Chapter 4: Medical Report and Doubt

The next day, the medical examiner’s report arrived.

The envelope was heavy in my hand, stamped with the county seal. Ramirez and I sat in the break room, coffee steaming between us, as I opened it. The words inside were clinical—too cold for what they described.

It showed that Madison Lee died of cardiac arrest brought on by excessive fright.

There it was, in black and white. No foul play, no hidden violence—just a heart that had finally given out under too much fear. I read the line twice, feeling hollowed out.

This matched my earlier theory. It really was a heartbreaking accident.

I closed the file, pinching the bridge of my nose. Sometimes the world is just cruel, and there’s nothing you can do but write the report and hope the family finds some kind of peace. Ramirez poured me another cup of coffee, her own eyes rimmed with red.

I sighed,

"What a tragedy. The family must be devastated."

I meant it. It was the kind of thing that would change everyone involved forever. I pictured Carol, sitting alone in her kitchen, replaying those last moments in her mind. George, haunted by what he hadn’t done.

But Dr. Wilson, the examiner, shook his head.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. There was a heaviness in his eyes that went beyond the autopsy table—a weight that said this wasn’t just another case.

"Whether they’re devastated or not, that’s not so certain."

His words caught me off guard. I frowned, setting down my cup. Ramirez raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer. Dr. Wilson’s tone was cautious, almost apologetic.

I asked what he meant. He sighed and went on:

"The little girl was thin and pale, her hair dry and brittle. That comes from long-term malnutrition. If her family really cared for her, how could she be so undernourished at her age?"

He flipped through his notes, tapping a finger on the chart. "She weighed less than the average for her age. Bones a little too prominent, iron levels low. Not what you’d expect in a kid with attentive parents."

Dr. Wilson took a sip of coffee and continued:

"There’s another suspicious detail. According to my testing, the girl died between five and seven yesterday evening. You said the witness first saw the grandmother and granddaughter around six. But for the hour between five and six, we don’t know where they were."

He gave me a pointed look, as if daring me to fill in the blanks. Ramirez frowned, her pen hovering over her notepad. The case was sliding from sad accident toward something darker.

Following Dr. Wilson’s logic, I said,

"You mean, the girl might have died between five and six, and the swing wasn’t the original scene? She was moved there after death?"

I kept my voice low, not wanting to jump to conclusions. But the possibility hung heavy in the air. Ramirez’s eyes widened, and I could see her mind racing through the implications.

Dr. Wilson nodded.

He didn’t say anything more, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. The question was on the table now, staring us down. My stomach twisted with unease.

But I quickly dismissed the idea.

I shook my head, recalling the witness’s statement. It didn’t fit—not with what we already knew. I tried to sound more confident than I felt.

I patted him on the shoulder and apologized.

"Your analysis makes sense, but there’s something I didn’t mention. The witness said that around six o’clock, he heard the little girl laughing happily. That means she was still alive on the swing at that time."

I gave him a reassuring pat, hoping to ease his doubts. Dr. Wilson managed a small, rueful smile, but his eyes remained troubled.

Dr. Wilson shrugged and gave a helpless smile.

"Guess I was overthinking it."

He leaned back, rubbing his temples. We all knew that sometimes, the simplest answer was the right one. Still, the shadows in his eyes didn’t fade.