“We’ll check the residence.”
A second officer appeared at the doorway and motioned to him.
Detective Beckett stepped outside, but the door did not fully close.
I heard the officer say, “We’ve got witnesses.”
“How many?”
“Six so far.”
Wyatt’s head lifted.
The officer continued.
“An electrician saw the father holding the brick. Two delivery drivers were across the street. A mail carrier heard the argument. A neighbor recorded part of it from her porch. Landscaper says the family had been digging behind the garage all afternoon.”
Digging?
I looked at Wyatt.
He had heard it too.
Detective Beckett returned to the room with a different expression.
“Ms. Davis, several people have provided statements supporting your account.”
“Did you arrest them?”
“Your father is in custody. Your mother and sister are being questioned.”
“And the old man?”
“We haven’t found him yet.”
The words sent a chill through me.
“Then look harder.”
“We will.”
Before he could say more, an orderly arrived to take me for imaging.
The scan showed three fractures around my left eye, a broken cheekbone, and a deep laceration that required surgery.
But the ophthalmologist brought the first small mercy of the night.
“My preliminary examination suggests your eye itself is intact,” he said. “The swelling and bleeding are affecting your vision, but I believe there is a strong chance it will return.”
Wyatt exhaled like a man surfacing from deep water.
I closed my right eye.
For the first time since the brick struck me, hope entered the room.
It lasted less than a minute.
When we returned to the treatment area, a hospital volunteer was waiting near my door.
She was an elderly woman with silver hair and kind eyes. In her hands was a cream-colored envelope.
“Are you Sadie Davis?”
“Yes.”
“A gentleman asked me to give this to you.”
“What gentleman?”
“He wouldn’t give his name. He seemed nervous.”
Wyatt took the envelope before anyone else could touch it.
