A nurse appears from around the corner — not one I recognize. Younger, uncomfortable, avoiding my eyes.
"Can I help you?" she asks, but her tone suggests she knows exactly who I am and why I'm here.
"Where's Cody Ravenshaw?" I ask. "He was in this room."
She shifts her weight, glancing past me like she's looking for backup. "He was transferred."
"Transferred where?"
A pause. Long enough to be significant.
"I'm not authorized to disclose that information."
The words hit differently than I don't know would have. This isn't ignorance. This is an obstruction.
"What do you mean you're not authorized?" My voice stays level, but something cold is spreading through my chest. "I'm his girlfriend. I've been visiting him every day since he got here."
"I understand, but his family requested the transfer, and they've asked for privacy during this time."
Beckett's hand presses slightly firmer against my back. "Maybe his family wanted privacy," he offers, his tone reasonable and logical. "Given everything that's happened."
I glance at him, and he's looking at the nurse, not at me. Something about that bothers me, but I can't put my finger on why.
"I want to speak to someone in charge," I say, turning back to the nurse.
She nods. "I'll get the administrator."
I stand in the empty room while we wait, staring at the stripped bed and processing what’s happening and why Judge Ravenshaw wouldn’t communicate this to me.
"Adela." Beckett's voice pulls me back. "You okay?"
"Fine." I'm not fine. I'm calculating and connecting dots that don't quite form a complete picture yet.
He was just transferred. Right after the attack in my dorm. Right after they took the laptop. Right after everything went to hell.
This wasn't Judge Ravenshaw.
Footsteps approach, and a woman in a navy pantsuit appears in the doorway. Mid-fifties, perfectly professional, the kind of polished that comes from years of navigating hospital politics.
"Ms. Kalkaska?" She extends her hand. "I'm Catherine Morrison, the hospital administrator. I understand you have questions about Mr. Ravenshaw's transfer."
I don't shake her hand. "Where is he?"
She lowers her hand, unfazed. "I'm afraid that's confidential information. The transfer was made at the family's request due to the sensitive nature of the case. They've asked for complete discretion."
"Sensitive nature," I repeat. "What does that mean?"
"Given Judge Ravenshaw's position and the ongoing investigation into his son's assault, the family felt it was best to move him to a private facility where security could be better maintained." Each word is carefully chosen, politically coded.
"What private facility?"
"I can't disclose that."
"Can't or won't?"
Her expression doesn't change. "I'm sorry, Ms. Kalkaska. I know this must be difficult, but my hands are tied. This was a legal request processed through the proper channels."
Legal request. Proper channels.
