Chương 6
From somewhere below came a mechanical hum.
They found the basement stairs near the cafeteria.
At the bottom, the hum grew louder. A portable generator ran inside an old boiler room. Extension cords crossed the floor toward a space behind plastic construction sheeting.
Damiano lifted one edge.
A lamp illuminated a folding chair, a blanket, two empty water bottles, and a paper plate holding half a sandwich. The bread was still soft.
Maeve had been there recently.
On the wall behind the chair, written with the burnt end of a match, were the words:
HE THINKS D KNOWS.
Enzo read them twice. “Who is he?”
“Vittorio.”
“And what does he think you know?”
Damiano looked at the chair.
A phone rang in the dark.
Paolo spun toward the sound, hand beneath his coat.
The ringing came from a cheap cell phone placed on an old teacher’s desk. Damiano answered.
Vittorio’s voice said, “You brought too many people.”
“Where is she?”
“Still alive.”
“Let me hear her.”
“You saw the video.”
“That was an hour ago.”
“You always did become sentimental after midnight.”
Damiano walked away from the others. “Elena saw your ring.”
Silence.
Then Vittorio exhaled. “Children see monsters in coat closets.”
“She saw the cut in your left shoe.”
Another silence, shorter this time.
“You think I grabbed her mother myself?” Vittorio asked. “That would be inefficient.”
“I think you were there.”
“You think many things tonight because a child has your eyes.”
“Where is Maeve?”
“Ask Enzo why she disappeared the first time.”
Enzo watched from across the room.
“I already did.”
“Did he tell you everything?”
Damiano looked at Enzo. “Tell me yourself.”
Vittorio laughed quietly. “Not on a phone. Bring me Book B.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Maeve does.”
“Then why are you asking me?”
“Because she gave it to someone in your organization. She said so before she decided to be brave.”
Damiano heard movement behind Vittorio. A scrape. Then Maeve’s voice, faint but distinct.
“He’s lying.”
A blow landed somewhere away from the phone. Maeve gasped.
Damiano’s hand closed around the device.
Vittorio said, “Tomorrow. Noon. I’ll send the place. Bring the book and Enzo.”
“Why Enzo?”
“So he can finish the conversation he began eight years ago.”
The call ended.
Paolo stared at Damiano. “We should find Vittorio’s family.”
“No.”
“His brother has a house in Clifton.”
“No.”
“He took yours.”
Damiano looked toward him.
Paolo’s face went blank, but the sentence remained in the room.
Elena was his. That was what everyone had begun to assume. Not because of a test, a birth certificate, or Maeve’s confirmation. Because the shape of her eyes had passed judgment at a table.
Damiano set the phone down.
“Nobody touches Vittorio’s family.”
“Then what do we do?” Nicky asked.
Damiano looked at the message on the wall.
He thinks D knows.
Maeve had not written that for him. She had written it for whoever found the room, uncertain whether Damiano would be among them. It was information, not comfort.
Vittorio believed Damiano knew where Book B was.
Someone had given him a reason.
“Search Enzo,” Damiano said.
No one moved.
Enzo’s face did not change. “Do it.”
Paolo patted down his coat, shirt, waistband, and trouser legs. He found a wallet, keys, a folding knife, two phones, and a small blue USB drive taped inside the lining of Enzo’s left sleeve.
Paolo held it up.
Nicky swore.
Enzo closed his eyes.
Damiano stared at the drive. “You said Maeve showed you a photograph.”
“She also gave me that.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if Vittorio knew I had it, he would take me. If you knew, you would do exactly what you’re doing now.”
“What am I doing?”
“Burning every safe place she tried to build.”
Damiano took the drive from Paolo.
“Is this Book B?”
“I don’t know. It’s encrypted.”
“Why didn’t you give it to Maeve’s lawyer? The police? Anyone?”
Enzo’s mouth twisted. “Because I have spent thirty-two years believing police are weather. You don’t invite weather inside.”
“And now?”
“Now a little girl offered you a dog.”
Paolo stepped toward Enzo. “You made us walk into two traps.”
“I didn’t know the locations.”
“You knew why.”
“Yes.”
Paolo shoved him.
Enzo hit the teacher’s desk hard enough to make the cheap phone slide. He did not shove back.
Damiano placed himself between them.
“Enough.”
“He lied to you.”
“So have you.”
Paolo stopped.
The room became very still.
Damiano looked from one man to another. They had all lied to him. Not always from betrayal. Sometimes from fear, habit, self-protection, or the belief that his ignorance made life easier. He had called that loyalty because the alternative required admitting what kind of authority he possessed.
“Take Enzo back to the café,” he said.
Enzo lifted his head. “And you?”
“I’m going to Sofia’s.”
“To see Elena?”
“To find out what her mother gave her.”
Elena was awake when Damiano arrived.
Sofia’s apartment was small, warm, and crowded with plants she routinely forgot to water. A cooking show played silently on the television. Elena sat on the kitchen floor in borrowed pajamas while Bruno ate bits of chicken from her palm.
Damiano’s jacket hung over a chair to dry.
Sofia blocked the doorway.
“It’s two in the morning.”
“I need to ask her something.”
“No.”
“Sofia.”
“She has answered questions for half the night. A caseworker is coming at eight. She needs sleep.”
“Maeve gave Enzo a drive. Vittorio thinks there is another copy.”
Sofia’s expression changed, but she did not move. “And you think a seven-year-old knows where it is?”
“I think Maeve planned for danger.”
“You say that as though planning made her safe.”
Elena looked over. “Did you find Mommy?”
Damiano entered the kitchen.
“No.”
“You promised to call.”
“I promised to call when I found her.”
“You found where she was again.”
“Yes.”
May you like
“You should have called.”
He sat on the floor opposite her. His trousers pulled at the knees. He had not sat on a kitchen floor since Sofia was a child and their mother made them sort spilled lentils from a bag.
