The Doctor Who Owed a Favor
Chapter 04 - The Doctor Who Owed a Favor
Detective Vasquez requested Eleanor Hale's original death certificate and medical file by 9 PM that same night, six hours after the wedding collapsed.
The attending physician of record was Dr. Warren Castellano, a cardiologist with a private practice in the same affluent suburb where the Hale estate stood, a man who had treated three generations of wealthy families with the kind of deference that made questioning his judgment feel almost impolite.
Elena called him directly rather than sending a subpoena first — sometimes a phone call revealed more than paperwork ever could, especially with someone who didn't yet know how much trouble he was in.
"Dr. Castellano, I'm calling about a patient of yours, Eleanor Hale. She passed two years ago under your care."
"A tragic case," the doctor said smoothly. "Advanced Parkinson's complications, ultimately a cardiac event. Not unusual for a woman her age with her underlying conditions."
"Doctor, were you aware that a woman named Vanessa Cross, presenting herself as a wellness consultant, was providing unmarked supplements to Mrs. Hale in the weeks before her death?"
A pause. Just long enough to matter.
"I wasn't aware of any supplements outside her prescribed regimen."
"That's strange, Doctor, because we have video evidence of a conversation referencing you by name, discussing a prior arrangement related to Eleanor Hale's death and a plan to repeat, quote, 'the same setup' with her son."
The silence that followed lasted eleven full seconds. Elena counted them.
"I think I need to speak with an attorney before I say anything further," Dr. Castellano said, and hung up.
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Warren Castellano's attorney called back within the hour, and by the following morning, a very different version of Dr. Castellano sat across from Elena in a formal interview room, his composure gone, his hands wrapped around a coffee he clearly had no intention of drinking.
"I need to understand my exposure here before I say anything," he told his lawyer, loud enough for Elena to hear through the thin interview room wall.
"Your exposure," his lawyer said flatly, "depends entirely on whether you falsified a death certificate for a woman who was murdered."
Castellano folded under that sentence within minutes.
He told Elena that Vanessa had approached him eighteen months before Eleanor Hale's death, introducing herself as someone helping manage the elderly woman's supplement regimen and offering him twenty thousand dollars — "consulting fees," she'd called it — to review and sign off on Eleanor's cardiac risk profile without running the more extensive testing that would normally be standard for a Parkinson's patient of her age and complexity.
"She told me it was about cost efficiency," Castellano said. "Reducing unnecessary testing for an elderly patient with a limited life expectancy anyway. It felt almost compassionate, the way she framed it."
"And when Eleanor Hale actually died of a sudden cardiac event?"
"I signed the certificate. Heart failure, consistent with her documented conditions. There was no reason for anyone to look deeper, and frankly, Detective, I didn't want to look deeper myself, because looking deeper would have meant admitting I'd been paid to look away in the first place."
"Did Vanessa ever explicitly tell you she poisoned Eleanor Hale?"
"No. She never said the word poison. She never said anything that direct. She just needed a doctor who wouldn't ask uncomfortable questions, and I was very good at not asking them."
Elena leaned forward.
"Dr. Castellano, based on the video evidence and your own admission, we believe Vanessa Cross intended to use you again — for Nathan Hale, following his wedding. Were you aware of that plan?"
May you like
Castellano's face went the color of the interview room's gray walls.
"She called me three weeks ago," he said quietly. "She said, 'We might need to do this again soon. Are you still willing?' I told her yes. God help me, I told her yes before I even asked what 'this' meant. I already knew what it meant. I just didn't let myself think about it in those words."
