Patrick is an incredible husband, but doing laundry, not to mention folding it, is beyond his capabilities.”
“That’s very nice of him,” Tatum contributed.
“It really is. And he does so much for me. I’ve been driving him insane with my long lists. But can you imagine staying a whole week in a hospital bed, hardly able to even stand up without a nurse watching you? I need my own clothing just to feel normal. I would have gone home, but Patrick insisted that I stay here, monitored. You know how men can worry. At least I have books. If I didn’t have those, I’d count the floor tiles.” She mimed whispering. “There are fifty-two.”
Leonor obviously loved to talk, and O’Donnell could imagine being stuck in that room for a week by herself made her desperate for company. No wonder she was so adamant they sit inside. Still, O’Donnell couldn’t help but wonder what the woman needed actual people for. The conversation was entirely one sided, and the three of them could have been replaced by potted plants without significantly altering the dialogue. She was now talking about her pregnancy. O’Donnell only half listened.
“ . . . our fourth pregnancy. The first three were early miscarriages.” Her voice trembled slightly. “But then this one came, and it seemed to be going so well! God rewards pure and selfless souls, and we’ve been trying so hard. Last week, when the bleeding started, I was so terrified—I was sure I’d lost the baby. But then when we got here, I felt him kick. I was so relieved. And they said I have to stay here for a while. I thought they meant a few hours, at first—”
Someone coughed politely behind O’Donnell, and she turned around. A man stood at the door, a duffel bag slung on his shoulder, a large plastic cup in his hand. He was dressed in a white shirt and black pants, his cheeks clean shaven. But his dark hair was disheveled, and his eyes were swollen and bloodshot.
“Hello.” He clenched his jaw.
“I told your associates they can wait here with me,” Leonor said.
His shoulders slackened as Leonor said associates. He’d probably been worried they’d told her who they were or, even worse, told her about Catherine.
“Good.” He tried to smile. “I brought you the books you asked for and a new tube of toothpaste. And I hope I got all the clothes right.”
“I’m sure you did.” She leaned to the side, as if to get up.
He was by her side in a second, gently pushing her back. He kissed her forehead and handed her the plastic cup. “Here,” he said. “Fresh shake.”
She let out a small laugh. “You and your fruit shakes. Every day it’s the same.” She took a sip from the straw and cringed slightly. “This pregnancy makes everything taste a bit strange, you know?” She smiled at O’Donnell.
“I remember,” O’Donnell said. “I couldn’t stomach red peppers. And I used to love them before.”
Patrick turned to look at them again. “Would you like to talk outside?”
“Of course,” O’Donnell said. “It was really nice to meet you,” she told Leonor.
They stepped into the corridor and made their way to a secluded corner. Patrick turned around, glancing at each of them in turn.
“Is there any progress with finding who . . .” He blinked and looked away. “Who did this to Catherine?”
“We have some leads,” O’Donnell said. “Mr. Carpenter, this is Agent Gray and his partner, Bentley, from the FBI.”
“The FBI?” Patrick gawked, confused. “What does the FBI have to do with Catherine?”
“We wanted to ask a few more questions,” O’Donnell said, ignoring his inquiry.
“What do you need?”
“Can we go over the last time you talked to Catherine again?” O’Donnell asked. They’d discussed it before, on the phone, but she wanted to see his face when they talked about it.
“Sure. Uh . . . it was three days ago, around noon. Catherine called me to say she was sick and wasn’t going to church. She wanted to know if I could cover for her and meet some of the members who wanted to talk.”
This matched the call records from Catherine’s phone. “Do you often cover for each other?” she asked.
“It happens. Not too often, but sometimes there are urgent counseling sessions, and one of us is indisposed.”
“And was there an urgent session that day?”
“I don’t think so. She just wanted me to take over for her.”
“And did you?”
“I told her I would, but then my wife began bleeding again.” Patrick