Chapter 6 - THE MAN WHO LIED FOR THIRTY-ONE YEARS
“Which one?”
Alessandro turned toward his grandfather.
Frank looked at the photograph on Victoria's phone.
His hands were shaking again.
“Grandpa,” Alessandro said gently, “you don't have to protect anyone anymore.”
Frank swallowed.
“I wasn't protecting him.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I promised Eleanor we'd give him a chance to make things right.”
Thomas Greer lowered himself into a chair.
His expression had changed.
I noticed how tightly he held his cane.
And suddenly I understood why Daniel Whitmore had sent that photograph.
He wanted everyone in the room to suspect everyone else.
Alessandro looked at Thomas.
“You know who it was?”
Thomas nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
Thomas looked at Frank.
The old man closed his eyes.
Finally Thomas whispered, “It was me.”
Nobody moved.
I stared at him.
The man who'd brought Catherine's recording.
The man Frank had greeted with tears.
The man who'd apparently protected Michael's letter for more than twenty years.
He was the one who had lied?
Alessandro took a step backward.
“What did you do?”
Thomas's eyes filled.
“I told the investigators the back door was locked when I arrived.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
“Why did you lie?”
Thomas looked down.
“Because my wife was dying.”
Frank began crying quietly.
Thomas continued.
“She needed surgery. We didn't have insurance. My wages barely covered the apartment.”
He swallowed.
“Daniel Whitmore offered me fifty thousand dollars to confirm the fire department's timeline.”
Alessandro stared.
“You took it?”
Thomas nodded.
“I did.”
The admission sat between us.
Ugly.
Human.
Impossible to excuse.
Thomas wiped his face.
“I told myself it was one statement. That nobody had been killed. That the bakery was already gone.”
Frank looked toward him.
“Tommy, you could have come to us.”
Thomas shook his head.
“You'd already lost everything.”
Alessandro folded his arms.
“So you helped the men who took it.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did my father trust you with the tape?”
Thomas began crying harder.
“Because I told him what I'd done.”
Alessandro looked startled.
“When?”
“Eight years after the fire. Three days before he died.”
Thomas looked toward the cassette player.
“Michael came to my apartment because he knew I was the only witness who'd accepted money. He wanted me to help him correct the record.”
“Did you?”
“I agreed.”
Alessandro's expression tightened.
“But then my parents died.”
Thomas nodded.
“And I lost my nerve.”
He looked at Frank.
“Eleanor found me at the cemetery. She said keeping the truth hidden wasn't protecting Michael's memory.”
Frank wiped his eyes.
“She forgave Tommy before I could.”
Thomas shook his head.
“She didn't forgive the lie. She gave me a chance to stop living inside it.”
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Alessandro sat opposite him.
“I need to know everything.”
Thomas nodded.
“The fire started after the boxes had been loaded. I saw a man carrying a fuel container behind the building.”
Alessandro leaned forward.
“Who?”
“I couldn't see his face.”
“Was it Raymond?”
“No.”
“Daniel?”
Thomas hesitated.
“I don't think so.”
Victoria watched him closely.
“What did the man look like?”
“Tall. Dark coat. He wore a silver bracelet on his right wrist.”
Victoria suddenly gripped the back of a chair.
I saw the color leave her cheeks.
“Victoria?” Alessandro asked.
She swallowed.
“My father gave Leonard Price a silver bracelet for his retirement.”
Thomas looked up.
“Retirement from what?”
Victoria's voice was barely audible.
“Federal service.”
Leonard Price had once worked as an investigator.
The same man who later became Daniel Whitmore's attorney.
The same man whose name had appeared repeatedly around the missing evidence.
Alessandro looked toward Dominic.
“Find out where Price worked thirty-one years ago.”
Dominic nodded and stepped aside to contact the independent investigators Alessandro had retained.
Victoria sat down.
She stared at her hands.
“I thought the bracelet was just an expensive gift.”
Thomas shook his head.
“Price wasn't an ordinary man.”
