I read it twice.
The alert is three sentences. A name. A connection to the victim through the fertility clinic. A request for the named individual to contact police voluntarily.
My name. My connection. My photograph, pulled from what looks like my hospital employee directory, sitting under the word "interest" in a way that makes my stomach drop completely.
I put the phone face down on the desk.
Then I pick it up because I am not the kind of person who puts things face down and pretends they say something different.
"They're connecting me to Maddox through the clinic," I say. My voice comes out level. I am extremely focused on keeping it level. "I was his patient. He called me personally the day of the error. I went back in to meet with him." I look at Dominic. "On paper that's a relat
