Chapter 6 - the apartment that remembered
Vincent did not follow Marco.
That was what Marco expected him to do.
Instead, Vincent sent two security teams to seal the building while he took Sophie and Tony through a private exit beneath the kitchen.
“Where are we going?” Sophie asked from the back seat of the armored car.
“Your apartment.”
“They might still be there.”
“They won’t be.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they believe we’re chasing Marco.”
Tony looked at Vincent through the mirror.
“Aren’t we?”
“Marco spent twelve years protecting my life. If he wanted me dead, he had easier opportunities.”
“You think he was framed.”
“I think the scratch on his cuff link was too convenient.”
Sophie hugged Luna.
“Marco looked scared.”
Vincent glanced at her.
“Most people looked scared tonight.”
“Not like him. He looked at the window before it broke.”
Tony understood.
“He knew the shot was coming.”
“Or he recognized the location of the shooter,” Vincent said. “Either way, disappearing made him look guilty.”
They reached Mara’s building in less than ten minutes.
Mrs. Bell was seated in the lobby speaking with police officers. When she saw Sophie, she stood and hurried toward her.
“Oh, thank goodness.”
Sophie ran into her arms.
Vincent waited until Mrs. Bell had confirmed that she was unharmed. Then he asked the officers to leave the apartment untouched until his private investigators arrived.
One officer objected.
“This is an active police scene.”
Vincent read the name on his badge.
“Captain Holcomb.”
The officer’s posture changed.
Vincent knew Holcomb. The captain had attended three foundation galas and received a major campaign donation through a political committee connected to Northbridge Restoration.
“Your department may observe,” Vincent said. “You will not remove anything.”
Holcomb glanced toward Tony.
“Is that a threat?”
“No. It is a warning that the evidence in this apartment may expose members of your department. Touching it would create an uncomfortable appearance.”
Holcomb stepped aside.
Inside the apartment, chairs had been overturned and drawers emptied. The pantry shelf remained pushed away from the hidden door.
Sophie showed Vincent where she had escaped.
Tony found Mara’s recorder inside the bowl above the refrigerator. Its casing was cracked, but the memory card remained intact.
They played the recording.
Dario’s voice came first.
“Where is the drive?”
Then Mara’s answer.
“Julian will sacrifice both of you.”
Vincent stopped the audio.
“Julian.”
Tony’s jaw tightened.
“She may have been provoking them.”
“She chose his name for a reason.”
The recording continued.
Near the end, a distorted voice came through Dario’s phone.
The words were difficult to understand, but the bell Sophie had described rang three times in the background.
Tony cleaned the audio through a portable program.
A second sound emerged beneath the bell.
A train announcement.
Vincent listened again.
“Platform four. Northbound service.”
“There’s no railway near Wren Street,” Tony said.
“But there was one near the winter café.”
Vincent walked to the fireplace.
Above it hung a photograph of Mara, Sophie, and an elderly woman. The woman was Elena, older than Vincent remembered but wearing the same patient expression.
Beside the photograph was a faded image of the railway café.
One corner showed the outdoor table where Elena had found Vincent.
A handwritten note had been placed beneath the frame.
Sophie, when fear tells you to hide, remember that courage sometimes means finding the right person.
Vincent removed the photograph from the wall.
Behind it was a hand-drawn map.
A line connected the old railway station to three city landmarks: Bellavista, St. Agnes Shelter, and the abandoned Wren Street church.
At the center of the map, Elena had drawn a black crown.
Tony examined the paper.
“This was made recently.”
“How can you tell?” Sophie asked.
“The ink is fresh.”
Sophie pointed at the bottom corner.
“Mama drew that little flower. She puts it on all her notes.”
Mara had known the addresses were connected.
On the back of the map she had written one sentence:
THE MONEY DOES NOT END AT THE FOUNDATION. IT GOES UNDERGROUND.
Tony’s phone rang.
A message had arrived from Marco.
I WAS NOT RUNNING FROM YOU. I WAS FOLLOWING THE SHOOTER.
A photograph followed.
It showed a man in a gray suit entering an old railway tunnel beneath Wren Street.
May you like
The man’s face was turned away.
On his wrist was a watch Vincent had given Julian Cross for his fiftieth birthday.
