Chapter 7 - THE EVIDENCE HE PUT IN MY NAME
“Make sure the police find evidence that she planned the attack herself.”
I stared at Salvatore.
For a moment, the words didn't seem real.
Then I remembered my phone.
“Nathan took it yesterday morning.”
Matteo turned toward me.
“What?”
“My personal phone. When he locked our bedroom door, he took it with him.”
I gripped the back of a chair.
“The phone I used at the hotel was borrowed from the front desk.”
Salvatore's expression changed.
“Did you ever get your original phone back?”
“No.”
“Then Whitmore may still have it.”
My stomach tightened.
Nathan knew my passcode.
He knew my email passwords.
He'd insisted that couples shouldn't keep secrets from one another.
And somehow, that rule had only ever applied to me.
Detective Elena Morales interviewed me later that morning.
She was in her forties, with tired eyes and a manner that made me feel she was actually listening.
I explained the locked bedroom.
The missing phone.
The account Nathan had opened.
And the whiskey glass.
When I finished, she asked, “Did you ever instruct anyone to put something in Mr. Ricci's drink?”
“No.”
“Did you authorize payment to the waiter?”
“No.”
“Did you know what was inside the bottle?”
“No.”
She studied me.
“Then tell me why you grabbed the glass.”
I swallowed.
“Because I thought someone might get hurt.”
She nodded.
“And you were willing to risk your job?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I thought about my mother.
About Nathan.
About all the times I'd convinced myself that keeping quiet was safer than causing trouble.
“Because I've spent too long watching people do things I knew were wrong.”
My eyes filled.
“And I couldn't do it again.”
Detective Morales closed her notebook.
“Thank you for answering directly.”
She didn't promise the case was over.
But she treated my answers seriously.
That meant more than I could explain.
By afternoon, investigators had obtained enough information to confirm important parts of my story.
The hotel records showed that I'd been using a borrowed phone.
The waiter identified Nathan as the man who'd handed him the bottle.
And the communications supposedly sent from my personal device were being examined because Nathan had controlled it during the relevant period.
I was still frightened.
But the story Nathan wanted people to believe was beginning to fall apart.
Matteo met me in the hospital waiting area.
He carried two cups of coffee.
“One cream, one sugar?”
I stared at him.
“How did you know?”
He looked embarrassed.
“Your mother told me.”
I almost laughed.
“She's been giving you instructions?”
“Several.”
“Such as?”
“She said you forget to eat when you're worried.”
I smiled faintly.
“She does that.”
Matteo handed me the coffee.
Then his expression grew serious.
“Anna, we need to talk about the note in my father's records.”
I nodded.
“The money for Nathan?”
“Yes.”
He sat beside me.
“We've identified a corresponding bank entry.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did Nathan receive the forty thousand dollars?”
“No.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“The amount was authorized, but the transfer wasn't completed.”
I looked at him.
“Then why was his name on the page?”
“Apparently my father had offered to pay him for handling a problem.”
I closed my eyes.
“My mother.”
Matteo nodded.
“But Nathan never collected.”
I looked up.
“Why?”
“That's what we still need to understand.”
Then Matteo showed me another copy from the records.
Beneath the entry was a notation in Carlo's handwriting.
Recipient failed to complete assignment.
My breath caught.
I remembered Mom saying Nathan had pulled Victor away from her.
That he'd led her out of the house.
Maybe he'd refused to hurt her.
Maybe the twenty-year-old man who'd protected my mother really had existed.
But the man who'd hurt me existed too.
And I couldn't let one erase the other.
That evening, I returned to Mom's hospital room.
She was sitting up, wearing her glasses.
The old metal file box had been brought from her house by investigators with her permission.
She was reviewing copies of the receipts.
I sat beside her.
“Mom, you were right about Nathan.”
She looked up.
“About what?”
“He didn't take the money Carlo offered.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I always wondered.”
I hesitated.
“Did he ever explain why he helped you?”
She looked toward the window.
“He said I reminded him of his mother.”
I frowned.
“Nathan's mother?”
“She died when he was seventeen.”
I hadn't known that.
Nathan had told me his mother lived overseas.
Another lie.
Mom continued.
“He said she was the only person who ever stood up to Victor.”
I looked down.
“Maybe he wanted to become someone different.”
“Maybe.”
Mom reached for my hand.
“But wanting to be different isn't the same as choosing to be.”
I nodded.
She was right.
Nathan had made choices.
Some were kind.
Others were cruel.
And the cruel ones had hurt real people.
He couldn't escape responsibility by pointing to the good things he'd once done.
Later, Detective Morales returned.
She carried a copy of an old police report.
“Mrs. Collins, I'd like to clarify something from nineteen years ago.”
Mom adjusted her glasses.
“Of course.”
“The original investigation recovered a handgun from Carlo Ricci's study.”
Mom nodded.
“I remember seeing Victor holding it.”
“Did you ever see Nathan touch that weapon?”
Mom hesitated.
“I saw him standing beside his father after the shot.”
“Was there anything unusual about him?”
She closed her eyes.
Then opened them.
“His right hand was bleeding.”
I looked up.
“Bleeding?”
“A small cut near his thumb.”
Detective Morales made a note.
“Did he explain the injury?”
“No.”
Mom swallowed.
“I thought he'd cut himself trying to get me out.”
The detective nodded.
“Thank you.”
I watched her carefully.
“Why are you asking?”
She hesitated.
“We're reviewing the original physical evidence with current forensic methods. We can't draw conclusions from one finding, but we may be able to clarify who handled the weapon.”
Matteo, who'd been standing near the doorway, stepped closer.
“Have you found something?”
Detective Morales looked at him.
“The original report listed several incomplete impressions that couldn't be attributed at the time.”
My heart began pounding.
“And now?” Matteo asked.
“An additional comparison has produced a potential identification. It requires confirmation.”
She looked toward my mother.
Then toward me.
“The impression may belong to Nathan Whitmore.”
I stared.
Nathan.
The man who'd supposedly helped my mother escape.
The man who'd refused Carlo's money.
The man who'd spent six months controlling my life.
I looked at Matteo.
His expression had gone completely still.
Then Mom whispered something that made the room fall silent.
“There's one thing I never told the investigators.”
Detective Morales turned.
“What is it, Mrs. Collins?”
Mom's voice trembled.
“After the shot, Nathan didn't just have blood on his hand.”
She covered her mouth.
“He was crying.”
I reached for her.
“Mom?”
She looked at me.
Then whispered, “He kept saying the same thing.”
Detective Morales leaned forward.
“What was he saying?”
May you like
Mom closed her eyes.
“I didn't mean for him to fall.”
