Chương 4
Vincent lowered his head.
The nurse waited, perhaps expecting a question.
He could not speak.
She gave him a small nod and returned through the doors.
Quinn watched his shoulders rise and fall once.
When he sat again, some of the rigidness had left him. Not enough to make him gentle. Enough to make him look tired.
“Your wife’s condition is improving too,” Quinn said. “The emergency physician says she may wake before morning.”
Vincent rubbed his thumb over the pale mark where his wedding band pressed into his finger.
“She’ll ask about Noah first.”
“You sound sure.”
“She asks about him when she wakes from twenty-minute naps.”
“What will she ask second?”
He looked at the medallion in the evidence pouch.
“Why I lied to her.”
The lawyer arrived in seventeen minutes.
His name was Samuel Kessler, and he wore a navy overcoat over sweatpants and polished dress shoes. His white hair stood up at the back. He carried no briefcase, only a phone and a packet of antacids.
“I told you parking would be worse,” Vincent said.
Kessler removed his glasses. “Your family has been poisoned, and somehow you remain irritating.”
He turned toward Quinn.
“No more questions tonight.”
Quinn looked at Vincent. “He already answered most of them.”
“Then you have enough material to misinterpret until morning.”
“Your client made a statement about the underworld in front of uniformed officers.”
“My client was distressed.”
“He did not appear distressed.”
Kessler glanced at Vincent. “That is unfortunately how he appears while distressed.”
“He admitted moving people who did not want to move.”
“He owns a transportation company.”
Vincent looked at him.
Kessler shrugged. “You called me.”
Quinn pushed the evidence pouch toward the center of the table.
“His relatives may have poisoned his wife and newborn. If he knows of any threat, debt, dispute, criminal association, or active retaliation risk, I need it now.”
Kessler’s humor vanished.
“Are Robert and Diane under arrest?”
“They are being detained while we establish probable cause and obtain warrants.”
“Are they separated?”
“Yes.”
“Phones secured?”
“Yes.”
“Vehicle?”
“Being located.”
“Apartment?”
“Held pending a warrant.”
Kessler looked at Vincent.
“What aren’t you telling her?”
Vincent said nothing.
Kessler sighed. “Wonderful. The silent treatment. Your best legal strategy and worst personality trait.”
Quinn crossed her arms.
Vincent’s phone vibrated.
He ignored it.
It vibrated again.
Kessler held out his hand. “Give me that.”
Vincent did not move.
“If your friends are planning to help,” Kessler said, “I need to know whether help means soup or arson.”
Vincent handed him the phone.
The screen showed three messages from Carlo.
Home.
Teresa says the hinge is fine.
She also says you’re an idiot.
Kessler read them twice.
Quinn watched his face.
“Who is Teresa?” she asked.
“Someone with cabinet standards,” Kessler said.
He put the phone facedown.
“Detective, my client will provide a full timeline through counsel. Tonight he is going to sit beside his child and refrain from speaking to anyone whose job involves handcuffs.”
Quinn gathered her notes.
At the door, she turned back.
“Mr. Moretti, Robert asked whether we knew who you were.”
Vincent did not answer.
“He seemed more afraid of you than he was of being arrested.”
“He should be afraid of both.”
“That sounds like another threat.”
“No,” Vincent said. “It sounds like experience.”
Emily woke at four nineteen in the morning and tried to sit up before she understood where she was.
Her body refused.
Pain moved through her abdomen in a deep, hot line. Her throat felt coated with dust. A pulse-oximeter clipped to her finger tugged when she lifted her hand.
Vincent was asleep in the chair beside her bed, his head bent forward, his arms crossed. Someone had brought him a clean shirt, but he still wore the rain-stained suit trousers. His shoes were side by side beneath the chair, the laces tucked inside as though he were a guest trying not to make a mess.
Emily watched him breathe.
He did not look peaceful. Even asleep, his jaw remained tight.
“Noah,” she whispered.
Vincent opened his eyes.
He stood so abruptly that the chair tipped against the wall.
“Noah.”
“He’s alive.”
Her face crumpled.
Vincent reached for her, then stopped.
She noticed.
“What happened?”
“He was given something.”
“What?”
“A sedative.”
Her mouth moved without sound.
“He’s stable,” Vincent said quickly. “Dr. Hart says he’s clearing it. He’s breathing better. They’re watching his heart.”
“I need to see him.”
“You will.”
“Now.”
“You can barely sit.”
“I said now.”
Her voice broke on the last word. She pulled at the blanket and tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed. The monitor alarmed.
Vincent stepped forward.
She flinched.
He stopped again.
A nurse entered and guided Emily back against the pillows. Emily fought her with the weak determination of someone too frightened to recognize kindness.
“My baby is alone.”
“He isn’t,” Vincent said.
She turned toward him.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“All night?”
“Yes.”
The nurse adjusted the line in Emily’s arm.
“Dr. Hart will bring you to him when your blood pressure holds,” she said. “Right now you need to stay flat.”
Emily looked at the IV bag.
“What did they give me?”
“Fluids. Electrolytes. Nothing sedating.”
“No. Before.”
The nurse glanced at Vincent.
He answered.
“The same drug they found in Noah.”
Emily stared at him.
Her lips trembled, but no tears came. She was too dehydrated to cry properly.
“Who?”
“Robert and Diane were there.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“They left you unconscious on the floor.”
Her eyes closed.
The room filled with the soft mechanical sounds of the pump, the monitor, and a cart rolling in the hall.
Emily swallowed.
“Diane made tea.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“What kind?”
“I don’t know. Chamomile. Something sweet.” Her brow tightened. “She said I looked yellow. I told her that wasn’t a medical diagnosis.”
“What else?”
“Robert kept asking about Dad’s trust.”
Vincent’s face changed.
It was not surprise.
May you like
Emily saw that.
“How much did you know?” she asked.
