“Sit down,” he yelled, raising his voice like he had when I was a kid.
I sat back down, not because he told me to, but because I needed his help.
“Has any new evidence come to light?”
“She saw the guy today.”
“Saw him? Why didn’t she call the police?”
“She was in Florida.”
“Florida?” He sounded like he didn’t believe me—or worse, he didn’t believe her.
“His name’s Carlo. He’s an old friend of her business partner, Gino Marcone.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the pictures Giselle had sent me. They were far away, and the license plate was blurry, but they were something.
“So, what? Do you think her business partner has loose lips, and this Carlo used it to his advantage?” he asked.
“No idea.”
“Could they be working together?” he asked.
I shrugged, but the thought clawed at my insides. If I found out Gino was involved, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions.
“What would her business partner get out of it?” he mused.
“Insurance money?”
“That’s always a possibility in these crimes,” he said, writing down what I assumed were the names I’d given him. “How did she know it was the same guy? I thought I read that he was masked.”
“She recognized his voice.”
My father leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “That’s not much to go on. Do you know if there were any fingerprints found at the crime scene?”
I shook my head. “No, but she was sure it was him.”
“I don’t doubt she was sure she heard his voice. But sometimes victims in traumatic crimes try so hard to be helpful that they trick themselves into believing something that isn’t true.”
“She was sure it was him,” I repeated, not allowing him to doubt her.
He nodded, clearly understanding there was no room for distrust. “I have someone who can look into Marcone’s background to try to find out about Carlo. They can also investigate similar crimes.” He pointed to the phone in my hand. “Send me those photos she took.”
I looked him in the eyes, making sure he knew that I meant what I was about to say. “Thank you for doing this for me.”
“Of course. You’re my son,” he said.
I’d always been his son. But he’d proven time and time again that his job meant more to him than anything else. I was banking on that still being the case. “When do you think you’ll know something?”
“Let me make a few calls. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
I nodded before standing and heading toward the office door.
“Let’s not go another year without seeing each other. Okay?” my father called.
“We’ll see.”
If he came through for me, maybe he wasn’t the complete asshole I always knew him to be. Maybe he was just an asshole.
23