Chapter 8 - THE NIGHT DOMENICO FORGOT
Camilla lowered the phone.
“Dad?”
Domenico’s mind was somewhere else.
Rain.
Headlights.
An argument.
Isabella crying.
A door slamming.
He hadn’t forgotten that night.
He had buried it.
“There’s an explanation,” he said.
Marco stared at him.
“You told the police you were home.”
“I was home when they came.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Domenico looked at Camilla.
She looked scared of him.
That hurt more than anything else that night.
“We argued,” he admitted.
“About what?” Camilla asked.
“Your mother said she needed space.”
Marco muttered, “Jesus.”
“I thought she was having an affair.”
Camilla blinked.
“With Mercer?”
“I didn’t know about Mercer. I just knew she’d been disappearing, taking calls outside, hiding papers.”
“So you followed her.”
“Yes.”
Giuseppe stood.
“You never told me this.”
“I followed her for maybe fifteen minutes. Then I felt like an idiot. I turned around.”
“Where?”
“Route 21.”
Giuseppe’s face changed.
“That was three miles from the crash.”
“I know.”
Camilla’s voice was barely audible.
“Did you see anyone following her?”
Domenico closed his eyes.
He searched his memory.
A dark SUV.
Headlights two cars back.
He had noticed it because it followed through two turns.
“My God.”
“What?”
“There was a black Tahoe behind me.”
Giuseppe moved closer.
“You’re sure?”
“I think so.”
“License plate?”
“Not after nine years.”
Marco suddenly grabbed a notepad.
“What time did you turn around?”
“Maybe 10:35.”
“The crash was reported at 10:52.”
Giuseppe looked at Marco.
“You’re thinking Delaney.”
“I’m thinking whoever followed Isabella also saw Domenico.”
Domenico understood.
“They had the perfect suspect.”
“Yes.”
Camilla lifted the phone.
Michael was still connected.
“Michael?”
No answer.
She looked at the screen.
The call had ended.
Then a text arrived.
A photograph.
Camilla opened it.
A man was tied to a chair.
Older.
Blood on his shirt.
Domenico didn’t recognize him.
Giuseppe did.
His face collapsed.
“Daniel.”
Camilla looked up.
“Daniel Mercer?”
Giuseppe nodded.
Michael’s father.
Alive.
Another message appeared.
MY FATHER ISN’T DEAD.
A second picture arrived.
Daniel Mercer held today’s newspaper.
Domenico stared.
Marco whispered, “What the hell?”
Then the third message came.
BRING ISABELLA’S LETTER AND GIUSEPPE TO THE OLD ST. MICHAEL’S CHURCH.
MIDNIGHT TOMORROW.
OR MY FATHER DIES.
Camilla covered her mouth.
Domenico looked at Giuseppe.
“You knew he was alive?”
Giuseppe stared at the photograph.
“No.”
But Marco was watching Giuseppe’s face.
“Bull.”
Everyone turned.
Marco walked toward the old man.
“You’re not surprised enough.”
Giuseppe said nothing.
Marco pointed at him.
“You knew.”
Domenico stepped between them.
“Dad?”
Giuseppe looked at his son.
For the first time that night, the old man truly looked defeated.
“Yes.”
Domenico felt his stomach drop.
“How long?”
May you like
Giuseppe answered quietly.
“Seven years.”
