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“Surgery?”
“She has head trauma. Please, sir . . .”
Hale sat down reluctantly, and as soon as he was seated, he felt the blood rush from his head. What the hell was Kristina doing at the Carmichael house? How did she get in? Through the window? Why?
“Crime scene,” Officer Mills had said.
Hale shook his head, trying to clear it. Crime scene. No accident?
“We need you to fill out some forms,” another woman said, and a clipboard with papers and a pen were shoved into his hands. Hale stared at the documents a moment, then began filling them in, his mind racing ahead, his hand shaking as he wrote.
Ian Carmichael’s words came back to him. Blood on the wood . . . a heavy chunk like a beam . . .
Hale drew a careful breath. He’d thought Ian had meant she was hit by a board in an accident. There had been some demolition inside the house already. Sheetrock ripped off, framing hammered out of the walls. He’d initially assumed her injury was accidental. That was what he’d wanted to believe, anyway. What he still wanted to believe.
He pulled his wallet from his pocket, slid out the insurance card, then wrote the information on the form. Out of the corner of his eye he saw an officer enter through the electronically activated swinging doors, a law enforcement man wearing the tan uniform of the sheriff’s department.
Hale straightened in his chair as the man introduced himself. “I’m Deputy Warren Burghsmith of the Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department.”
He blinked, his mind splintered in all directions. “My wife was found in Clatsop County.”
“The hospital’s in Tillamook County, and I’m first available, Mr. . . ?”
“St. Cloud. Hale St. Cloud.”
“And it’s your wife who was brought in.”
He nodded. “Kristina St. Cloud.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“At the job site? No. I wasn’t there.” He found himself feeling overwhelmed. “I came later.”
“Job site?”
“I own Bancroft Development with my grandfather, Declan Bancroft, and the Carmichaels’ house is scheduled to be demoed and rebuilt. Kristina went there for some reason.”
“Do you know what your wife was doing at the site?”
“Not a clue.”
“Could she have been meeting someone?”
Hale just stared at the deputy, who looked to be somewhere in his late forties. “I don’t know who that would be.”
“Excuse me . . .” The nurse who had given him the admissions documents had returned. “Have you filled out the forms?”
“Um . . . yeah . . . mostly.” Hale handed her the clipboard, and she took it away.
“What are the names of the people who own the house?” Burghsmith asked after she disappeared.
“Ian and Astrid Carmichael.”
“Did your wife know them?”
“Only by sight. But she knew of the project.”
