Page 36 of The Italian Reckoning
“You’re digging around in The Painter files. Is it true?”
My heart sinks. I thought I’d covered my tracks while securing the copies of the old files, but clearly not. “It’s not what you think.”
“Isn’t it?” He sighs a little raspily. “Sarah, going back to that case is not good for you. You know this. It’s a cold case, an unfortunate dead one because of?—”
“I know,” I snap quickly, not needing to hear him say it. “But this is important, okay? We had a murder here, a murder that has all the key notes of a Painter killing. Right down to the exact same brand of makeup. Plus, I’ve been getting parcels of that brand. You can’t tell me it’s just a coincidence.”
“Sarah, you were closer than most to that case. I’m sure a lot of things look like a connection from your point of view, but you have to understand that you might be seeing clues that aren’t really there.”
“These are some pretty glaring clues,” I mutter, sipping my drink but barely tasting the sweet, almost berry flavor. “Even Brant says the same, but I’m telling you, he’s back or… or there’s some kind of copycat or something.”
“Look, I’m not going to tell you what I’m sure you already know, but this kind of obsession isn’t healthy.”
“Obsessed?” I straighten up and glare at a few passing cars. “You think this is obsession?”
“After what happened to?—”
“Don’t.” My heart begins to race. “It’s got nothing to do with that.”
“Then the advice I will give you is to drop the case. It’s not healthy for you. And if you really think there’s something to it, then pass it on to someone else and let them do the work. They will reach the same conclusions as you if there’s any connection there.”
I grip my phone until the edges cut into my palm. Pass on the case? Give it to someone else? How do I explain that as soon as this case leaves me, it will be shut down because they care more about keeping the Mafia happy than finding justice? Without concrete proof of corruption, I can’t say anything to my old captain.
“Sarah?” He tries again as my silence drags on. “I’m only trying to look out for you.”
“I know. Thanks.” Abruptly hanging up, I close my eyes and force a few deep breaths as the last calm feelings from Motorcycle Guy get whisked away in the wind. “Fuck.”
Back inside the cafe, Bobby greets me with his usual smile, but it lacks some of its regular warmth. Or I’m so stressed that it just feels different.
“Everything good?” he asks as I place my empty cup on the counter.
“Uhm, not really. You ever feel like you’re so sure of something but everywhere you turn, people tell you that you’re wrong so you start to wonder if maybe you’re just crazy?”
“Oh, for sure. Salt-roasted coffee beans are the future, I’m telling you, but in the caffeine circles? I’ll get hanged.”
I give him a tired, polite smile for his humor even as my chest swirls with the fog of frustration.
“Okay, listen.” Bobby places one hand down on the counter and leans over. “You look like you need a break, so why don’t you wait until I clock out and then we can go and do something together?”
I wave off his offer, far too distracted by replaying the discussion with my old boss. “Thanks, but I think I’m just gonna go home.”
“But—”
“Thanks for the drink.”
Walking home gives me time to think, and I take the path through the park so that the smell of the trees and the dirt can help me pretend that I’m doing something good for my body. With my car still in the shop for the tire repair, walking is much cheaper than the Uber. As I wander the gravel paths, I replay every detail of Belle’s death in my mind and compare it to the old Painter cases. The similarities to me are glaring, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if Arnold was right.
Am I seeing connections that aren’t really there?
Weaving threads in my own attempt to make sense of something so cruel and twist it into something I understand so I have someone I can blame?
Maybe I’m so completely wrong that I should hang up my detective hat and forget that I ever tried.
And yet, even that feels wrong. I can’t be the only one who sees where the dots lead, but I do seem to be the only one trying to do something about it.
Except… Rocky Barati.
Last I heard, he was still looking into Belle’s death. No one else is listening to me, so maybe I should reach out to him? Asking a criminal I hate for help goes against everything I believe in. This isn’t like when I helped Cormac. Back then, I was saving countless innocent lives from a war that was threatening to spill out onto the streets, but this? Rocky and Belle? This is cold murder and a criminal using fucked up tactics to get justice.
