Page 55 of The Italian Reckoning
The sudden sound sends a pulse of alarm through every fiber of my body and I snatch my hand away from my coffee cup as if it’s going to leap up and attack me. The painful crack is merely one of my coworkers cracking his knuckles sharply as he walks past, but that’s not what I hear.
All I hear is the sickening sound of Rocky’s arm breaking under the orders of his father.
My stomach rolls with nausea and bile tingles at the base of my throat, but I swallow it down and focus on furiously stirring my coffee. It’s been over a week since that terrible day at the casino and it feels as fresh as if it happened yesterday.
Matteo Barati injured his own son to prove a point. I don’t even know if Rocky is alive and I’m too scared to reach out in case contact from me brings him to further harm. Everything so quickly got out of hand and I have no idea how to regain control.
I’m cut off from everyone, not even risking contact with the Irish. The killer is still out there, the cops are finally on the case of the second body, and I’m no closer to tracking down the identity of the asshole who’s creating so much pain.
Can I really stand here and call myself a detective when a killer is walking all over me?
My turbulent thoughts and desire to get away from knuckle-popping Pete bring me outside, where the scorching June sun stings my bare arms and warms the top of my head within just a few seconds. Luckily, I brought my shades today. My taste for coffee has waned this past week since I’ve been unable to sleep without the aid of several strong glasses of wine. It’s hard to rest when I’m unsure whether the Italian Mafia are about to kick down my door. Or worse, The Painter.
People mill about in front of the station, going about their business with no clue to the real dangers that lurk in the streets of New York. One man skips gleefully down the steps and is reunited with a loving woman at the bottom. They share a kiss and a hug, and she dances around him with the biggest smile on her face, then takes his hand. Walking off together, they become intertwined and I watch them until they blur into the same person.
A woman with her arms full of groceries and children climbs the steps toward the station, trailed by an exhausted man wrestling a pushchair. How different everyone’s lives are, and how little it really matters in the grand scheme of things. The Painter kills without care, and any one of those people could be his next victim, provided they are young enough.
“Sarah?” Brant’s voice pulls me from my thoughts and I turn to face him. I didn’t hear him approach, but his stance is relaxed enough that he must have been here for a couple of minutes at least.
“Sir.”
“I want your theory on something?”
“Mmhmm?”
Brant’s eyes narrow slightly and he looks me dead in the eye. “Why do you think it took so long for the second body to be found?”
My heart jumps slightly and I force myself to remain calm even as nervous energy pulses through me with a shiver. Keeping the case open has only been allowed because I’ve been pretending it’s a dead case, and I’m only leaving it open due to the pressing questions of loved ones. The discovery of Kara’s body led to Brant getting praise from higher up since clearly, the two cases are going to be wrapped up soon. If only Brant would listen to me about Montana.
“I have no idea.”
“Don’t give me that.” Brant sucks briefly on his upper teeth. “Look… I’m not saying there’s a direct link, but other people have noticed the similarities so I’m asking you, if this case is what you thought it was, why do you think it took so long for the second body to be found?”
I could tell him the truth. That the Mafia had control of the crime scene and we were conducting our own investigation into the serial killerandwere doing it without the restraint of badges. But I can’t. As soon as anyone finds out I was there, everything about Kara’s murder will be compromised and with it, possibly the entire case. So I lie.
“I have no idea,” I say quietly, burying my nerves in a few gulps of my now lukewarm coffee. “Maybe he miscalculated the foot traffic of the area so she wasn’t discovered in time. Or maybe you were right all along and there’s no connection so it was just a bad coincidence.”
“You don’t believe that, Sarah.”
“No.” I sigh deeply. “I don’t.”
“So, what’s your theory?”
“My theory?” I drain my cup and crush the cardboard into a ball. “My theory is that we shouldn’t have waited for a second body to start investigating this properly.”
“Sarah—”
“If there’s nothing else, I have to get back to work.”
Brant lets me leave with a nod of his head, and I disappear back inside the station with my heart pounding. It’s bold of me to push with such an attitude when I’ve already broken so many rules, but I can’t outright state what I really think anymore. My confidence in this department's ability to catch The Painter diminishes by the day, and with Rocky out of the picture and my link to the Mafia cut off, I’m alone.
And alone makes me an even bigger target for that asshole.
Back in my office, the front desk clerk drops off a cryptic message from Evelyn. It seems to be some kind of apology from Rocky, but I can’t read too deeply into it. I’ve no idea what kind of state he’s in, and every time I think about him or the time we spent together, all I hear is the disgusting snap of his arm and the screams that followed.
How could Matteo do that to his own son?
Toanybody?
