Chapter 5
Deputy arrived after lunch. I heard his boots before I saw him.
He knocked once on the open door and stepped in with a small notebook already open in his hand. Gray uniform, county star on his chest, radio turned low on his shoulder. He looked tired.
He pulled the plastic chair close to my bed. Asked if I felt okay to talk. I nodded. My throat still burned from lake water.
He said he needed my timeline. Simple as I remembered it. I told him.
I described helicopter interior. Open door, wind, black harness across my pink dress. His hand reached for central buckle. Silver button. Press. Click. Straps released.
He wrote that down. Asked what happened after buckle released.
I said he gripped my torso. I struggled. Reached for door frame above me. He pulled. He pushed. I went out over dark water. I floated because orange vest inflated.
He didn't interrupt. He kept his pen moving. He asked what time that happened. I said midday. Daylight. Bright overcast. He asked if I remembered pilot.
I said yes. Forward-facing. Dark flight suit. Gray helmet. He stayed facing forward whole time. Glanced back once during struggle.
Deputy flipped page. Said pilot witness needed. Said helicopter ownership traced to husband's company. Asked if that sounded right.
I said yes. Husband owned it. Or his company did. Foundation name on paperwork. He used it for galas and donor trips.
Deputy made note. Said evidence still in helicopter. Harness remained on seat after I fell. He would need to secure aircraft. Asked if anyone touched harness after.
I said I didn't know. I was in water then in ambulance.
He capped his pen. Said he would file report. Investigation opened. Said I did good remembering details.
Then voices came from hall.
I knew his shoes before his words. Heavy dress shoes on tile. My husband. He didn't come alone. Another set, quicker, leather soles.
Nurse at desk said something low. Husband said he needed to see his wife. Lawyer voice said they were there to give statement and check on my welfare. Calm, practiced.
Deputy stood. Went to doorway. I couldn't see past curtain track but heard everything.
Deputy asked name. Husband gave it. Lawyer gave card. Deputy asked for statement.
Husband spoke clear. Said I slipped. Said he unbuckled harness to help me adjust vest then gust caught dress. Said he tried to save me. Grabbed my arms, my torso. Said I lost grip and fell.
Lawyer added husband distraught. Husband chartered rescue boat himself. Cooperating fully.
My hands went cold under blanket. Monitor beeped faster.
That was lie. Not gust. Not slip. Button press deliberate. Push deliberate. His grip not rescue. Force toward open door.
Deputy thanked them. Said he needed to compare statements.
Curtain moved. Husband stepped half in. I saw gray suit jacket over arm. White shirt. Tie loosened. Hair neat despite wind earlier. Face composed. Eyes found mine.
He said, "Honey, thank God you're okay."
Lawyer stood just behind him, hand on his elbow, eyes on deputy.
Nurse cut between them. She put hand on bed rail. Said patient needs rest. Said no visitors without patient consent and doctor approval.
Husband said he was husband. Said he had right.
Nurse said not today. Said sheriff requested no contact until statements separated.
Deputy backed her. Said protocol. Said he would escort them to waiting room to finish paperwork.
Husband stared at me one second longer. Small pause before speaking again, like he waited for me to nod. I didn't.
I found voice. Low. Hoarse.
"That is not what happened."
Word landed quiet. No one moved for beat. Lawyer looked at me then at notebook. Husband mouth opened slightly then closed.
Deputy glanced at me, wrote line. Said he heard me.
Nurse pulled curtain closed all way. Shoes stepped back. Radio crackled as deputy led them out. Door clicked.
Nurse checked my IV. Said she stayed outside door. Said I was safe. Asked if I wanted sister called.
May you like
I nodded. Stared at ceiling tile where skylight used to be. Helicopter light gone. Hospital light flat and white.
Investigation now had two statements. Mine and his. Contradiction on record.
