Chapter 4 - LOCKER 214
Gabriel read the sentence twice.
Norah watched his face.
“Your mother knew what truth?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s becoming a very popular answer.”
He looked at her.
She was angry.
Gabriel could hardly blame her.
Twenty-four hours earlier, Norah Hayes had been worried about losing a housekeeping job.
Now she had learned that her dead mother had been connected to the Rossi family, accused of theft, and apparently involved in the night Gabriel’s father died.
Vincent examined the brass key.
“Union Station hasn’t used these lockers in years.”
Norah’s shoulders dropped.
“So it’s useless.”
“Maybe not.”
The paper tag contained more than a locker number.
A faded storage-service stamp appeared along the bottom.
Vincent recognized the company.
“They moved abandoned private-storage contents when the old lockers were removed.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“Where?”
“Warehouse on Canal Street.”
Norah laughed bitterly.
“Of course it’s a warehouse.”
Gabriel almost smiled.
“Chicago has many warehouses.”
“Your family seems unusually committed to them.”
Two hours later, they stood inside a commercial storage facility near the river.
The manager found Locker 214 in an old handwritten transfer book.
The monthly payments had been made in cash for nearly twenty-three years.
Every January.
Always one year in advance.
Norah frowned.
“My mother couldn’t afford that.”
Gabriel looked at Vincent.
“Who paid it?”
The manager shook his head.
“No name.”
Gabriel's mouth tightened.
Another question.
Another person protecting a secret.
The brass key opened a small metal box barely larger than a shoebox.
Norah expected money.
Instead she found a folded child’s drawing.
She lifted it carefully.
A boy had drawn three stick figures standing in front of a large house.
One was labeled GABE.
One was MOM.
The third had red hair made from orange crayon.
EVIE.
Gabriel stared.
“I drew that.”
Norah looked at him.
“You remember?”
“I remember giving it to her.”
Something about the way he said it stripped twenty-five years from his face.
Under the drawing lay a blue velvet pouch.
Norah opened it.
The St. Michael rosary slid into her palm.
Gabriel inhaled sharply.
His mother’s missing rosary.
The object that had destroyed Evelyn Hayes’s reputation.
Norah stared at it.
“My mother did have it.”
Gabriel said nothing.
Pain passed across Norah’s face.
“She stole it.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” Gabriel said. “But neither did the people who condemned her.”
Norah carefully turned the medal over.
There were scratches around its edge.
“It opens.”
Gabriel frowned.
She pressed her thumbnail into a tiny seam.
The back of the St. Michael medal clicked loose.
Inside was a tightly folded piece of onion-skin paper.
Not legal papers.
Not a confession.
Just six handwritten numbers.
17 - 43 - 8 - 26 - 11 - 3.
Gabriel stared.
Vincent swore softly.
“What?”
Gabriel took the strip.
“My father used number codes in his personal ledgers.”
“For what?”
“People.”
Norah looked at him.
“You know what these numbers mean?”
“No.”
“But you have the ledgers.”
Gabriel thought of the leather-bound book on the dining table the morning Norah spilled his coffee.
His father's books had been stored in the estate archive for decades.
He had been reviewing one because several old properties were being sold.
Suddenly, the coffee accident did not feel accidental in the larger story of his life.
Under the rosary lay one final object.
A gold pocket watch.
Norah stared at the engraved initials.
C.R.
Carlo Rossi.
Gabriel picked it up.
The glass face had cracked.
One hand was frozen at 11:17.
Vincent looked ill.
“That’s it.”
“You’re certain?”
“I saw photographs of Carlo wearing it.”
Gabriel opened the back.
Inside was an inscription.
To Carlo—Brothers before business. V.R.
Vittorio Rossi.
Norah whispered, “So your uncle was at the warehouse.”
Gabriel shook his head.
“This proves the watch was there.”
“Not Carlo.”
She looked frustrated.
“You’re defending him?”
“I’m refusing to replace one assumption with another.”
That surprised her.
Before yesterday, she would have expected Gabriel Rossi to decide guilt first and ask questions afterward.
Apparently she had misjudged him.
Or at least part of him.
Vincent walked toward the window.
“My father found that watch after the fire.”
Gabriel turned.
“You told me that.”
“No.”
Vincent swallowed.
“I told you he saw it.”
Gabriel’s expression changed.
Vincent looked at the watch in Gabriel’s hand.
“My father picked it up.”
Norah stared.
“Then how did my mother get it?”
Vincent’s face tightened.
“He gave it to her.”
Gabriel crossed the room in two strides.
“Why?”
“Because Evelyn was the only person he trusted.”
“You have thirty seconds to stop speaking in pieces.”
Vincent finally looked at him.
“My father was driving Carlo that night.”
The room went dead quiet.
Gabriel’s hands slowly closed.
“You told me Frank was home sick.”
“He lied.”
“You knew?”
“Not then.”
“When?”
“Before he died.”
Gabriel turned away.
For the first time, Norah saw how dangerous grief could look on a man who had spent a lifetime training himself not to show it.
Vincent continued.
“My father said Carlo made him drive to Warehouse Nine around ten thirty. Carlo went inside. Frank stayed in the car.”
“And?”
“Twenty minutes later Carlo came out without his overcoat.”
Gabriel looked back.
“Then?”
“Then Vittorio arrived.”
Norah’s mouth went dry.
Vincent stared at the floor.
“My father heard shouting.”
“What kind of shouting?”
“He couldn't make out everything.”
“Try.”
Vincent hesitated.
“He heard your father say, ‘You sold us for a seat at someone else’s table.’”
Gabriel went still.
“And Carlo?”
“He said, ‘I did it for my sons.’”
Norah looked between the men.
“Carlo has sons?”
“Two,” Gabriel said. “Both dead now.”
That changed the shape of the story.
Not greed alone.
Family.
Vincent continued.
“My father panicked and drove around the block. When he came back, the warehouse was burning.”
Gabriel’s voice became almost inaudible.
“And Carlo?”
“Gone.”
“Vittorio?”
Vincent shook his head.
“Still inside.”
Gabriel stared at the cracked watch.
“Why did Frank give this to Evelyn?”
“He found it near the side entrance.”
Vincent’s eyes reddened.
“He was afraid Carlo would kill him if he knew he had it.”
“So he made Evelyn carry the danger.”
“My father was a coward that night.”
Gabriel's jaw worked.
“He spent the rest of his life knowing it.”
Norah looked at the rosary.
“And my mother?”
“Evelyn told Frank she was taking the watch to Lucia.”
“But she never did.”
Vincent shook his head.
“I don't know why.”
Norah began putting the objects back in the metal box.
Then she noticed something.
The pocket watch felt heavier than it should.
“Gabriel.”
He looked at her.
“There’s something under the inner cover.”
She pressed the hinge.
A second panel popped loose.
Inside was a tiny black-and-white photograph.
Gabriel removed it carefully.
Four people stood outside Warehouse Nine.
Vittorio Rossi.
Carlo Rossi.
A much younger Frank Marchetti.
And a fourth man.
Gabriel’s face drained of color.
Norah pointed.
“Who is he?”
Gabriel did not answer.
Vincent did.
“Daniel Hayes.”
Norah looked at him.
Her father’s name.
Her father, who her mother had always said died in a construction accident before Norah was born.
Vincent’s voice broke the silence.
“Norah, your father didn’t die before that fire.”
She stared at the photograph.
The date printed beneath it was October 17, 2003.
Norah had been born six months later.
Gabriel looked at her.
Vincent said the words neither of them wanted to hear.
May you like
“Daniel Hayes died inside Warehouse Nine with Vittorio Rossi.”
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