Chương 5
Tony looked down, rubbed his thumb along a scar near his wrist, and said nothing.
At two forty, Marco returned carrying a purple school backpack with a cartoon moon stitched on the front. One strap was nearly torn through.
He set it on Teresa’s kitchen table.
Teresa opened her mouth.
“We’re not searching it here,” Vincent said.
“You’re not waking her either,” Teresa replied.
Marco removed the contents carefully while Tony photographed each item: two pencils, a math worksheet, a library book about sea turtles, three crayons, a plastic comb missing several teeth, a lunch container with dried apple slices, and a folded notice from Sophie’s school regarding repeated absences.
The notice had been signed Elena Martinez in blue ink.
Marco held it beneath the kitchen light. “Signature looks shaky.”
“Maybe she signed in a hurry,” Tony said.
“Maybe someone copied it.”
Vincent picked up the library book. A card inside showed it had been checked out eleven days earlier. The due date was circled twice in pen.
“Anything in the seams?” he asked.
Marco checked. Nothing.
Teresa folded her arms. “You’ve searched a child’s backpack like it belongs to an enemy spy. Are you done?”
“No,” Vincent said.
He examined the lunch container, the comb, the pencils. One pencil had been sharpened with a knife rather than a standard sharpener. The wood showed uneven cuts.
Tony watched him. “You expecting state secrets in the eraser?”
“I’m expecting a woman who knew men were coming.”
Marco turned over the math worksheet. On the back was a list in adult handwriting.
Twelve cases crushed tomatoes.
Eight cases olive oil.
Six cases red wine vinegar.
The quantities looked ordinary until Marco took a Bella Vista inventory photograph from his phone. The restaurant ordered twice those amounts during an average week.
“Could be a personal shopping list,” Tony said.
“For a family of thirty?” Marco asked.
Vincent read the initial letters: T, O, R.
Tomatoes. Oil. Red wine vinegar.
TOR.
Below them, another three lines:
Ice.
Noodles.
Oranges.
INO.
TORINO.
The handwriting continued down the page.
Imports.
Monday.
Forty-two.
“Torino Imports,” Marco said. “Monday. Forty-two.”
Vincent owned a produce distribution company under that name. It supplied Bella Vista and six other restaurants. Sal supervised its routes.
“Warehouse forty-two?” Tony asked.
“There is no forty-two,” Vincent said.
Marco took out his phone. “There’s a loading bay forty-two at the Hunts Point facility.”
Vincent remembered seeing the number painted above a roll-up door. He had not been inside that section of the warehouse in years.
Teresa looked at the page. “This woman wrote a code on her daughter’s homework?”
“She expected somebody to search her home,” Marco said.
“Or she expected somebody to kill her.”
Teresa’s voice was flat.
No one answered.
Sophie spoke from the hallway.
“She wrote it while we ate dinner.”
They turned.
She stood in the faded pajamas and blue sneakers, her ponytail partly undone.
Teresa frowned. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
“You were talking.”
“We were whispering.”
“Mr. Tony whispers loud.”
Tony opened his hands.
Sophie approached the table and saw the contents of her backpack arranged in rows. Anger crossed her face so quickly that Vincent almost missed the fear underneath it.
“You took my things.”
“We needed to look,” he said.
“You didn’t ask.”
“You were sleeping.”
“That’s not asking.”
“No.”
She grabbed for the worksheet. Vincent let her take it.
“My mom said never to show people the back.”
“Why?”
“She said it was a memory game.”
“What were you supposed to remember?”
Sophie shook her head.
“What happened Monday?” Marco asked.
She looked at him. “We went to my mom’s work.”
“Bella Vista?”
“No. The big place with trucks.”
Tony and Marco exchanged a glance.
“Torino Imports?” Vincent asked.
“I don’t know. It smelled bad.”
“Hunts Point smells bad,” Tony said.
“What did your mother do there?”
“She cleaned an office. She told me to sit under the desk and do homework.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“A man yelled at her.”
“Who?”
“He was bald in the middle. He wore a red scarf.”
Sal wore red silk scarves during winter because he believed wool irritated his skin.
“What did he say?”
Sophie stared at the worksheet.
“He said she didn’t understand what she saw. My mom said she understood numbers.”
“Anything else?”
“He said, ‘You people always think paper makes you powerful.’”
Vincent felt the room narrow.
“What did your mother say?”
“She said, ‘Not paper. Copies.’”
Tony swore softly.
Teresa pointed at him. “Not in my kitchen.”
Sophie’s fingers tightened around the worksheet.
“Did Sal see you?” Vincent asked.
“I stayed under the desk.”
“Did your mother take you home afterward?”
“Yes.”
“What did she do there?”
“She made macaroni. She burned it.”
“After that.”
“She put things away.”
“What things?”
“I don’t know.”
“You saw.”
Sophie’s chin lifted. “You’re asking too many questions.”
“Your mother left clues because she wanted somebody to ask.”
“She wanted me not to tell.”
“Why?”
“Because telling gets people hurt.”
Vincent glanced at her bruised knuckles.
“Not telling did too,” he said.
The child’s face closed.
Teresa stepped between them. “Enough.”
Vincent did not move.
Teresa put one hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “Back to bed.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You’re falling asleep standing up.”
“I want my backpack.”
“It will be here in the morning.”
Sophie looked at Vincent. “You said you accepted.”
“I did.”
“Then go find her.”
The words struck harder for being quietly spoken.
Vincent nodded to Teresa.
Sophie allowed herself to be led away, but she took the worksheet with her.
When the bedroom door closed, Tony said, “You pushed too hard.”
“She knows something.”
“She’s seven.”
“She survived three nights locked in a bathroom and crossed the city alone.”
“That doesn’t make her forty.”
Vincent picked up the library book again.
Marco leaned against the counter. “Sal’s using the warehouse.”
“For what?” Tony asked.
“Something Elena found in the invoices.”
May you like
“Drugs?”
Vincent shook his head. Sal had asked twice over the years for permission to move pills through produce shipments. Vincent had refused, not because he objected to the money but because narcotics brought federal attention and unreliable partners.
