Winslow said, his dark eye locking onto mine with steady force.

“He holds my real estate file.”

I knew then that Dr.

Wallace’s five-day timeline didn’t matter anymore, because Mr.

Winslow was directing his own defense and refusing the drug doses.

“I’ll send it as soon as I’m back in the hallway,” I whispered, sliding the phone back into my pocket.

At five o’clock, I walked down the second-floor corridor carrying a fresh stack of folded white cotton towels toward the linen closet.

My blue ledger notebook was tucked firmly between my ribs and the heavy towels.