Chương 8
Even from fifty yards away, Claire recognized them.
Shiny shoes.
Celeste turned.
Their eyes met across the wet drive.
The older woman did not look frightened.
She looked disappointed.
That frightened Claire more.
“Not there,” Claire said.
The detective followed her gaze.
“Do you know her?”
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
“The lady upstairs.”
Three hours later, Claire sat in a state police interview room with Emma asleep across two chairs beside her.
Someone had found a fleece blanket.
Someone else had brought crackers and apple juice.
Bun-Bun remained in evidence.
Emma had protested until exhaustion won.
Claire’s dark uniform had dried stiff with Lorenzo’s blood.
Detective Shaw sat across from her.
Trooper Alvarez remained near the door.
“Start with when you first noticed something was wrong.”
Claire rubbed her eyes.
“I noticed Emma was missing.”
“What time?”
“About nine-thirty.”
“You’re sure?”
“No. I am tired and my phone was in my apron half the night. Maybe nine-twenty-eight. Maybe nine-thirty-two.”
“That’s fine.”
“No, apparently tonight nothing is fine.”
Shaw waited.
Claire exhaled.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She glanced at Emma.
The child’s mouth hung slightly open in sleep.
Claire lowered her voice.
“I found blood near the east service corridor.”
“Whose?”
“Lorenzo’s.”
“You knew that then?”
“No.”
“Good. Keep separating what you knew then from what you know now.”
Claire looked at him.
She liked that instruction.
It felt clean.
She described following the blood.
The shed.
Emma.
The bandage.
The searchers.
The trapdoor.
The tunnel.
The pump house.
Shaw interrupted only to clarify.
When Claire repeated Emma’s sentence about the lady upstairs saying Lorenzo was already dead, he stopped writing.
“Exact words?”
“As close as I remember.”
“Did Emma identify Celeste Marano?”
“She said shiny shoes. Later she said the woman had sparkly shoes. Lorenzo guessed Celeste.”
“So you did not personally hear Ms. Marano say Lorenzo was dead.”
“No.”
“Did you see Paolo Duca shoot Lorenzo?”
“No.”
“Did Lorenzo say he did?”
“Yes.”
Shaw nodded.
“Anything else?”
“Lorenzo called his mother.”
Shaw looked up.
“His mother is alive?”
“That was also my reaction.”
Claire gave him the number from her call history.
Then she told him about Daniel Keane.
Shaw’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“He called us.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“He told dispatch there was an armed threat and an injured client.”
“He said client?”
“Yes.”
“That’s adorable.”
Shaw almost smiled.
Claire did not.
He returned to his notes.
“Mrs. Mercer—”
“Ms.”
“Ms. Mercer. We need to discuss the pistol.”
“I took it from Lorenzo at one point.”
“Did you fire it?”
“No.”
“Did he?”
“Not while I was with him.”
“Did you touch anything else?”
“The trapdoor, floorboards, bench, medical supplies, his phone, keys, clothing, the pump-house door.”
Shaw rubbed his forehead.
“That’s a lot.”
“I was not preserving a crime scene. I was trying to stop a man from bleeding onto my child.”
“Understood.”
Emma moved in her sleep.
Claire waited until she settled.
Then she asked, “Is he alive?”
Shaw knew who she meant.
“Yes.”
“How bad?”
“I don’t have medical details.”
“Is he conscious?”
“Last I heard.”
Claire nodded.
She hated the relief that passed through her.
Shaw noticed.
He did not comment.
“What happens to us?”
“We’re arranging a hotel tonight.”
“No.”
He paused.
“Why?”
“My address is in employment records. My car is at the Duca property. People know my daughter.”
“We can have patrol units near your home.”
“No.”
Shaw studied her.
“What are you asking for?”
“I don’t know yet. Something that isn’t pretending a patrol car fixes this.”
Alvarez shifted near the door.
Shaw said, “That’s fair.”
Claire looked at him.
“Will Celeste be arrested?”
“Based on what you’ve told me? Not tonight.”
“She announced Lorenzo was dead before anybody found a body.”
“According to a three-year-old.”
“My daughter doesn’t invent women’s shoes.”
“I’m not saying she does.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying evidence has to survive more than one frightened night.”
Claire sat back.
It angered her because it was reasonable.
She wanted someone to be simpler than that.
A villain.
A police officer.
A mafia boss.
Someone.
Shaw said, “Paolo Duca is missing.”
Claire’s attention sharpened.
“Was he at the house?”
“Several people say he was earlier.”
“Celeste?”
“Interviewed. Cooperative.”
“Of course.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’ve changed beds after her charity weekends. She cooperates beautifully.”
Shaw watched her.
“Do you think she ordered the shooting?”
“I think she told people Lorenzo was dead before she could have known that.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No. It’s what I know.”
He nodded once.
“Good.”
At four in the morning, Claire and Emma were taken to a hotel under police supervision.
Claire showered until the water stopped turning pink around her feet.
When she stepped out, she found Emma awake on the bed watching cartoons without sound.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
Emma shook her head.
Claire sat beside her.
“Do you want the sound?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Emma leaned against her.
After a minute she asked, “Is Mr. Lorenzo dead now?”
“No.”
“How you know?”
“The police said.”
“Police don’t know everything.”
Claire stared at her daughter.
“No,” she said. “They don’t.”
Emma thought about that.
“Is he bad?”
Claire had expected the question eventually.
Not at four-ten in the morning.
“Sometimes.”
“Did he hit people?”
“Probably.”
“Did he say sorry?”
“I don’t know.”
Emma rubbed one bare foot against the blanket.
“He listened when I said one step.”
Claire looked toward the dark television reflection in the window.
“Bad people can listen sometimes.”
“Good people can be bad sometimes.”
“Yes.”
“Are you bad?”
Claire smiled tiredly.
“Sometimes.”
Emma accepted this more easily than Claire did.
“Can Bunny be bad?”
“Absolutely.”
“He bites.”
“I know.”
“He only bites me.”
“That sounds personal.”
Emma smiled.
Then her face changed.
“Will the men come here?”
Claire pulled her closer.
“I don’t think so.”
It was the kind of answer she hated.
Not a promise.
Not certainty.
Just probability.
Emma whispered, “I don’t like shiny shoes.”
May you like
Claire held her until she slept.
Lorenzo spent four days in the hospital under guard.
