Chapter 4 - THE PHOTOGRAPH AT ELEVEN-OH-SIX
"Then somebody changed the time of the accident."
Vincent said it so calmly that it frightened me.
June Bell held the photograph against her chest.
"That's what I've believed for fifteen years."
My mother stepped forward.
"June, please."
"No, Margaret."
June's voice shook, but she didn't retreat.
"I kept quiet because I was afraid. I'm sixty-eight years old now. I'm tired of being afraid."
Dominic had disappeared into the ballroom.
Vincent immediately instructed two of his security men to remain near the corridor.
Then he turned to his mother.
"Tell me what happened at Pier Nine."
Sofia sank into a nearby chair.
Margaret looked toward the photograph.
And for the first time in my life, I saw genuine shame on her face.
"Adam asked me to drive him there," she admitted.
I stared at her.
"That night?"
She nodded.
"You told me you were visiting Aunt Helen in Wisconsin."
"I lied."
The words landed harder than I expected.
Mom gripped the back of a chair.
"Your father had discovered that money was disappearing from a fund meant for injured dockworkers and their families."
"What fund?"
"The Safe Harbor Fund. Adam helped create it with Enzo."
Vincent frowned.
"My father gave money to a workers' fund?"
"More than money," Sofia whispered. "He helped build it."
That surprised Vincent.
I watched him struggle with the information.
Everyone in Chicago knew the Marino name was associated with fear, wealth, and criminal influence.
Nobody associated it with helping injured workers.
Margaret continued.
"Adam believed the money was being diverted through shipping contracts. Enzo agreed to help him find out who was responsible."
"Was Dominic involved?" Vincent asked.
Neither mother answered.
That was answer enough.
June carefully put down the photograph.
"Your fathers were supposed to meet someone from the city that night. An inspector."
"Who?" I asked.
"Martin Hale. He reviewed charitable accounts connected to waterfront properties."
Vincent's expression sharpened.
"I remember him."
"Do you know where he is?" I asked.
"Retired," Vincent said. "But his old reports should still exist."
June shook her head.
"He never arrived."
Margaret pressed her lips together.
I turned toward her.
"Why not?"
"I don't know," she whispered.
I didn't believe her.
Neither did Vincent.
June looked between us.
"There's something else."
She opened a canvas bag she'd brought from the banquet office.
Inside was an old cardboard folder secured with a faded blue ribbon.
"This was my dispatch folder from that week. I took it home after they fired me."
"Who fired you?" Vincent asked.
"Your uncle."
June gave a sad smile.
"He said I'd mishandled confidential records."
Vincent's face hardened.
June opened the folder.
There were carbon copies of delivery slips, handwritten vehicle movements, and faded gate receipts.
She found a page marked October 14.
"Your fathers left the warehouse shortly after eleven."
I leaned closer.
"Where were they going?"
"I don't know. But a towing vehicle was dispatched at eleven-seventeen."
Vincent frowned.
"Why would anybody dispatch a tow truck if the accident had already happened at ten-forty?"
June nodded.
"That's what I asked."
She turned the paper toward us.
At the bottom was a signature.
Two initials.
S.M.
Sofia Marino.
Vincent stared at his mother.
"Is that your signature?"
Sofia's fingers trembled.
"Yes."
I looked from the photograph to the dispatch order.
Eleven-oh-six: our fathers were alive.
Eleven-seventeen: someone ordered a tow truck.
Yet the official report placed their deaths at ten-forty.
Something was very wrong.
Vincent crouched beside his mother.
"Why did you authorize a towing vehicle?"
Sofia swallowed.
"Dominic told me your father was having trouble with his car."
"At eleven-seventeen?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't question why he needed a tow truck?"
"I thought I was helping him."
Vincent stood slowly.
"Did you speak to Dad that night?"
Sofia began crying.
"No."
"Did you see his car?"
"No."
"Then how did you know he needed help?"
She looked toward Margaret.
And my mother looked away.
Vincent's voice dropped.
"Mom."
Sofia covered her face.
"Dominic said Enzo had refused to stop asking questions. He said the situation had become dangerous."
My stomach tightened.
"What situation?"
Sofia looked up.
"He told me Adam and Enzo were going to disappear with money belonging to the family."
Vincent shook his head.
"My father would never abandon us."
"I know that now."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
Sofia's answer came in a broken whisper.
"Because by the next morning, both men were dead."
She reached for the dispatch sheet.
"And Dominic told me that if anyone discovered I'd ordered that truck, the police would believe I'd helped arrange their deaths."
Vincent went completely still.
Then he noticed something written in the lower corner of the page.
A small notation.
Baird Fleet Services.
May you like
Underneath were four words.
Vehicle requested before impact.
