Page 53 of Bad Bishop
“Who from this list had been to the manor prior to the wedding?” I tapped the piece of paper, handing it back to the Ferrantes. Achilles snatched it, scowling.
“Tate and Angelo. All the rest are strangers. Most are acquaintances from the bride’s side. And I’m pretty sure we can cross off the seventy-six-year-old with the oxygen tank.” He pointed at some Italian man’s name. “Doubt he has the stamina for the offense.”
I ran a hand over my dress shirt. My wound was healing nicely. The stitches were neatly applied, dabbed with antibiotic and covered in adhesive bandages. The morning after Lila put me together, she left a note with a list of medical supplies I needed to replenish. Her silent way of admitting she was literate.
“Forget about the exit point they took,” Sam said. “You need to look into every name on the list.Every. Single. One,” he enunciated.
I understood exactly what he meant.
“Don’t cross anyone off until I say so,” I ordered. The CCTV footage continued rolling on the screen, people leaving andentering through the main entrance. A movement caught my eye, and I sat up straighter.
“Brennan, roll it back.”
He did, backtracking it thirty seconds.
“Stop.”
I swatted him away and rolled my index along the mouse pad, moving between the twelve cameras in search of a better angle. When I found what I wanted, I zoomed in. “See that?”
“See what?”
“Our suspect. It’s from a different angle. He’s smirking.”
It was grainy as shit, and everyone had to squint at the monitor, but they saw it, too. His upper face was hidden by one of the many marble arches in the room, but it looked like he was grinning straight into the camera.
“He’s tall.” Luca ran his knuckles through his stubble. “Six two, maybe six three. Look at the height difference between him and Pasqualino.”
“And Caucasian,” Sam added. “Wears a fine suit. But we can’t make out much else.”
“Yet,” I said.
I was going to track this human cum stain down if it was the last thing I did on this overrated planet. “Run all your programs on that tape until you get a match. In the meantime,” I picked up the suspect list, “I want every man of interest on this list in surveillance. PI on their tail around the clock, tap their lines, hack their phones, write a dissertation about their lives, and bring it back to me by the end of the month.”
“Everyone?” Fintan repeated.
“Everyone.”
“On it.” My brother collected the paperwork.
“What’s the sudden rush?” Luca arched a brow. “You’ve been perfectly content sitting on this task for weeks with nomovement. Vello told us we needed to put fire under your feet to make sure you haven’t forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I clipped out.
I had, in fact, forgotten.
But then Vello’s daughter saved my life, and I felt the need to repay her somehow.
Slaughtering the man who hurt her would even the score. And the Callaghan clan would be seizing full control of Harlem as a bonus.
“Any word on Alex?” I asked Sam.
“Still in Russia, off the grid.” He shook his head. “No movement in his bank accounts, either.”
I jerked my chin in a nod. He’d resurface. Most of his business was in Vegas. And I needed the time to scope out his mansion, warehouses, and anywhere else I might corner him.
“You and the Ferrante girl…” Sam clicked his laptop shut, sliding it into his leather courier bag. “Is this a love match or a strategic alliance?”
“Strategic,” Luca supplied.
