Nobody said anything.
On the screen, Lorraine took a mug from the cabinet. She dropped in a tea bag. She looked over her shoulder. She opened her purse and took out a small pill bottle.
She shook two tablets into her palm.
She crushed them with the back of a spoon.
"Turn it off," Lorraine said sharply.
She swept the powder into the mug. She poured the water. She stirred. And then her son stepped into the frame, and stood beside her, and nodded.
"Turn it off!"
"No," said Kyle quietly. He was staring at the screen. His face had gone gray. "Let it play."
On the screen, Lorraine kissed Derek's cheek.
The video ended. The screen went black.
I could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen. I could hear Bill Halloran, who'd woken up, breathing through his mouth.
"That's my heart medication," Lorraine said. Her voice was thin and high. "I was crushing my own pills. I have trouble swallowing."
"Then you won't mind," I said, "that Dr. Park tested it."
I walked to the hall closet, took out the canvas tote, and began handing out folders.
One for Kyle. One for Jenna. One for Aunt Patrice. One for Marge and Bill. One for Ray, who already knew. One for Derek. One for Lorraine.
And one, which I set gently on the table in front of Dr. Alan Voss.
"Please open them," I said.
I'll tell you what was inside.
There was a lab report from a certified toxicology laboratory showing repeated sedative exposure in a hair sample taken on October 30th. There was a second report matching the residue in a thermos to the prescription bottle. There was a letter from Dr. Helen Park, stating that I had no psychiatric history and no prescription from Dr. Voss.
There was a record from the Fairlawn Family Pharmacy showing that a sleeping medication had been prescribed in my name and picked up by Lorraine Bennett, authorized representative.
There were twelve photographs of a sleeping woman.
There was a copy of a letter on Lakeshore Wellness Associates stationery, addressed to the probate court, calling me Dr. Voss's patient.