of facing charges when her mother needed her, she folded the paper, stuffed it back in the envelope and carried it to her bedroom. She had to hide it. The desk maybe?
No, that was the first place someone would look.
The closet. She pulled out a shoebox full of old photographs and considered storing it in there but rethought that idea.
Maybe she should just rip it up and throw it in the trash. Or shred it in the shredder in the main office.
But what if someone caught her and asked questions?
Besides, if anyone learned about the papers and the police confiscated them, they might actually help her. That is, if the fingerprints of the person who’d put them in her apartment were on the log sheet. If not...she’d look guilty of giving Mrs. Inman an overdose.
After deciding she’d better hang on to the papers, she shoved them below her mattress.
The fact that someone had broken into her apartment made her skin crawl. She’d run away from Whistler to escape, yet whoever had set her up knew where she and her mother lived.
They’d probably been watching her all along.
Fear gripped her in its clutches, and she hurried to examine the locks on the windows and doors. The window locks and lock on the front door was untouched.
She checked the sliding glass doors and noted the lock on them was broken. A chill