The Little Girl Who Stopped a Black Car and Changed the Rules of the House

Price checked the elevator log. It had traveled from the third floor to the basement at 4:41, then to the main floor at 4:45. No key code was required from inside.

The study was on the main floor.

Renata’s office was in the basement.

Someone could have entered the study, taken the clock, moved it by service elevator, hidden the brass capsule, and carried the clock toward the courtyard in less than twenty minutes. The timing was tight but possible for a person who knew the house.

Lorenzo joined Elena and Patel near the elevator.

“Marco was here,” Elena said.

He looked at the coffee cup in Patel’s evidence bag.

“He attends foundation meetings.”

“There wasn’t a meeting today,” Celia said from behind him. “He told me he was working from home.”

Lorenzo’s face remained controlled, but his attention sharpened.

“Call him.”

Celia took out her phone. “He has ignored three calls from me since six.”

“Use mine,” Renata said from the breakfast room doorway.

Collins stepped beside her. “Ma’am, you were told to stay inside.”

“I heard my son’s name.”

Patel studied her. “Was Marco here this afternoon?”

“No.”

“Then why should he answer Mr. Duca’s phone?”

Renata folded her hands. “Because everybody answers Mr. Duca.”

Lorenzo took his phone from his pocket but did not call. “Where is he?”

“At home, I assume.”

“You never assume where your son is.”

“He is an adult.”

“You have his building superintendent’s number, his dentist’s number, and the license plate of every woman he’s dated since college.”

“That is an exaggeration.”

“Only slightly.”

Renata’s eyes moved toward the service elevator. It was the first direction she had looked that was not chosen for effect.

Patel noticed.

Marco lived in a new apartment building in Fort Lee. An officer sent to the address found his car in the garage and no answer at his door. His building’s desk attendant reported that Marco had returned at 5:51 carrying a messenger bag. At 6:20, he left through the loading entrance wearing different clothes and carrying a small hard-sided case.

His car remained parked because he had taken a rideshare.

The police requested the destination through the company’s emergency process. That would take time. Lorenzo asked one of his men to find it faster. Heller told him not to.

“You do not need another private action to explain tonight,” the lawyer said.

“He has foundation property.”

“Probably. The correct word is probably.”

“He was in my house.”

“Probably.”

“He used Renata.”

“Or she used him. Or they acted together. Or the cup is old. Or someone else carried it. This is the part where certainty becomes expensive.”

Lorenzo turned away.

In the kitchen, Mara had fallen asleep with her cheek on the table. Frosting dried on one finger. Pino lay beneath her chair, awake and watchful.

Elena lifted the child. Mara mumbled something about the rooster clock and wrapped both arms around her mother’s neck.

“You can use one of the guest rooms,” Lorenzo said.

“No.”

“It is after ten.”

“I’m going home.”

“The police have not cleared your apartment.”

“They will.”

“You should stay until then.”

Elena shifted Mara’s weight on her hip. “You don’t get to decide where I sleep.”

His gaze lowered to the bruise forming around her wrist.

“No,” he said. “I don’t.”

The answer did not erase anything. It did, however, make room for her anger without punishing it. Elena had not expected that from him, and she resented the small relief it caused.

Celia arranged for the damaged clock to be transported to the foundation’s conservation lab under police supervision. Before it left, Mara woke and asked why it was inside a clear plastic box.

“Because it got hurt,” Elena told her.

“Is it going to the doctor?”

“A clock doctor.”

Mara considered the conservator, who wore white gloves and magnifying lenses clipped to his glasses. “He looks like a bug.”

The conservator laughed. It was the first unguarded sound anyone had made in hours.

At eleven fifteen, the officer at Elena’s apartment reported no sign of forced entry. Patel offered to have a patrol car follow her home. Lorenzo had a driver bring Elena’s coat and bag from the staff locker. The bag had been searched earlier without permission. Its contents had been repacked badly. Mara’s pajamas were folded around Elena’s wallet, and a sanitary pad protruded from an outer pocket.

Elena held the bag up. “Who did this?”

Anthony looked toward Renata’s office.

Lorenzo said, “I ordered the search.”

“Did you find your diamonds in my daughter’s underwear?”

“No.”

“You could have asked.”

“Yes.”

He had begun answering her with that single word whenever there was no defense worth making. It was not an apology. It was more honest than most apologies Elena had heard.

He handed her a business card. Only his name and a phone number appeared on it.

“I have your number,” she said. “It’s on the employee emergency sheet.”

“This one reaches me.”

“I don’t plan to call you.”

“Keep it anyway.”

She nearly dropped it on the floor. Instead, she slid it into the side pocket of her bag because refusing powerful men dramatically was a luxury for people who did not have rent due in nine days.

At the door, Pino stood between her and the courtyard.

“Move,” Elena said.

The Doberman looked at Mara.

Mara touched his head. “We’re going home.”

Pino remained in place.

Lorenzo gave a low command in Italian. The dog stepped aside but followed them to the patrol car. When Elena buckled Mara into the back seat, Pino rested his chin on the open door frame.

“He wants Bunny,” Mara said.

“He does not want Bunny.”

Pino gently closed his teeth around one of the rabbit’s long ears.

Mara gasped and pulled. The fabric stretched. Lorenzo reached the car in two strides, but Pino released the toy and backed away.

The rabbit’s ear was wet but intact.

Mara frowned at the dog. “Rude.”