Chương 12
“And the man at the door?”
“Yes.”
Mom pressed her fingers to her temple.
“This is exactly what Daniel was afraid of.”
I turned toward her.
“Police?”
“Attention.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“To him, it was.”
Dominic remained silent.
Mom looked at him.
“Your uncle had officers on payroll.”
Dominic’s face changed.
“Which officers?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never got names?”
“Daniel didn’t give them.”
“That’s convenient.”
Mom flinched.
I stepped between them.
“Don’t.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“You’re right.”
He looked at her.
“Sorry.”
Mom gave him a tired, humorless look.
“You say that faster than most Morettis.”
“Practice.”
Sirens sounded faintly outside.
My stomach dropped.
The sound grew louder, then stopped near the building.
Dominic’s man headed downstairs.
I reached for Dad’s note.
Dominic said, “Leave it.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“If officers come up, don’t have evidence sitting in your hand.”
I almost snapped at him.
Then I saw the logic.
I folded the note and slipped it into my back pocket.
The key went into the small zippered compartment of my wallet.
Mom watched every movement.
“You’re going.”
It was not a question.
“Not yet.”
“That means yes.”
“I need to know what happened to Mercer.”
“And then?”
I looked toward the window.
The rain had weakened to a gray mist under the streetlights.
“Then I decide.”
Mom laughed softly.
“You sound exactly like your father.”
That was not praise.
I felt it.
The knock came five minutes later.
Two uniformed officers stood outside with Dominic’s security man.
The older officer introduced himself as Sergeant Morales.
The younger one was Officer Brenner.
Morales looked exhausted in a way that made him seem more trustworthy than someone eager.
He asked who had found the phone.
Dominic’s security man answered.
Morales asked where it was now.
“Still in the alley.”
“Good.”
He looked at Dominic.
“Your people touch it?”
“No.”
“Anyone move it?”
“No.”
“Anyone see who dropped it?”
“No.”
Morales looked at me.
“You’re Avery Carter?”
“Yes.”
“Someone was following you tonight?”
“I believe so.”
“Believe or know?”
I liked the question even though it annoyed me.
“Know that a vehicle followed me to Lake Forest seven weeks ago.”
“Tonight?”
“Same vehicle was at the estate.”
“Driver identified?”
“Paul Mercer.”
“Relationship to you?”
“None.”
“Relationship to your mother?”
“None.”
Morales glanced toward Mom.
“You Linda Carter?”
“Yes.”
“Ma’am, did you know Mr. Mercer?”
“No.”
“Did you ever see him before today?”
“I saw a man through the peephole.”
“Can you identify him?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s enough for now.”
He did not push.
Brenner stood near the door taking notes.
His eyes moved around the apartment.
Not nosy exactly.
Habit.
Morales looked back at me.
“What makes you think Mercer followed you specifically?”
I took out my phone.
I showed him the old SUV plate numbers I had saved in a photo of the grocery receipt.
Then I showed him the security still Marco had sent me from the Moretti property.
Morales compared them.
“Same partial.”
“Yes.”
“Any reason someone associated with Whitmore Holdings would want to follow you?”
I glanced at Dominic.
He said nothing.
Mom did not either.
Morales noticed both.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“That’s usually where people start becoming unhelpful.”
I took a breath.
“My father worked for Whitmore Logistics.”
“Currently?”
“He died eight years ago.”
Morales looked up.
“How?”
“We were told industrial accident.”
“Told by who?”
“The company.”
“And now you think otherwise?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I looked at Mom.
She looked at the table.
I pulled out the photograph from the dresser and handed it to Morales.
He studied the front.
Then the back.
His face did not change.
“That handwriting yours?”
“No.”
“Your mother’s?”
“No.”
“Know who wrote it?”
“No.”
He looked at the circled figure.
“Who is this?”
“Charles Whitmore.”
Morales glanced at Dominic.
“You confirm?”
Dominic nodded.
“Yes.”
Morales turned the picture over again.
“He was going to testify.”
He read the words quietly.
“Testify about what?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That ‘yet’ worries me.”
“It worries me too.”
He handed the photograph to Brenner, who photographed both sides with a department phone before returning it.
Morales looked at Mom.
“When did this arrive?”
“This afternoon.”
“You keep the envelope?”
“Yes.”
Mom pointed toward the kitchen counter.
Brenner collected it using gloves.
Morales asked whether she had touched the photograph.
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
“Me,” I said.
He nodded.
“Fine.”
No lecture.
Just cataloging.
He asked about the funeral lawyer.
Mom gave him Richard Vale’s name.
At that, Morales’s expression changed for the first time.
“You know him?” I asked.
“I know the name.”
“How?”
“Old civil litigation.”
“That doesn’t sound criminal.”
“It wasn’t.”
“What kind?”
“Transportation companies.”
Dominic said, “Whitmore companies?”
Morales looked at him.
“I’m not discussing cases I haven’t pulled.”
Dominic nodded once.
Morales turned back to Mom.
“Did Vale threaten you?”
“He said I’d regret refusing.”
“Exact words?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Follow you?”
“Not that I knew.”
“Contact your daughter?”
“No.”
Morales looked at me.
“Until now.”
I hated how calm he sounded.
“Do you think Mercer worked for Vale?”
“I don’t think anything yet.”
“Everybody keeps saying that.”
Morales gave me a dry look.
“That’s how investigations avoid becoming fiction.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
His radio sounded from downstairs.
Brenner listened to his earpiece.
Then he leaned toward Morales.
“Blood trail.”
My stomach tightened.
Morales turned.
“How far?”
“Behind the dumpster, then west.”
“Any body?”
“Not yet.”
Mom gripped the edge of the table.
I asked, “Can I come?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s an active scene.”
“What if Mercer is hurt?”
“Then we find him.”
“What if whoever hurt him is still here?”
“Then you definitely don’t come.”
He looked at Dominic.
“You stay too.”
Dominic’s eyebrows lifted.
“I wasn’t planning to interfere.”
Morales gave him a look that said he had heard that sentence before from men with expensive watches.
“Good.”
He turned to me.
May you like
“If someone contacts you, don’t meet them.”
I looked at Dad’s note hidden in my pocket.
