Then he told me what the detectives had learned. David Collins’s car remained at the estate, but the photographer had been recorded entering a service elevator at 2:17 that afternoon. The camera inside the elevator had failed for eleven minutes. During that interval, a contractor’s van departed through the west gate using a visitor credential issued to a company called Westbury Events.
“Was that Vincent’s company?” I asked.
“Not directly. But it was paid by one of his subsidiaries two days ago.”
“So David was taken?”
“We don’t know,” Alessandro said. “The van could have carried equipment. Valdez doesn’t want us jumping ahead of evidence.”
He pulled a slim notebook from his coat. It was old, with a bent corner and handwriting on the cover.
“This was my driver’s,” he said. “Stefano Vale. He survived the crash. I haven’t spoken with him in months.”
“Why?”
“He resigned after my rehabilitation began. Isabella said he couldn’t face me.”
I opened the notebook. It contained fuel receipts and reminders, the ordinary lists of a man who liked everything in place. On one page, three days before the accident, Stefano had written: FRONT BRAKES — ASK MARCO WHY NEW GARAGE. Below that was a phone number with no name.
“Did you see this before?” I asked.
“No. Marco found it when he checked the old vehicle files tonight.”
I traced the ink without touching it. “You should give it to the detectives.”
“Already photographed. The original goes to Valdez in the morning.”
I glanced toward the notebook again. “Was Stefano blamed for the crash?”
“The investigators called it an accident on a wet road. He said the pedal went soft. The car struck the barrier before he could regain control.”
Alessandro looked toward the darkness outside. “I blamed him anyway.”
“Maybe that’s why he couldn’t face you,” I said.
He made a small, bitter sound. “Or why I couldn’t face him.”
After Alessandro left, Mrs. Alvarez arrived with clean clothes and Lily’s favorite knitted blanket. She’d retrieved it from my locker. She sat beside my bed and told me about the first day she’d met me, when I’d insisted on carrying three baskets of laundry at once and dropped one on her foot.
“I decided you were either determined or ridiculous,” she said.
“Both,” I admitted.
“Both,” she agreed.
She helped me change. When the fabric touched the dressing on my back, I winced.
“Did Isabella push you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then I should have reported her after she screamed at the gardeners last month. I kept thinking it wasn’t my place.”
“It’s not your fault she hurt me.”
“Maybe not. But I won’t confuse keeping the peace with doing the right thing again.”
By morning, the photographs from the anonymous number had been preserved. Police believed the picture had been taken before Lily was moved to safety. The number came from a disposable account that couldn’t immediately be traced. Teresa was furious rather than frightened. She told the officer that whoever had stood outside her apartment had stepped on the basil planter she kept beneath the window.
“I planted that basil myself,” she told me later. “When this is over, someone owes me a new pot.”
It was the first time I’d laughed since the wedding.
At ten, Detective Valdez visited me with another officer, recorded my statement with my consent, and asked me to describe David’s voice, the location of the portrait, and everything I’d heard Isabella say. She did not ask me to guess what was on the full recording. I appreciated that she was separating truth from fear, even when fear made every guess seem certain.
After the interview, she opened a folder.
“We located Stefano Vale,” she said. “He’s living upstate with his brother.”
“Has he agreed to speak?”
„Er sagte, er würde es tun, wenn Herr Moretti auch käme.“
Ich sah sie an. „Warum er?“
„Weil Stefano behauptet, er habe Alessandro vor dem Unfall vor dem Auto gewarnt und sei trotzdem angewiesen worden, es zu fahren.“
Mir war kalt. „Wer hat ihn bestellt?“
„Genau das“, sagte Valdez, „müssen wir etablieren.“
Sie stand auf, um zu gehen, blieb dann aber an der Tür stehen.
„Da ist noch etwas. Wir haben auf Davids Arbeitscomputer einen gelöschten E-Mail-Entwurf wiederhergestellt. Er war an Alessandro adressiert. Die Betreffzeile lautete: ‚Traue dem Unfallbericht nicht.‘“
„War es mit einem Anhänger versehen?“
„Ja. Ein Foto des Wagens, aufgenommen nach dem Unfall. Jemand hatte einen Kreis um einen Teil des Wracks gezeichnet.“
„Welcher Teil?“
Valdez’ Gesichtsausdruck wurde vorsichtig.
„Die Bremsanlage.“ Und unter das Foto tippte David einen Satz.
Sie warf einen Blick auf ihre Notizen.
„Fragen Sie sich, warum dieses Teil ausgetauscht wurde, bevor die Ermittler es untersucht haben.“
