Chapter 6 - FOLLOW THE WATER
The police found no patients at the orchard property, only discarded medication containers, a wheelchair with one broken brake, and fresh tire marks behind the maintenance barn. Dante had moved Sofia again, perhaps minutes before the officers arrived. The scratched message was the first evidence that Sofia might be resisting him herself.
Matteo brought me a copy of the photograph the next morning, not because he wanted me to chase another secret in the dark, but because I'd asked to see it. We met at the hotel restaurant, where a waitress set coffee and oatmeal between us and carried on with her morning as if neither of us was standing on the edge of a family disaster.
"'Follow the water,'" he repeated. "What does that mean?"
"Could be the river. Could be a fountain. Could be anything."
"My mother used to say that when I got lost on hikes. Follow the water downhill and you'll find the road."
"Did she mean it literally?"
"Sometimes. She loved being outdoors. Our summer place had a stream behind it."
I leaned forward, then winced as my stitches pulled. Matteo noticed and pushed the coffee closer without comment.
"There's a canal near the orchard property," I said. "What if she knew they were going to move her by a back road and tried to tell us which way?"
"Bennett is checking the vehicles."
"Maybe the water isn't the route. Maybe it's a place she knows you would remember."
His expression changed. "The boathouse."
"What boathouse?"
"My father owned a disused rowing shed on a branch of the Fox River. Mom taught me to swim there. We called it the Blue House, even though the paint was more gray than blue."
He immediately called Bennett. She asked for the precise address, and he provided records from the family's old property portfolio. When he hung up, he looked across the table at me.
"She might be trying to reach somewhere familiar," he said.
"Or it could mean something else," I answered. "Let's not make ourselves certain before we know."
His mouth tightened in reluctant agreement.
I went back upstairs to my family. Ben had just finished an online class, and my mother was resting after physical therapy. I told them the police were looking at another location. Then I sat at the window while the city moved below us in untroubled lines of traffic.
In the afternoon, Marco called. "We need to speak about the cellar," he said. "The detectives found a second ledger under the dumbwaiter shaft. It names three contractors who billed Giuseppe's foundation for work at the warehouse on the day of the fire."
"Does it name Dante?"
"Not directly. It shows a company controlled by Vincent Valenti paying to disable two sprinklers and a fire door."
I remembered the weight of Celeste's palm against my shoulder as she shoved me. Her father's company had made money from a planned fire, and Richard had given him access. Somehow, that still didn't fully explain why Giuseppe and Sofia had been inside.
"Why would Giuseppe go there if he knew someone wanted to hurt him?" I asked.
"The letter suggests he went to retrieve documents and move Sofia. Someone had told him the warehouse was secure."
"Someone he trusted."
"Exactly."
I thought about Matteo's uncle speaking so gently at the engagement dinner, advising restraint while Richard's hands shook. Trust made a dangerous disguise when it came from family.
Just before dusk, Detective Bennett called with news. A traffic camera had captured a private ambulance leaving the orchard road at 10:12 the previous night. The vehicle turned west, then south, before its plates disappeared beneath a detachable cover. Investigators traced it to a company operated by Dr. Colin Mercer's brother.
"We're looking for the vehicle," she said. "And the river shed is being checked."
"Is Sofia in danger right now?"
"We have reason to believe she is. That's all I can responsibly tell you."
The answer frightened me, but I respected its honesty.
At eight, Matteo came to the hotel again. His tie was loosened and his eyes looked bruised by exhaustion. He hadn't slept. I could tell without asking.
"Bennett wants me to identify a necklace," he said. "They found it in the boathouse."
"Sofia's star?"
"No. A locket my father gave her on their anniversary. It held two tiny pictures: me at six, and my sister Isabella when she was a baby."
I blinked. "You have a sister?"
"Had. Isabella died from an infection when she was three. We never talk about her. That's part of why the family has so many ghosts."
He looked down at his hands. "Mom wouldn't leave that locket unless she wanted me to find it."
A moment later, his phone rang again. Bennett asked him to come to the station to identify the item formally. Matteo rose, hesitated, then looked at me.
"I know you've done enough. But would you come? I don't want to look at another piece of my mother's life alone."
I considered the request. He was not asking me as my employer. I had quit. I could say no, and he would have to accept it.
"I'll come," I said. "But Ben's driving me, and I'm going home afterward."
"Of course."
At the station, photographs from the boathouse lay on a table. There was the locket. There were muddy footprints, one set narrow and uneven, leading toward a door by the water. There were also marks from wheelchair wheels on the wooden boards.
Bennett explained that officers were searching the banks and interviewing nearby property owners. Before she could finish, an officer came into the room carrying a waterproof evidence pouch.
"We found this in a drainage pipe below the dock," he said.
Inside was a folded note written on the back of a medical appointment card.
Matteo read the first line and covered his eyes. It began with a childhood name only Sofia had used for him.
My brave little lion, if this reaches you, I am not at the water anymore. They have taken me to the place where your father taught you to ride. Please believe me. I tried to come home.
He stared at the last words until I thought he might break the paper in his hands.
"The riding school," he whispered. "It's near the old quarry."
Bennett made a phone call at once. The property hadn't belonged to the family in years, but its former stable building was owned by a shell company with ties to Northstar Holdings.
"Dante moves her through places she's known," I said. "He wants her frightened, but he doesn't want to spend money building anything new."
"And he counts on my memories being useless," Matteo added.
Bennett gave us a stern look. "You're both staying here while we verify the site."
We waited in a small room with vending-machine coffee and a television that didn't work. Marco arrived with a folder, then left again to deliver additional records. An hour passed. Then another.
Close to midnight, Bennett returned, her face unreadable.
"We located the stable," she said. "There's one woman inside. She's alive. She's frightened. Officers are making the site safe and bringing medical personnel in."
Matteo gripped the back of a chair. "Is it my mother?"
"We believe so. We need to confirm her identity and make sure she's stable before you see her."
He nodded. Once. Twice. Then he sat down heavily and covered his face with both hands.
I stayed beside him. Nothing I could say would fill twelve years. So I didn't try.
At 1:17 in the morning, a doctor came into the room. She held a chart and wore blue scrubs beneath her coat.
"Mr. Romano?" she asked. "Your mother is awake. She gave us your full name and date of birth. She'd like to see you."
Matteo stood, then stopped. His voice cracked.
"Does she know I'm alive?"
"She does now," the doctor said.
For the first time since I'd met him, I saw Matteo Romano cry openly.
And this time, there was someone living on the other side of his grief.
I didn't follow him into the hospital room. Instead I sat with Ben in the waiting area after he arrived to drive me home. He handed me a paper bag containing a cheese sandwich and a bruised apple from the vending stand.
"You look like you've forgotten people have to eat," he said.
"I probably have."
"Then this is your official reminder."
Across the corridor, nurses moved with quiet competence. I watched them and wondered what the past twelve years had done to Sofia's health, how much freedom could be returned and how much could only be mourned. A reunion was not a cure. Matteo would learn that, too.
Before leaving, I texted him: Take your time. Your mother doesn't owe anyone a quick explanation.
May you like
He answered several minutes later: She asked if the lake still freezes in winter. I told her sometimes. She said she wants to see it again.
For the first time, I allowed myself to picture a future that held something more ordinary than secrets and alarms: a woman beside the lake, her son walking at her pace, neither having to hide.
