I didn’t watch closely, but I saw them slide an IV into his arm and pump a clear liquid into his body. They checked his vital signs and lifted him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. The police took over from there. They inundated Beth and me with questions about the stabbing. Who was Neal? What brought all this on? What was my relationship to the victim? I told them everything I knew, which wasn’t very much. But I made sure they understood one thing. ‘The man who did this,’ I said. ‘His name is Gordon Baxter.’ I waited in another hospital, this one in Reston Point. I didn’t even know its name. Beth sat beside me. We had no idea what was going on with Neal. They had rushed him into surgery before we arrived in the emergency room waiting area, and since we weren’t immediate family members, no one would tell us anything. We made our way to the surgery floor, where the waiting room looked more comfortable. There was coffee brewed and a plate of crumbling pastries and cookies.
