"Please wait here."
She disappeared down the corridor.
Bear watched her go.
"She knows something."
"Maybe," Caleb said.
Laura sat in one of the lobby chairs. The effort of standing had left her breathing shallowly.
Caleb crouched beside her.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
She gave him a tired smile.
"I'm your mother. I'm allowed to lie about being fine."
"Not today."
For a moment, she looked as though she might argue. Then she nodded.
"I'll sit."
Bear went to the water fountain and returned with a paper cup.
They waited nearly twenty minutes.
When Patricia returned, she was carrying a thicker folder.
"I found an entry in the archive index," she said. "The payment was made to the hospital foundation through an intermediary. The transfer was listed as a restricted charitable grant for neonatal care."
"Who was the intermediary?" Caleb asked.
"The account was held by a law firm in Wichita. The name was Harlan, Price, and DeWitt."
Bear's expression hardened.
"I know that firm."
"From the club?" Caleb asked.
"From the county. Raymond used them for property transactions."
Patricia opened the folder.
"The grant was accompanied by a letter instructing the foundation to reserve a portion of the funds for emergency neonatal treatment, transportation, and long-term medical support for a child identified only by initials."
She turned the page.
The initials were C.M.
Caleb stared.
"Me."
"Possibly," Patricia said. "The letter doesn't include a full name. It refers to a child expected to be born in September 2008 and directs the hospital to maintain confidentiality regarding the donor."
"Who signed it?" Laura asked.
Patricia hesitated.
"The signature was not from the law firm. It was from a physician named Dr. Samuel Whitaker."
Laura's face went white.
"No."
Caleb turned toward her.
"Mom?"
She pressed her fingers to her lips.
"I know that name."
"Who was he?"
Laura looked at Patricia.
"Was he working here in 2008?"
"Yes. Dr. Whitaker was the director of neonatal services."
Laura shook her head slowly.
"He was the doctor who treated Evan."
Bear moved closer.
"At County General?"
"Yes. He was the attending physician when Evan was brought in. He stayed with me for hours after Raymond left. He told me Evan had suffered massive internal injuries. He said there was nothing more they could do."
Caleb felt the room narrow around him.
"The same doctor who treated Dad signed the letter for the payment."
Laura nodded, but her eyes had filled with tears.
"Why would he do that?"
Patricia closed the folder.
"I can't answer that. But Dr. Whitaker retired six years ago. He lives outside Wichita. The hospital foundation may still have his correspondence."
Bear looked at the document.
"Can we have a copy?"
"Not of the entire file. Some details are restricted. But you can submit a formal request for the financial record associated with the grant. If Caleb was the intended beneficiary, he may be entitled to information related to his own medical support."
"How long will that take?" Caleb asked.
"Several weeks."
"We don't have several weeks."
Patricia regarded him for a moment.
"Then I suggest you speak with Dr. Whitaker directly."
She wrote an address on a card.
Before handing it to Caleb, she added, "There is something else you should know. The grant was not used in full. A balance remained in the account for several years. The hospital transferred that balance to a restricted charitable fund when the neonatal unit closed."
"How much?" Bear asked.
"According to the summary, approximately thirty-two thousand dollars."
Caleb frowned.
"Why wasn't it used?"
"I don't know. The file indicates that the child identified by the initials C.M. did not require long-term care at this facility."
"But I was born at County General," Caleb said.
"Yes."
"Then why was money reserved here?"
Patricia looked at the three of them.
"That is the question you need to ask Dr. Whitaker."
The address led them to a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Wichita.
Dr. Samuel Whitaker lived in a modest brick house with a small garden and a wooden porch. The grass was neatly trimmed, and a wind chime hung beside the front door.
It was an ordinary house.
Caleb found that strangely unsettling.
He had expected the man connected to the secret payment to live somewhere grand, perhaps behind iron gates or in a house that looked as if it had been built to keep people out.
Instead, there was a bicycle leaning against the garage and a pair of gardening gloves on the porch railing.
Bear knocked.
After a minute, the door opened.
An elderly man stood before them, his white hair carefully combed and his expression alert behind wire-rimmed glasses.
"Yes?"
"Dr. Whitaker?" Caleb asked.
"Yes."
"My name is Caleb Mitchell. This is my mother, Laura, and this is Bear Callahan. We need to ask you about something that happened in September 2008."
The doctor's gaze moved to Laura.
Recognition appeared in his face so suddenly that Caleb felt it like a blow.
"Laura."
She gripped the porch railing.
"You remember me."
"Of course I remember you."
"Then you remember Evan."
The doctor removed his glasses.
"Yes."
Bear stepped forward.
"We found a record of a fifty-thousand-dollar payment made to the children's hospital the day after Evan died. Your name was on the letter authorizing it."
Whitaker's expression changed.
He looked at Caleb for a long time.
Then he stepped aside.
"Come inside."
The living room was filled with books, framed photographs, and shelves of medical journals. A kettle sat on a table near the kitchen. Dr. Whitaker offered them tea, but no one accepted.
He sat in an armchair and folded his hands.
"I wondered whether this day would come," he said.
Caleb felt his pulse quicken.
"You knew someone would look for the payment?"
"I knew the record existed. I didn't know whether anyone would ever find it."
"Why did you arrange it?" Bear demanded.
Whitaker looked at him.
"Because Evan asked me to."
Laura made a small sound.
"That isn't possible. Evan was unconscious."
"Not when he first spoke to me."
The room became utterly still.
Whitaker leaned forward.
"When Evan arrived at County General, he was critically injured, but he was conscious for several minutes. He was in considerable pain. He kept asking whether the police had arrived and whether anyone had found his wallet."
"His wallet?" Caleb asked.
"The wallet contained a folded envelope and a small photograph. The paramedics had removed his belongings before surgery. I returned them to him after he regained consciousness briefly."
Bear stared at the doctor.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because Evan asked me not to."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I know."
Whitaker looked toward Laura.
"He was frightened, but not for himself. He told me there were records that could expose a corruption scheme involving property purchases and public money. He said the people involved had discovered that he intended to cooperate with investigators. He also told me that his girlfriend was pregnant and that he believed the child might be in danger if the wrong people learned the full story."
Laura's eyes filled with tears.
"He knew."