Chương 13
Mara looked at the wheelchair, then at him.
“I’ll go,” she said.
“No.”
“You can’t climb down.”
“I know.”
The bluntness of it made her ashamed of the thought she had not spoken.
Ortiz shone her flashlight into the opening. “I go first. Mara follows because she knows what we’re looking for. Ellis stays with Mr. Castellano.”
Rocco said, “I stay with the hatch.”
“That is what I said.”
“No. You said he stays with me.”
Ellis exhaled. “I’m glad we clarified the insult.”
The ladder led into a chamber that smelled of rust, grain dust, and old water. Mara descended behind Ortiz, counting the metal braces.
At the second brace, she found a loose brick.
Behind it was a narrow recess.
Empty.
Mara reached deeper. Her fingers touched oilcloth pushed far to one side.
She pulled out a rectangular tin.
The lid had been pried open before.
Inside lay a blue ledger with a dark stain across one corner.
Ortiz photographed it before touching it. She turned the pages wearing gloves. Several had been cut out cleanly. Others were covered in columns of dates, company names, transfer amounts, and initials.
Mara recognized her father’s name nowhere.
On the final page, Carlo Castellano had written a note in blue ink.
V says Bell understands. Ray does not. If anything happens, the original manifests are with Elena.
Ortiz read it twice.
“Who is Elena?” she asked.
“Rocco’s mother,” Mara said.
“Where are the manifests?”
“I don’t know.”
A noise came from above.
Metal scraped across metal.
Ortiz switched off her flashlight. Mara did the same.
The hatch slammed shut.
Ellis shouted from outside, followed by two sharp cracks.
Gunshots.
Mara climbed.
Ortiz caught her skirt. “Wait.”
“My friend is up there.”
“Your friend has survived longer than impatience.”
Another shot sounded.
Then silence.
Ortiz drew her weapon and climbed first.
The hatch would not open. Something heavy had been placed over it.
Ellis’s voice came faintly through the metal. “Lena?”
“We’re here.”
“Stay down.”
“What happened?”
“Vehicle came through the fence. Two men. One armed.”
“Rocco?”
No answer.
Mara struck the hatch with both palms. “Where is he?”
Ellis said, “They took him.”
The men had dragged Rocco from his wheelchair and forced him into the black sedan.
Ellis had fired at the tires. One shot struck the rear panel, the other missed. He had been knocked down by the open car door and now sat against the fence with blood running from his nose.
Rocco’s wheelchair lay on its side in the mud.
Mara righted it.
The cushion had fallen out. Beneath it, taped to the frame, was a thin prepaid phone.
It rang.
Ortiz answered on speaker.
Victor Castellano’s voice was cultured and warm.
“Mara Hale,” he said. “I hoped your father’s daughter would be more practical than he was.”
Mara looked at the empty road.
“Put Rocco on.”
“He is listening.”
“Rocco?”
A breath came through the phone.
Then Rocco said, “Don’t give him the ledger.”
Victor sighed. “He has always mistaken stubbornness for character.”
Mara gripped the phone. “Where are you?”
“Somewhere dry.”
“What do you want?”
“The ledger, the cassette, and every copy.”
Ortiz motioned for Ellis to trace the call. He shook his head and showed her the prepaid screen.
Victor continued, “Bring them to the river house by midnight.”
“You expect us to believe you’ll let him go?”
“No. I expect you to understand that his survival has always depended on other people doing unpleasant things.”
Rocco spoke in the background. “Mara, listen to me.”
A blow interrupted him.
Mara heard his breath leave.
Victor said, “Midnight.”
The call ended.
Ellis swore and kicked the fence.
Ortiz remained still. “He thinks we have the ledger.”
“We do,” Mara said.
“He doesn’t know about the missing pages.”
“Neither do we.”
Mara knelt beside the wheelchair. Mud coated one wheel. She wiped it with the edge of her apron, the same apron she had used on Rocco’s face that morning.
Something hard pressed beneath the fabric.
The yellow envelope was still in her pocket.
Inside was Ray’s photograph and letter.
She looked again at the image of the boy outside Saint Michael’s. The church rose behind him, its stone steps crowded after a funeral. Ray’s hand rested on Rocco’s shoulder.
At the edge of the frame stood a woman in a black veil.
Elena Castellano.
She was holding a rectangular leather case.
Mara turned the photograph over.
A faint line of handwriting ran along the bottom, nearly hidden by age.
ELENA LEFT THE TRUTH WHERE CARLO REFUSED TO KNEEL.
She showed it to Ortiz.
“Where did Carlo refuse to kneel?” Ellis asked.
Mara thought of the newspaper stories about the Castellano family, of funerals, church donations, and Samuel Vale serving as usher.
“Saint Michael’s,” she said.
Ortiz looked at the time. Ten forty-three.
“The hostage location is forty minutes south,” Ellis said.
“The church is eight minutes north,” Mara replied.
“We don’t have time for both.”
Rocco’s empty chair stood between them.
Mara imagined Victor waiting at the river house. He expected fear to send them directly toward him with whatever evidence remained. Ray had faced the same choice twenty-three years earlier: obey the location, protect the boy, lose the proof.
A solution had saved Rocco but left Victor powerful.
Mara folded the photograph. “We go to the church.”
Ellis stared at her. “He may kill him.”
“He may kill him if we arrive with the ledger.”
“He may kill him if we don’t.”
“Yes.”
The word hurt more than argument.
Ortiz asked, “Why the church?”
“Because Victor wants the ledger too badly. If it were enough by itself, Samuel would have destroyed it. Carlo’s manifests may prove where the money went, but Ray’s recording proves Victor ordered Rocco’s death. We need both.”
May you like
Ellis said, “We already have the recording.”
“We have Leon repeating Victor’s order. A defense lawyer will say Ray forced him, edited him, or misunderstood him. Thomas Bell disappeared. Peter altered the ledger. Samuel tampered with the box. Every piece is damaged.”
