Chương 9
Then Priya asked whether Bruno had eaten breakfast.
Elena said, “He had chicken.”
“How much?”
“Some.”
“Is ‘some’ puppy-sized or people-sized?”
Elena considered. “Puppy-sized.”
Priya sat on the rug rather than the couch. Bruno sniffed her bag and sneezed.
“Do you know where your mother is?” Priya asked.
“No.”
“Do you know the man who brought you here?”
“He might be my dad.”
Priya did not display surprise. “How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t.”
Sofia, standing in the kitchen, looked down at the cup in her hands.
Priya asked, “Do you feel safe here?”
Elena glanced toward Sofia.
“She has too many socks.”
“I’ve heard that can happen.”
“And her plants are dying.”
“One is resting,” Sofia said.
Elena looked at Priya. “She’s okay.”
It was not affection, but it was enough for Priya to begin emergency kinship-placement paperwork instead of moving Elena to a temporary foster home. Sofia would need background checks, a home inspection, medical information, and answers about her brother.
“My brother doesn’t live here,” Sofia said.
“Is he likely to visit?”
“Yes.”
“Does he carry weapons?”
Sofia looked toward the ceiling. “He will not bring one into my home.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“No,” Elena said. “He left the gun downstairs.”
Sofia closed her eyes.
Priya wrote something on her form.
At Café Nate, the warrant for Maeve’s phone arrived at eight fourteen. The device contained photographs of ledger pages, recordings of Nate describing threats, spreadsheets of shell-company payments, and a draft email to Detective Keene.
It also contained a voice memo recorded accidentally during the abduction.
The first seconds held the sound of a television, Bruno barking, and Maeve saying, “Elena, bedroom. Now.”
A man’s voice ordered her to hand over the drive.
Maeve said, “I don’t have it.”
Another voice entered from farther away.
Vittorio’s voice.
“Then Damiano does.”
The recording continued through broken furniture, footsteps, and Maeve shouting for Elena to run. Near the end, a third man spoke a single sentence.
“Take her to Rocco’s place by the ferry.”
Keene replayed it.
“Rocco Venn leases Warehouse Twelve,” Damiano said.
“We searched it at six.”
“And?”
“Empty.”
“He has another place.”
“Find it.”
Keene’s patience broke. “This is not a restaurant where you send back an undercooked steak.”
“No. Restaurants move faster.”
Larkin placed a hand on Damiano’s arm. Damiano removed it.
Keene stood. “We have forty people working this. We are pulling property records, warrants, vehicle cameras, toll data, utility accounts, known associates, and phones. Your private network had eight hours and found two empty rooms.”
“My private network found the rooms you are searching.”
“After the kidnappers left.”
“Then stop following.”
The federal agent entered before Keene responded. “We got a hit on Rocco’s truck. Plate reader caught it at 4:52 near Port Mercer.”
“Direction?” Keene asked.
“Southbound. Then nothing.”
Damiano pictured the industrial shoreline south of the city: container yards, cold-storage buildings, repair shops, and blocks of warehouses cut off by rail lines.
The markings in the basement returned to him. Four lines. Gap. Seven.
Not page forty-seven.
Four bridges, seven—
He took out his phone and called Elena.
Sofia answered. “She’s eating.”
“Ask her if Maeve ever talked about four bridges.”
“What?”
“Ask.”
There was muffled conversation. Then Elena came on.
“Did you find Mommy?”
“Not yet. Did your mother ever say anything about four bridges?”
“No.”
“Seven?”
“I’m seven.”
“Anything else?”
“She likes seven.”
“Why?”
“It’s lucky, but she says luck is lazy.”
Damiano closed his eyes briefly. “Did she take you near the ferry?”
“We went to see big ships once.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was there a bridge?”
“There were lots.”
Sofia’s voice sounded in the background. “Stop pushing her.”
Damiano lowered his voice. “Elena, at the cleaners your mother scratched four marks and seven marks into the floor. What could that mean?”
Silence.
Then Elena said, “Not seven.”
“What?”
“It’s a letter.”
“Which letter?”
“Mommy makes E with too many lines.”
Damiano took a pen and drew four horizontal strokes connected by a vertical line.
E.
The second symbol, seven-shaped, could be F in Maeve’s rushed hand.
E F.
East Ferry.
“She was telling us East Ferry,” he said.
“I already told you she went near big ships.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t listen.”
“No.”
“Adults don’t.”
She handed the phone back to Sofia.
Damiano turned toward the city map on Keene’s laptop. “East Ferry isn’t only the company. It’s the district.”
Keene said, “We know.”
“Rocco’s place by the ferry. Not Warehouse Twelve. His place.”
They searched property databases under Rocco’s name and found nothing. Under his mother’s maiden name, they found a small refrigeration-repair company registered to a building on Pier Forty-Seven.
Four-seven.
Keene had the warrant request moving before anyone finished speaking.
At ten thirty, the kidnappers sent another video.
Maeve sat on the floor this time. Her wrists were still bound. Behind her stood a corrugated metal wall painted pale green. A train horn sounded in the distance.
Vittorio stepped into view.
He looked tired. His beard was damp, and the cut in his left shoe had widened near the lace. There was a bandage around the hand Elena had bitten.
“Damiano,” he said. “You have ninety minutes.”
He turned the phone toward Maeve.
“Tell him what happens if he brings police.”
Maeve looked into the camera. “He already did.”
Vittorio struck her across the face.
The movement was fast but not theatrical. Maeve’s head turned. She stayed upright.
Damiano stood so abruptly that his chair fell backward.
The video continued.
“You see?” Vittorio said. “She still thinks knowing you means knowing what you’ll do.”
Maeve spoke through a split lip. “I know what he used to do.”
“And now?”
She looked into the camera.
“Now he has to decide.”
Vittorio ended the recording.
No one in the café spoke for several seconds.
May you like
Keene picked up Damiano’s fallen chair and set it upright. “Pier Forty-Seven has six structures. We are identifying which one belongs to the repair company.”
“You have the address.”
