Patricia nodded. “I nearly turned around twice on the way here.”
“That’s understandable.”
“No, I don’t think you understand.” She looked past him toward the corridor, then back at the entrance. “For twenty-two years, I have told myself that what happened was over. I changed jobs. I moved to another neighborhood. I stopped talking about that night. Whenever someone mentioned David Carter, I found a reason to leave the room.”
She swallowed.
“And now I’m sitting in a government office carrying the same statement I thought nobody would ever read.”
Marcus did not reach for the envelope.
“You don’t have to give us anything before you’re ready,” he said. “You can tell us what you remember, and we’ll take it one step at a time.”
Patricia studied his face, searching for the impatience she had encountered from officials in the past. When she found none, she slowly lowered the envelope.
“Then I want one thing understood before we begin.”
“Of course.”
“I’m not here because I want revenge on Raymond Keller. I’m not here because I want to ruin Paul Harlan’s retirement. I’m here because a man asked for help, and I heard him. I saw someone who could have helped him. And afterward, everyone acted as though I had heard nothing at all.”
Marcus nodded.
“That is exactly what we need to understand.”
He escorted her into the interview room, where Elena Price was already waiting. A digital recorder sat in the center of the table, beside a fresh legal pad and a glass of water. Elena introduced herself, explained the interview procedure, and asked Patricia whether she consented to the recording.
Patricia agreed.
For several seconds after the recorder was switched on, she said nothing. She looked at the red indicator light, then at the envelope resting between her hands.
“October fourteenth,” she began. “That was the night David Carter died.”
Elena wrote down the date.
“I worked the evening shift at Westbridge General Hospital. I was a nursing assistant then, not a nurse, and I want that distinction to be clear. I didn’t have authority to prescribe anything or make medical decisions. But I had worked in emergency care long enough to recognize when someone was frightened and in pain.”
“Did you know David before that night?” Marcus asked.
“No. I learned his name later. At the time, I knew him only as a man in custody.”
Patricia explained that she had finished her shift shortly after ten o’clock. She was walking toward the parking area when she realized she had left her purse in the staff break room. She returned through a side entrance that led toward a small administrative corridor near the police holding area.
The hospital had maintained a temporary intake room for detainees awaiting transfer or preliminary medical clearance. It was not a proper detention facility, but officers occasionally brought people there when the emergency department was crowded or when a detainee needed to be examined before being moved elsewhere.
David had been brought into that area earlier in the evening.
“I heard him before I saw him,” Patricia said. “He wasn’t shouting at first. He sounded exhausted. He kept saying that his chest hurt and that he needed to speak to somebody.”
“What time was this?” Elena asked.
“I remember looking at the clock above the corridor door. It was a little after ten. I can’t tell you the exact minute. It might have been ten fifteen. It might have been ten twenty.”
Marcus exchanged a brief glance with Elena.
The memorandum they had discovered placed administrative awareness of David’s medical complaint at approximately 10:17 p.m. Patricia’s recollection did not establish the precise minute, but it independently placed the complaint within the same period.
“What happened when you saw him?” Marcus asked.
“He was sitting on a bench with his hands restrained in front of him. One officer stood near the door. David looked pale. He had sweat on his forehead, and he kept pressing his shoulder against the wall as though he couldn’t find a comfortable position.”
“Could you identify the officer standing near him?”
“No. Not with confidence. I remember a uniform and a dark jacket. I don’t want to pretend I can recognize someone after all these years when I can’t.”
“That’s important,” Marcus said. “Please tell us only what you genuinely remember.”
Patricia appeared relieved.
“I asked whether he needed medical assistance. He said yes. He told me his chest hurt and asked if somebody could call his family. He said he didn’t want to die without speaking to them.”
Her voice faltered on the last sentence.
Elena stopped writing for a moment.
“Did you contact anyone?”
“I tried to find an officer who could authorize help. I was not responsible for detainees, and I didn’t want to interfere with police procedures. But I knew enough to understand that chest pain was not something to ignore.”