Chapter 6 - THE WITNESS WHO HAD WAITED TWENTY-NINE YEARS
“Someone ordered the gate removed before the police finished their investigation?”
Sarah stared at the maintenance record.
Dante nodded.
He had spent most of the night reading it.
The company's owner was a man named Walter Driscoll, a former security contractor who had worked at Pier Nine for decades.
He had disappeared from Moretti employment shortly after Isabella's death.
Not disappeared from Chicago.
Simply retired, purchased a small house outside Joliet, and stopped answering calls from anyone connected to the family.
“I want to talk to him,” Dante said.
Sarah shook her head.
“Not alone.”
“This is my family's business.”
“And my grandmother's.”
He looked at her.
She continued.
“If Rose kept those papers for twenty-nine years, she must have been waiting for someone to listen.”
Dante considered refusing.
Then he remembered Bella's drawing.
Four people holding hands, with Isabella in the sky.
“All right,” he said.
“But Enzo comes with us.”
Before leaving, Sarah asked to visit one other person.
Ada Ferraro, an elderly woman who had worked with Rose at Pier Nine.
Ada lived in a modest apartment filled with potted plants and photographs of grandchildren.
When Sarah introduced herself, the woman pressed a hand against her mouth.
“Rose's little Sarah?”
Sarah nodded.
Ada embraced her.
“Your grandmother was the bravest woman I ever knew.”
They sat at her kitchen table while Ada prepared coffee.
Dante remained near the window.
Ada recognized him immediately.
“I never thought I'd see a Moretti in my home.”
“I came to hear what happened,” Dante said.
She studied him.
“Will you actually listen?”
“Yes.”
Ada folded her hands.
“In 1997, the workers complained that one of the emergency exits had been chained. Your uncle said the lock was temporary because equipment had been stolen.”
Dante said nothing.
“Three days later, the warehouse caught fire. Paolo Bellafiore tried to lead people down that stairwell.”
Her voice trembled.
“He couldn't open the door.”
Sarah reached across the table.
Ada continued.
“Your family blamed the Bellafiores for the chain. Rose spent years trying to prove the order came from management.”
“Did she have evidence?” Dante asked.
“A photograph taken before the fire. A payroll record showing who installed the chain. And later, evidence that the settlement money had been stolen.”
Dante removed the fragment from his pocket.
Ada looked at it.
Then her eyes filled.
“That's the photograph.”
“Only part of it,” Enzo said.
Ada nodded slowly.
“Rose gave the full picture to a young woman who came asking questions.”
“Isabella,” Sarah whispered.
“Yes.”
Ada looked at Dante.
“Your wife told Rose she wanted to make things right. She wasn't trying to destroy your family. She wanted the money returned and the dead man's name cleared.”
Dante gripped the back of a chair.
“She never told me.”
“Maybe she tried.”
That sentence followed him all afternoon.
At Driscoll's house, the former contractor initially refused to speak.
Then Enzo showed him the maintenance record.
Driscoll's expression changed.
“I didn't kill that woman,” he said immediately.
Nobody had accused him of murder.
Dante noticed.
“Then tell me what happened.”
Driscoll stared at the floor.
“I was told to put the North barrier across the road before Mrs. Moretti arrived. I was supposed to stop her from reaching the warehouse office.”
“Who told you?”
Driscoll looked at Enzo.
“You know how things worked back then.”
“I asked who,” Dante repeated.
“Your uncle's office sent the instruction.”
“Did you see the crash?”
“No. I left after the barrier was moved. They told me she never reached it. Later, I was ordered to replace the damaged gate.”
“Why?”
Driscoll's face reddened.
“Because they said it was dangerous.”
“Dangerous to whom?”
Driscoll looked away.
“I kept my family out of this for twenty-nine years. I won't lose them now.”
Sarah stood.
“My grandmother lost her brother. My cousins lost their mother. Those little girls spent three years crying themselves to sleep.”
Driscoll closed his eyes.
“I know.”
But he would say nothing more.
On the drive home, Dante remained silent.
Then Enzo handed him another record.
The security assignment log from the night Isabella died.
At 9:04 p.m., the protective detail assigned to Isabella had been canceled.
The instruction was authenticated with Dante's personal authorization code.
He stared at it.
Then he remembered.
The argument.
Isabella telling him she needed to meet someone about Pier Nine.
Carlo warning him that she was secretly contacting the Bellafiores.
Dante accusing her of putting herself in danger.
And finally, in anger, telling Enzo to withdraw her guards.
Sarah watched his face.
“What is it?”
May you like
Dante could barely speak.
“I sent her out there alone.”
