Chapter 4 - The Place We Put Things Away
The transfer sheet was still in the restaurant’s records.
A line item listed sixteen folding tables, forty chairs, seasonal décor, and two utility carts delivered to a warehouse on West Carroll Avenue.
I learned that much while waiting at the station.
Ruiz didn’t tell me the rest until later.
She didn’t let Vincent take over, either.
When he arrived with Grant, he was directed to a different room. His ownership interest in the warehouse made him useful. His anger did not make him in charge.
By nine that evening, the detectives had confirmed that Marlowe House rented a storage section there through one of Vincent’s property companies.
Access records showed an entry that afternoon using a credential assigned to a contractor under Daniel Mercer’s office.
A nearby business’s camera had captured Ben being pushed from a vehicle toward the loading entrance.
The detective who brought us that news spoke carefully.
“Officers are there now.”
Arthur stood.
His attorney put a hand near his arm without restraining him.
“Sit down, Arthur.”
“Is he alive?”
“We don’t have that information yet.”
Arthur sat.
Across the waiting area, a vending machine hummed. Someone down the corridor laughed, unaware of us. A phone rang three times before it was answered.
Ordinary sounds.
I couldn’t understand how the world kept making them.
Vincent stood near the window, his hands at his sides.
“Was it yours?” I asked.
He looked over.
“The warehouse.”
“One of the companies owns the building.”
“Did you know what was being stored there?”
“No.”
I thought about the photograph.
A young man held captive beside Christmas decorations.
Vincent looked toward Arthur.
“I should know more about the places with my name on them.”
It wasn’t an apology to me. It sounded like an unwelcome discovery about himself.
At ten fourteen, Ruiz came through the door.
Arthur got to his feet before she spoke.
“We have Ben.”
His paper cup fell onto its side.
“He’s alive,” she said. “He’s being taken to the hospital. Two men are in custody.”
Arthur made a sound I had never heard from a grown man.
Not a sob exactly.
More like his body had forgotten how to hold air.
His attorney steadied him.
“Can I see him?”
“We’ll arrange it.”
He nodded repeatedly, unable to stop.
I sat down because my legs would no longer support me.
My mother’s soup was still in our refrigerator. Ben would have another bowl of soup someday. He would miss a bus, lose a sock, complain about the weather.
The thought of those small, possible things broke me.
I covered my face.
A chair moved beside mine.
Vincent sat without speaking.
After a while, he handed me a packet of tissues from the table.
“Not what I pictured you carrying,” I said.
“They were next to the pamphlets.”
I laughed once, shakily.
It felt almost rude.
Then it felt necessary.
Later, Ruiz asked to speak with me again.
Ben had been able to tell officers about the men holding him. He had also heard one of them take a call.
The caller asked whether “the girl” had talked.
Ben didn’t know which girl.
I did.
“Do they know where I live?” I asked.
“We’re treating the threat seriously.”
She discussed practical arrangements with my mother and me. For the next few nights, we would stay somewhere else, and I would keep the detectives informed of any contact.
Vincent offered a hotel owned by an unrelated company, with Grant coordinating security.
I looked at Ruiz.
“The choice is yours,” she said. “We can discuss other arrangements.”
That mattered to me more than the offer.
“I’ll take the hotel,” I said. “For a few nights.”
Vincent nodded.
No argument. No announcement that I belonged under his protection.
As my mother went to collect a few things from home with an escort, I waited near the station entrance.
Arthur passed me on his way to the hospital.
He stopped.
“They said you recognized the cart.”
“I thought I did.”
“You did.”
His eyes dropped to my bandaged wrist.
“I saw you put your hand near that plate in the kitchen.”
“I know.”
“I told myself warning you was something.”
I didn’t answer.
He swallowed.
“It wasn’t enough.”
“No.”
For a moment, I thought he would ask me to forgive him.
Instead, he said, “I’ll tell them everything.”
“Then do that.”
He left with his attorney and an officer.
Vincent came out a minute later.
Before either of us spoke, Ruiz called us back.
There was something she wanted clarified.
Owen had given his statement.
May you like
According to him, I had been alone with Vincent’s plate before it entered the dining room.
And according to Owen, the special sauce had been my idea.
