Chapter 2
“Gabriel?”
Dominic nodded.
“He said the family had taken care of everything.”
I stood.
“You never told me this.”
“You were burying your son, Marco.”
He almost never used my first name.
“You weren’t sleeping. You weren’t eating. Sofia was barely speaking to anyone. I didn’t think—”
“Did you see the death certificate?”
“Yes.”
“Did you verify it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Dominic looked ashamed.
“Because there was no reason to.”
Neither of us spoke for a while.
Then he asked, “You think Leo is connected somehow?”
“I don’t know what I think.”
I showed him the photograph.
Dominic studied it.
Then looked toward the ceiling, as though he could somehow see through the floor above us to the nursery room where Elena sometimes put Leo down.
“That’s strange.”
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“I’m trying not to say something stupid.”
For once, I appreciated his restraint.
“I want records,” I said. “Hospital records. Transfer records. The death certificate. Ambulance report. Everything.”
Dominic nodded.
“Quietly?”
“Very.”
“And Elena?”
“No one questions her.”
He glanced toward me.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“She may know something.”
“She also has a child sleeping upstairs.”
I closed the box.
“If she talks, it will be because she chooses to.”
Dominic studied me in a way I didn’t like.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“You sound like your father.”
I almost laughed.
“My father would have locked the doors.”
“No. Your father before your mother died.”
That silenced me.
Dominic left.
I remained at my desk until the house became quiet again.
Around four, I found Elena in the kitchen.
Leo sat in a high chair wearing a blue bib and enthusiastically destroying a piece of banana.
Rosa stood beside him.
“My little artist,” she said, wiping banana from his hair.
Elena was washing a bottle at the sink.
When she saw me, she stiffened.
Rosa noticed.
She always noticed everything.
“I should check the laundry,” she announced.
The laundry had been finished two hours earlier.
She left anyway.
I leaned against the counter.
Elena kept washing the already-clean bottle.
“I’m not here to question you.”
She shut off the water.
“Then why are you here?”
“I wanted coffee.”
“You never drink coffee after noon.”
That surprised me.
“You know my habits.”
“It’s my job.”
“Apparently you know them better than I do.”
I poured coffee anyway.
Leo slapped the tray.
“Ba.”
I looked at him.
“Is that my name?”
Despite herself, Elena smiled.
“He says that to everything.”
“Then I’ll take it.”
The smile disappeared almost immediately.
“I’m leaving early today.”
“All right.”
“I may not come tomorrow.”
“All right.”
She turned.
“You’re not going to stop me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you said you need time.”
She stared at me.
“People say things when they’re frightened.”
“I heard you.”
For the first time, her expression changed from fear to confusion.
Perhaps she had expected anger.
Perhaps I had expected it too.
She dried her hands.
“I didn’t take anything from you.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“I never meant to hurt you.”
“Elena.”
She looked at me.
“I believe that.”
Her eyes filled.
She turned away before the tears fell.
That was the moment I knew one thing with certainty.
Whatever the secret was, she carried guilt for it.
But not the guilt of a thief.
Something more complicated.
Something sadder.
She left twenty minutes later.
I watched from the library window as she placed Leo carefully into his stroller and walked through the side gate.
I did not have anyone follow her.
It was one of the hardest decisions I had made in years.
Dominic found me there.
“You let her go.”
“Yes.”
“She could disappear.”
“She could.”
“And if she does?”
“Then I’ll know I was right not to frighten her.”
He leaned against the bookshelf.
“You’ve changed.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the empty driveway.
“Maybe I’m remembering who I was.”
That evening, Dominic brought me the first records.
The hospital from the accident had closed eighteen months earlier after merging with a larger medical network, but archived documents remained accessible through legal channels.
The ambulance report was ordinary.
Weather.
Road conditions.
Three passengers.
One driver.
Two adults.
One male child, age two.
The child was listed as unconscious at the scene.
Transported.
Emergency treatment initiated.
Then there was a gap.
The next page said the child had been transferred at 9:42 p.m.
“To where?” I asked.
“That’s the problem.”
The destination field was blank.
I looked at Dominic.
“Blank?”
“It shouldn’t be.”
“And the death certificate?”
He placed a copy on my desk.
Mateo Moretti.
Date of death.
Time of death.
Cause.
Signature.
I recognized the doctor’s name.
Dr. Elias Harrow.
“Find him.”
“Already did.”
“And?”
“He retired two years ago.”
“Where?”
“Rhode Island.”
I looked at the clock.
It was almost nine.
“Tomorrow.”
Dominic nodded.
Then placed one more sheet on my desk.
“This is the strange part.”
It was an insurance document.
A payment authorization for medical transport signed by Sofia.
I read the date twice.
“This was signed the day after Mateo died.”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible.”
Dominic said nothing.
I looked again.
The authorization was for a private pediatric rehabilitation facility in Vermont.
“Did Mateo ever go there?”
“No record says he did.”
“Then why did Sofia authorize payment?”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
I sat there until midnight.
Elena did not call.
She did not return the next morning.
Or the morning after that.
But on the third day, shortly before noon, Rosa came into my office carrying a sealed envelope.
“Elena left this for you.”
“When?”
“This morning. She came through the kitchen. Stayed five minutes.”
May you like
“Where is she?”
“She went home.”
