<b>73 </b>


    GIANNI


    Caterina is here. Safe. Secure. It amazes me how that knowledge makes me feel. Being aware of her presence calms me. It allows me to think clearly, focus. All because I don’t have to worry about where she is<b>, </b>what she’s doing, or if she’s safe.


    And if I want to see her, I can find her.


    All the more reason to keep her here permanently.


    One thing at a time. One step after another. Soon I’m going to make this a reality for both of us. I just have to get through a few things first.


    “What took you so long to get back?” I ask Roger once he returns to my office. “You were supposed to be getting coffee.” And here he is, with empty hands.


    Hands which he looks down at before shrugging. “Right. Sheryl sent me on an errand to grab some tea for your daughter as soon as I walked into the kitchen.”


    “Is she sick?”


    “In a manner of speaking.” When I raise my brows, he waves a hand. “Womanly stuff. She’ll be fine. Sorry, I was distracted.”


    “It doesn’t matter.” I rotate myptop to show him what I’ve been looking at. “The report you brought me is the sanitized version Charles was talking about.”


    “That’s what they gave me. I asked for all the information they had on the autopsy. All of it.”


    I’m almost disappointed in whoever was behind this. “They weren’t even smart about covering things up, were they?”


    “What do you mean?”


    “Read over the report. Carefully. Tell me, what did they miss?” I sit back in my chair, watching his eyes scan the screen. He’s typically good at picking up on the minor details. Then again<b>, </b>he may not have read over the report before giving it to me.


    In my mind, I can’t help but wonder how they get away with this. It’s obviously a cover–up–a copy–and–paste version. Which tells me the people Charles went to about this either didn’t care to check out the woman’s autopsy report, figuring they were dealing with a grieving husband trying toe up with someone <b>to </b>me, or they knew exactly what they would find and were more interested in convincing him to let it go.


    “The wounds to her head.” His eyes meet mine, his brows drawing together. “They didn’t change the diagram.”


    “Exactly.<i>” </i>The report mentions a pair of small wounds to the back and front of her head and a crushing bl she hit the steering wheel too hard when she crashed. Cause of death: blunt force trauma.


    the chest, like


    However, the diagram of the body, where the person performing the autopsy marks the wounds on the corpse, features an injury to the back of her head that corresponds to a matching wound on her forehead. Holes, to be more specific.


    “It’s obvious they were in a hurry,” he concludes, sitting back in the chair, tenting his fingers beneath his chin. “What if they knew Charles had already seen it and had to swap it out right away before anybody else saw it?”


    “I guess they didn’t get to the medical examiner before the autopsy was conducted.” On a hunch, IG****e the name on the report. The first result confirms my suspicions. “Well. Isn’t that a coincidence?”


    “Let me guess. The medical examiner is dead.”


    “ording to this article, within two weeks of filing the report.”


    Roger’s jaw drops. “<b>Get </b>the fuck out of here. I was kidding.”


    “I’m not.” Clearing my throat<b>, </b>I read aloud. “A tragic ident involving faulty gas lines took the life <b>of </b><b>a </b>respected medical examiner, along with those of his wife and two daughters, in an overnight explosion which leveled <b>the </b>family home<b>.</b><b>” </b><b>I </b>blow <b>out  </b>


    a heavy sigh, shaking my head.


    “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “I wonder if Charles knows that.”


    “Now tell me this isn’t all connected somehow. What are the odds?


    “It’s possible.”


    “Possible? It seems pretty damn apparent to me.”


    He lifts a shoulder. “It could also have been an ident. Those things do happen all the time.”


    “It could’ve been what happened, yes, although for all those things to ur within the same time frame. That’s more of a coincidence than anything.”


    “It’s too big a coincidence to be overlooked, for sure. I’ll give you that.” He winces before standing and pacing the room, looking everywhere but at me. “I just want to make sure we don’t go <b>off </b>half–cocked. I know you want this to be true for Caterina’s sake, only let’s not jump to conclusions.”


    “I don’t think it’s too big of a jump.”


    “It could be.” He rubs his hands together, walking in quick, short steps. “It’s obvious the report was altered. Probably by some ignorant dipshit. Like a rookie they didn’t have to pay very much.”


    “See, that’s the thing. Charles knows there are guys on the payroll in the department. There will never be any convincing him he’s wrong about his theories because that grain of truth is at the center. So if that’s true, any other scenario could also be true.‘


    “Right. So unless there’s evidence either way…‘


    “He will never let this go, which means he will always be after my ass, meaning he could potentially make life a living hell for me, but most importantly, for Caterina too.”


    “What can he do if he doesn’t have a job? He couldn’t manage to make a charge stick when he was a detective.”


    “There are other ways to fuck with a man’s life. Such as careening into hispound and pulling a gun on him.” And making sure I can’t be with his daughter without her suffering pains of guilt. Eventually, he will tell her he knows, and there’s no guessing how that will turn out.


    The thought is enough to make all my instincts re, the desire to lock her away so she doesn’t have to face him. Wouldn’t that make things easier? Wouldn’t that make it better?


    Of course, it wouldn’t. Not in the long run. I told her she could have space and freedom, and I meant it. Unfortunately, I can’t change my mind whenever it suits me now. I fucking hate this.


    “Okay.<b>” </b>Hees to a stop behind his chair, gripping the back of it with both hands. <b>“</b>What do we know round hole in the front and back of her skull. What else?”


    know she had a


    “Not much else at the moment, but you’re going to change that, I want a full file on her. Past employment, where she went to school, parent’s names, siblings. And if you can get your hands on any other reports surrounding the ident, I want to see them.”


    “Do you think she crossed someone, so they put a bullet in her head<b>? </b>I mean, is it possible she had a gambling problem no <b>one </b>knew about?” He’s trying to pick out a needle from a haystack. <b>There’s </b>a reason this crime hasn’t been solved yet<b>, </b>and not just due to <b>the </b><b>cops </b>who were paid off. There’s no apparent reason to kill her.


    Roger stands up straight, sucking in a surprised breath. “Why does it have to be her? Why does she have to be <b>the </b>problem?”


    <b>“</b><b>I </b>don’t-”


    “Wait… what if whoever killed her… What if they were <b>after </b>Charles?”


    “<b>Well</b><b>, </b>that’s <b>what </b><b>he </b>assumes<b>,</b>” I remind him. “That this <b>was </b><b>a </b>message. Kill the <b>wife</b><b>, </b><b>get </b><b>through </b><b>to </b><b>the </b>husband<b>, </b><b>him </b>


    “That’s not what I’m saying. What if they were literally trying to kill Charles instead of her? They could have expected him to be with her. Followed her from the house<b>, </b>then ran her off the road. It’s possible, isn’t it?”