Chương 7
Nora emerged from the interview room.
“Ms. Martinez?”
Rosa turned.
Nora led her aside.
Sophie remained near Vincent.
“You told her?” he asked.
“Everything.”
“Did she believe you?”
“She didn’t say.”
“That’s normal.”
“No, it’s rude.”
Tony looked away to hide a smile.
Vincent sat again.
Sophie climbed into the chair beside him, leaving one empty seat between them.
After a minute, she said, “Marco had Mama’s phone.”
“What kind?”
“A black one with a cracked corner.”
“Did he take anything else?”
“Her work bag.”
“What color?”
“Brown.”
“Laptop?”
“No. Papers.”
“Did he find the green folder?”
“He found one.”
Vincent turned toward her.
“One?”
“Mama made three.”
He held her gaze.
“Where are the others?”
Sophie pulled one foot onto the chair and adjusted the oversized yellow sock.
“Mama said not to tell anybody.”
“You told the detective?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She said nobody could tell me what to say. Mama told me what to say first.”
Vincent almost admired the logic.
“Did your mother tell you to tell me?”
“She said you’d know what the numbers mean.”
A coldness moved through him that had nothing to do with the hospital air.
“Where are they?”
Sophie shook her head.
“Not until Mama wakes up.”
“Sophie, those papers may be why she was attacked.”
“I know.”
“Other people may look for them.”
“I know.”
“You could be in danger.”
She stared at him.
“I know.”
The words sounded too old in her mouth.
Vincent leaned back.
“All right.”
She watched him suspiciously.
“You’re not going to make me?”
“No.”
“Marco would.”
“I’m not Marco.”
The operating room doors opened at three-twenty.
The surgeon spoke to Rosa and Nora first. Elena had survived the operation. The bleeding had been controlled. The next twenty-four hours would matter. She was sedated, ventilated, and not available for questions.
Rosa cried into both hands.
Sophie stood perfectly still.
Vincent felt her waiting for someone to translate survival into certainty.
Nobody could.
He crouched in front of her.
“Your mother is alive.”
“For how long?”
“We don’t know.”
She looked furious.
He nodded.
“You can be angry.”
“At you?”
“At anyone.”
“I’m angry at Marco.”
“So am I.”
“What are you going to do?”
Nora, standing several feet away, heard the question.
Vincent saw her attention sharpen.
He chose his words carefully.
“I’m going to learn what happened.”
“That’s not doing something.”
“No. It comes before.”
Sophie looked disappointed.
It was safer than making her hopeful.
At dawn, Rosa took Sophie home with her under an emergency protection arrangement coordinated by Denise. Two unmarked police cars followed.
Vincent watched from the hospital entrance as Sophie climbed into Rosa’s old Honda. She pressed her palm against the window.
He did not know whether the gesture was meant for him.
He lifted one hand anyway.
Tony brought the sedan around.
They drove to the Golden Palm through streets washed pale by morning. Delivery trucks blocked lanes. Men in aprons hosed sidewalks. Office workers stood beneath bus shelters holding coffee and wearing the blank expressions of people whose day had not yet demanded a personality.
The restaurant looked smaller without the night around it.
Inside, half the dining room remained untouched. Wine had dried in glasses. Candle wax had hardened along silver holders. The tablecloth bearing Sophie’s handprint was gone, taken by police.
Paulie waited near Vincent’s corner table.
“I thought I told you to go home.”
“You did.”
“Then why are you here?”
Paulie’s face looked gray.
“Marco’s gone.”
“I know.”
“He says I humiliated him.”
“You searched him badly.”
“I searched a man I’ve called uncle since I was twelve.”
“He’s not your uncle.”
“You know what I mean.”
Vincent removed his overcoat and placed it over a chair.
“Who else knew Elena worked in accounts?”
“Everybody who used the office.”
“Who knew she lived in Bridgeport?”
Paulie hesitated.
“Personnel. Payroll.”
“Marco?”
“He approved the hire.”
Vincent looked at him.
“You said the previous clerk retired.”
“She did.”
“Who recommended Elena?”
Paulie’s eyes moved toward Tony.
Tony looked genuinely confused.
“Don’t look at me.”
Paulie swallowed.
“Marco did.”
Vincent walked to the window.
City buses moved past in the glass.
“Why?”
“She had experience. Worked bookkeeping for a medical supplier.”
“Did anyone check why she left?”
“Company closed.”
“Which company?”
“I don’t remember.”
Vincent turned.
“You hired a woman into our freight accounts because Marco recommended her, and nobody remembers where she worked.”
Paulie’s embarrassment became defensive.
“It was an office clerk job, Vince.”
“It became more.”
“You think he planted her?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I think he knew exactly what she could see.”
Tony moved toward the table.
“Maybe he wanted someone competent.”
Vincent looked at him.
Tony’s jaw tightened.
“Not everything is a conspiracy because Marco did it.”
“No. Sometimes it’s just carelessness.”
Paulie sank into a chair.
“What do you want from me?”
“The truth before I ask for it.”
“I gave you the truth.”
“You gave me what you remembered after a child ran through those doors covered in blood.”
“What else is there?”
Vincent pointed to Marco’s empty place.
“Why did he bring a second phone?”
Paulie rubbed his forehead.
“He’s married.”
Tony gave him a flat look.
“That’s your explanation?”
“He’s had girlfriends.”
“Marco uses hotel rooms and sends flowers through assistants,” Tony said. “He doesn’t buy prepaid phones like a teenager selling weed.”
Paulie looked toward the kitchen.
Vincent followed his gaze.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Paulie.”
“I saw him give something to Frankie D’Amato before dinner.”
“What?”
“An envelope.”
“How big?”
“Regular. White.”
“Did Frankie leave?”
“Before the girl came in. Said his son was sick.”
Tony cursed.
Frankie D’Amato supervised overnight dispatch at Torino Freight.
Vincent picked up the restaurant phone.
“Call Archer Avenue.”
Tony dialed.
No answer.
He tried the office manager’s cell.
Voicemail.
Paulie stood.
“I’ll go.”
“No.”
“I know the building.”
“That’s why you’re staying.”
Paulie’s face tightened.
Vincent called Nora Brennan.
She answered with a tired, suspicious hello.
May you like
“Send officers to Torino Freight on Archer.”
“Why?”
