Chương 8
His eyes shifted, not toward the paper but somewhere behind it. “A refrigerated container from Halifax. The customs weight was wrong.”
“What was inside?”
“I never saw it. Domenic told me the manifest had been corrected. My father released the shipment the next day.”
“Jamie died the day after that.”
Rafe looked at the bodyguards. “Out.”
They hesitated.
Elena said, “Go.”
When the door closed, Rafe pulled a chair from the table. He did not sit. His hands rested on its back.
“I was twenty-eight,” he said. “My father had been in the hospital with an infection. Domenic was running the harbor. I questioned three shipments in one month. My father told me I was embarrassing him in front of men who had kept the business alive before I could read.”
“And you stopped asking.”
“Yes.”
Mave waited for an excuse. None came.
Rafe looked at Finn’s card tower. “Carlo told me the driver assigned to that container had stolen from us and fled. Two days later, he said the man died in a highway accident.”
“Jamie.”
“Yes.”
“You never checked?”
“I read the report.”
“That isn’t checking.”
“No.”
Finn placed another card on the tower. His hand shook. The structure collapsed.
Everyone looked at him.
He gathered the cards too quickly. “I don’t care.”
Mave moved toward him, but he stood.
“Dad did bad things for my hospital money?”
“He made one bad choice,” Mave said.
“Then he got killed.”
“We don’t know exactly what happened.”
“You always say that when you know.”
He carried the cards to his room.
Mave started after him.
Rafe said, “Let me.”
She turned. “Absolutely not.”
“He asked me yesterday whether his father worked for mine.”
“You spoke to him about Jamie?”
“He asked.”
“And you answered?”
“I told him Jamie drove trucks.”
“You don’t get to decide what my son hears.”
“No,” Rafe said. “But you should know he asks questions when you aren’t in the room.”
The truth of it made her angrier.
She went to Finn and found him under the bed, though he was too old and the space was too narrow. Only his sneakers and one hand were visible. Bear lay beside his shoulder.
Mave lowered herself carefully to the floor.
“I can’t crawl under there,” she said.
“Good.”
“My shoulder hurts.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to sit here anyway.”
The floor was hard. The sling pulled at her neck.
After several minutes, Finn asked, “Did Dad cause the shooting?”
“No.”
“He carried the guns.”
“He drove one truck because he thought money could solve something he was scared of.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Yes.”
“You said he was good.”
“He was.”
“Good people don’t carry guns for killers.”
Mave rested her head against the bed frame. “Good people can do terrible things. Bad people can do something kind. Most people spend their whole lives making it difficult to sort them.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It sounded better in my head.”
Finn’s hand moved toward Bear.
“Did he hide the key because he knew he would die?”
“I think he hid it because he hoped he wouldn’t.”
Finn was quiet.
Then he crawled out, bumping his head on the bed frame and swearing with a word Mrs. Keating used while driving.
Mave pretended not to hear it.
He sat beside her. “Can I read the letter?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because it was written to me.”
“That’s selfish.”
“Yes.”
He looked surprised.
Mave put her left arm around him. “I’m allowed to be selfish for one day.”
His head rested against her uninjured side.
In the kitchen, Rafe remained standing beside the photocopied ledger page. Elena had made coffee and forgotten to drink it.
Domenic Colazo came to the apartment that evening.
He arrived without warning, accompanied by a lawyer and a man carrying cannoli from a bakery in the North End. He was sixty-two, broad through the chest, with white hair combed straight back and a face that seemed built for public sympathy. He kissed Elena’s forehead, expressed horror over Mave’s injury, and called Finn “the little man” before anyone introduced them.
Mave noticed.
So did Rafe.
“How did you know my son was here?” she asked.
Domenic smiled at Finn. “Everybody knows everything now. That video made you famous.”
“The video didn’t show this address.”
Domenic set the pastry box on the counter. “Rafe has three apartments suitable for security. This one has the best elevator.”
Elena looked at her brother.
Rafe’s expression remained blank. “Why are you here?”
“To see my niece.”
“You saw her yesterday.”
“And today she’s still alive. Gratitude is repetitive.”
Domenic’s lawyer opened a leather folder. “There are concerns about documents recovered this morning. Historical business records may contain proprietary information.”
Detective Ortiz had warned them not to discuss the vault. No public statement had been made.
Mave said, “Who told you documents were recovered?”
The lawyer closed the folder.
Domenic’s smile faded only at the corners. “I hear things.”
“From Carlo?”
Finn looked up at the name.
Domenic turned to Rafe. “You’re letting an injured waitress question me in your house?”
“It isn’t my house tonight,” Rafe said.
“That is exactly the kind of sentence your father feared you would learn from expensive people.”
Rafe stepped closer. “Where is Carlo?”
“If I knew, I would tell you.”
“No, you would tell me a version that left you room to move.”
Domenic glanced toward the bodyguards. “You think one ledger makes you righteous? Your restaurants were built with money your father earned before you discovered clean hands.”
“I’ve never claimed clean hands.”
“Then stop washing them in public.”
Finn stood and carried Bear toward the hallway.
Domenic watched the toy.
The glance lasted less than a second.
Mave saw it.
Rafe saw her see it.
Domenic’s lawyer began talking about defamation and mishandled evidence. Nobody listened.
Rafe opened the apartment door. “Leave.”
Domenic remained where he was. “Your father would have handled Salcedo before the police finished sweeping the glass.”
May you like
“My father is dead.”
“Yes,” Domenic said. “And every day since, men have been testing whether you deserve his chair.”