Alessandro frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“He came to the bakery after the fire.”
“As an investigator?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he accept money from Daniel?”
Thomas looked away.
“Because he was already working for him.”
Alessandro stood.
“We need proof.”
Thomas opened his briefcase again.
“I might have some.”
He removed a thin notebook.
Inside were dates and small handwritten amounts.
“After I gave my statement, Daniel made payments to me for seven years.”
Alessandro looked disgusted.
“You kept records?”
Thomas nodded.
“I couldn't spend the money without remembering where it came from.”
“Why keep accepting it?”
“Because once I'd taken the first payment, he reminded me what could happen if I changed my story.”
Alessandro turned the pages.
The payments were consistent.
Then he stopped.
One entry differed.
A large payment had been made the week Michael and Catherine died.
Alessandro read the date twice.
His face became frighteningly still.
“Why did Daniel pay you twenty thousand dollars that week?”
Thomas's eyes filled.
“I didn't know your parents were going to die.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“I know.”
Thomas looked at Frank.
“I had agreed to testify. Daniel found out.”
Alessandro stared.
“And?”
“He gave me money to leave New York.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I went to see Eleanor.”
Frank nodded.
“He came to the apartment crying.”
Thomas swallowed.
“She told me running away wouldn't bring Michael back.”
Alessandro turned another page.
There was a bank reference beside the payment.
He took a photograph.
“I'm having this verified.”
Thomas nodded.
“Good.”
Later, as the men reviewed the old records, I went to the kitchen to bring Frank some tea.
Victoria followed me.
For several seconds, we stood silently beside the counter.
Finally she spoke.
“Sophie, I owe you an apology.”
I turned.
She looked exhausted.
“For threatening your job. For humiliating Frank. For treating you as though your life mattered less because you worked here.”
I folded a dish towel.
“Your apology doesn't undo what happened.”
“I know.”
“You knew my mother needed care.”
Victoria lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
“And you used that against me.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I did.”
I looked at her for a long moment.
“You'll have to live with that.”
She nodded.
“I deserve to.”
Then she removed a small photograph from her wallet.
It showed Victoria as a young girl beside a smiling woman.
“My mother,” she said.
I looked at it.
“She looks kind.”
“She was.”
Victoria swallowed.
“My father told me she left because she didn't want to be a mother anymore.”
She turned the photograph over.
On the back was a handwritten address.
A woman's name.
And a date from twenty-nine years earlier.
“Frank says she came to see Eleanor. I think my father lied about why she left.”
I studied the handwriting.
“Have you tried finding her?”
Victoria nodded.
“Years ago. My father said she'd died.”
My stomach tightened.
“Do you believe him?”
Victoria stared at the photograph.
“No.”
Then she noticed something.
A tiny bakery logo was stamped in one corner.
The Romano bakery.
She turned it toward the light.
Below the logo were three handwritten words.
Ask Catherine Romano.
Victoria began trembling.
“Why would my mother leave this for Catherine?”
I looked at the photograph.
And suddenly remembered a detail from the recovered negatives.
The woman in the pale coat standing behind Michael.
I had assumed she was Catherine.
But now, studying Victoria's mother's photograph, I wasn't sure.
I carried it back to the library.
“Mr. Romano?”
Alessandro turned.
I placed the photograph beside the copied negatives.
He compared the faces.
Then stared at Victoria.
“The woman at the bakery wasn't my mother.”
Victoria stepped closer.
Her breath caught.
“That's my mother.”
Frank looked at the two photographs.
And began crying.
“Oh, dear God.”
Alessandro turned.
“Grandpa?”
Frank covered his mouth.
“Eleanor told me she helped someone get away that night.”
Victoria whispered, “My mother?”
Frank nodded.
Then looked toward the photograph in her hand.
“She didn't abandon you, sweetheart.”
Victoria's knees nearly gave way.
Frank reached for her.
May you like
And whispered:
“Your mother was hiding from the man who ordered the bakery burned.”
