Chương 5
Vincent looked at the girl coloring ten feet away.
Elena continued more quietly.
"People keep telling me how mature she is."
Her mouth twisted.
"I hate it."
"Why?"
"Because children get mature when adults fail them."
That sentence removed every defense Vincent had prepared.
He looked at the unpaid notices.
The pill bottles.
The repaired pocket on the yellow dress.
Elena saw him looking again.
"This is not all because of you."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
She pulled the blanket tighter around herself.
"I made choices too."
"Such as?"
"Such as refusing help because I was angry."
"From whom?"
"Friends."
Her eyes moved toward the floor.
"People at work."
"Mr. Chen?"
"He already does too much."
Vincent waited.
"And treatment?"
Elena closed her eyes.
"Insurance covers part."
"Don't."
"How much?"
"Vincent."
"How much?"
"I said don't."
Sophie appeared beside him without either adult noticing her approach.
She held a crayon between two fingers.
"Mom owes the hospital eighty-four hundred dollars."
Elena's face went white.
"Sophie."
"And the medicine is four hundred and thirty-two."
"Sophie, please."
"The new one."
Vincent looked at Elena.
She looked humiliated.
That stopped him from asking another question.
Sophie frowned.
"Did I do bad?"
Elena reached for her.
"No."
The girl climbed onto the couch and tucked herself beneath her mother's arm.
"You didn't do anything bad."
Vincent stood.
Elena's eyes followed him warily.
"I'm leaving."
She looked surprised.
He took a business card from his wallet, hesitated, then put it on the table.
It had only his name and a number.
"No money," Elena said.
"There's no money."
"No people watching the building."
He said nothing.
Her face hardened.
"Vincent."
"No."
"I can't do nothing."
"Try."
He looked at Sophie.
She had leaned against her mother's side.
"Can I come back?"
Elena answered before Sophie could.
"No."
Vincent nodded once.
Then Sophie said, "You forgot your cracker."
He looked at the stale square still sitting on the arm of the couch.
"I think that's yours now."
"I don't want it."
"Neither do I."
For the first time since he entered the apartment, Elena laughed.
It was brief and unwilling.
Vincent carried the sound with him into the hallway.
Marco was waiting beside the car when Vincent came downstairs.
One look at his face made Marco stop pretending he hadn't been worried.
"Well?"
Vincent got into the back seat.
Marco followed.
For several seconds neither man spoke.
Then Vincent looked up at the fourth-floor window.
A small silhouette appeared behind the curtain.
Sophie raised one hand.
Vincent raised his.
Marco followed his gaze.
"She's yours."
Vincent kept watching the window.
"We don't know that."
Marco was quiet.
"You believe it."
Vincent lowered his hand.
"Carlo knew."
Marco's expression changed.
"About Elena?"
"About the pregnancy."
The driver's eyes flicked toward the mirror and away.
Marco slowly closed the partition.
"What did he do?"
"He paid her to disappear."
"Jesus."
"He told her I knew."
Marco rubbed both hands over his face.
Vincent had seen him respond more calmly to murder.
"Vincent, there's something you need to hear."
Vincent turned.
Marco looked suddenly older.
"After Carlo died, I found a box in his office."
"What box?"
"Personal papers."
Vincent's chest tightened.
"I never opened everything."
"Why not?"
"Because some of it was family correspondence, and because I was tired of cleaning up dead men's secrets."
Marco held his gaze.
"There was an envelope with Elena Russo's name on it."
Vincent stared at him.
"What was in it?"
"I don't know."
"You just said you found it."
"I found the box."
Marco's voice stayed even, but the muscle along his jaw tightened.
"I didn't open every sealed envelope."
Vincent leaned forward.
"Where is it?"
"Storage room under the old Bensonhurst office."
"You left Carlo's papers in a storage room?"
"I cataloged the business records."
Marco looked at him.
"The rest looked personal."
Vincent laughed once without humor.
"For twenty-three years, you've opened my mail, checked my cars, searched hotel rooms, and once broke a man's wrist because he tried to hand me an envelope."
"He had a razor blade taped inside it."
"That's not the point."
"It feels relevant."
Vincent looked back toward the fourth-floor window.
The curtain had fallen closed.
"Get the box."
Marco didn't move.
"Tonight."
"You're supposed to be resting."
Vincent turned his head slowly.
Marco sighed.
"Fine."
The old office had been closed for nearly four years, but the basement still smelled of damp concrete, paper, and the lemon cleaner Carlo had insisted the janitor use every Friday.
Vincent had not been there since the week after the funeral.
He disliked places where dead men had made decisions for the living.
Marco unlocked the storage cage shortly after nine.
Metal shelves held banker boxes marked with dates, property addresses, tax records, and names Vincent no longer wanted to remember.
Marco found Carlo's personal box beneath two cartons of photographs.
Dust coated the lid.
"You said you cataloged this."
"I cataloged that it existed."
"Very thorough."
"I was grieving."
The words stopped Vincent.
Marco rarely spoke about Carlo as family.
Carlo had been Vincent's uncle by blood and Marco's godfather by ceremony, though he treated obligations as if they were the same thing.
Vincent reached for the lid.
Marco put a hand over it.
"Before you open this."
Vincent looked at him.
"I should have done it then."
"Opened it?"
"Asked questions."
Marco's eyes dropped.
"When Elena disappeared, I thought you knew."
"I didn't."
"I know that now."
"You couldn't have."
"I could have known something was wrong."
Vincent removed Marco's hand from the box.
"We're not doing confession tonight."
"Convenient."
"Marco."
"You spent months half insane after she left."
Vincent froze.
Marco continued anyway.
"You drank too much, slept at the office, and nearly killed Joey Cardinale over a joke that wasn't even about her."
"It was a bad joke."
"It was about the Mets."
Vincent frowned.
"I hate the Mets."
"You don't care about baseball."
"Exactly."
May you like
Marco shook his head.
"I knew you hadn't gotten over her."
