The Silence That Speaks (Forensic Instincts 4)

“No, ma’am.” Harvey shook his head. “Your friend Marc is right. You need medical attention. We’ll meet you at Manhattan Memorial after we take Janet Moss in. She can join her daughter. We’re questioning her right now.”

“You have Diana?” Janet looked more horrified than she had when Marc was holding a gun on her. “Please, let her go. I’m the guilty party. I’ll tell you everything.”

Harvey arched a brow. “Including how your daughter killed Ronald Lexington?”

Janet’s face fell.

“Speaking of which,” Ryan said, walking into the storage unit. “Before Marc carries you off, Madeline, where can we find the recording of the Lexington surgery?”

“The second box down,” she replied. “That has the video recordings of last year’s surgeries. You should find Ronald’s about halfway down.” She paused, gritting her teeth against the pain for as long as she could. “But I still don’t know what’s on there that will incriminate Diana. If she did something, Conrad would have seen it, either during the surgery or when he reviewed the tape.”

“It’s not about seeing it. It’s about hearing it,” Ryan replied.

They all turned to look at him.

“While we were in the van, I did a full rundown on Diana Moss. Evidently she’s an audiophile and does blog posts on current, in-depth computer software. She’s really sharp—I’ve seen her posts, which by the way are done under the name Trix. In her most recent post, she mentioned that she’d just tried out new software called Audio Detracktor. Fortunately, so did I. The software separates sounds into discreet audio tracks so you can hear each one clearly and separately from the others. It’s awesome. Let’s use it on Conrad’s recording of Ronald’s surgery to see what it gives us.”

“Later,” Marc said firmly as he felt Madeline wince. “We’re going to the hospital. Bring whatever equipment you want there.”

36

THE MANHATTAN MEMORIAL E.R. staff labeled Marc the biggest pain in the ass they’d encountered in years.

He didn’t give a damn. He hovered around like a mother hen while Madeline was examined, X-rayed and taped up. The ribs had been rebroken and there were bad contusions, not only on her ribs but on her face, chest and abdomen. She had cuts and scrapes everywhere, and it took quite a while to stop all the bleeding. The bruise on her face was swelling badly, and the nurse, Roberta Sanders—whom Madeline apparently knew well, and who was chatting with Madeline as if the professional ostracism of the past week had never happened—had applied an ice pack to the swelling.

“I gave you something strong for the pain,” Roberta said, “as well as something to help you rest. So don’t be surprised when you conk out.”

“Gee, it’s like being on the other side of an E.R. table.” Madeline gave a weak smile. “I’ll be a good girl and rest. I’ll drink plenty of fluids, too. Can Marc please stay with me?”

Roberta’s brows rose. “I don’t know why you’d want him to, but sure. Just buzz if you need me. Or if you want me to toss him out.”

Madeline’s lips twitched again. “Thanks, Roberta. I will.” She eyeballed Marc once Roberta had left. “My reputation in the E.R. is destroyed forever, thanks to you. Do you have to be such a tyrant?”

As she spoke, she reached out and took Marc’s hand, linking her fingers with his. “I love you,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving my life.”

He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Maybe. But I knew you’d come.” A huge yawn. “Tell your team they can come in whenever they want. The pain is subsiding. And other than being a little tired...” Madeline’s voice trailed off. She was sound asleep.

* * *

She awakened a few hours later to see an entire computer set up and the whole FI staff in her E.R. room. How could they all fit? she thought groggily.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Ryan greeted her. “How do you feel?”

Madeline blinked and looked around. She wasn’t in her E.R. room. She was in one of the big hospital suites that was usually reserved for high-profile, wealthy patients.

“I’m okay. The pain is better. What am I doing here?”

“You’re a VIP now,” Claire said with a smile.

Marc was sitting by Madeline’s side, hunched forward in a leather chair, staring at her as if she were a porcelain doll. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey back.” She smiled.

“You look better. There’s some color in your cheeks. But you’re going to be waited on by yours truly for the next few weeks.”

One brow rose. “Do you cook any better than you used to?”