Chapter 2 - The Medal Between Them
Helena didn’t move.
“What did my father find?”
Marcus glanced around the restaurant.
“Not here.”
“You brought up corruption. You brought up my father. You don’t get to stop now.”
“I absolutely do.”
Helena leaned forward.
“Twelve years, Ferraro.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Twelve years of people looking at me like I inherited something dirty. Twelve years of my mother being treated like a criminal’s widow.”
Marcus said nothing.
“She died believing nobody cared enough to clear his name.”
Something flickered across Marcus’s face.
“That part,” he said quietly, “I didn’t know.”
Helena hated the sincerity in his voice.
“Tell me what happened.”
Marcus looked at the medal beneath her collar.
“Where did you get that?”
“My father.”
“I know.”
Her hand covered it.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because it wasn’t originally his.”
Helena stared.
“What?”
Marcus stood.
“Come with me.”
“No.”
“Then keep wondering.”
He walked toward the restaurant’s private rear exit.
Helena followed.
Outside, a black SUV waited.
She stopped.
“I’m not getting into your car.”
Marcus turned.
“You walked into my restaurant and accused me of murdering your father.”
“Yes.”
“Yet the vehicle frightens you?”
“You’re funny.”
“No. I’m impatient.”
She stayed where she was.
Marcus opened his jacket slightly.
Dark tattoos ran over his upper chest and disappeared beneath his shirt. More ink covered his forearm.
No visible weapon.
“You can drive yourself,” he said. “Follow me.”
“Where?”
“To someone who remembers Thomas Callahan.”
Twenty minutes later, they entered an old social club on Federal Hill.
The building appeared closed.
Inside, an elderly man sat at a card table.
He looked at Helena.
Then at Marcus.
The color left his face.
“No.”
Marcus shut the door.
“Sal.”
“I said no.”
Helena stepped forward.
“I’m Helena Callahan.”
Salvatore DeLuca looked like he had been struck.
“Tommy’s girl?”
Helena swallowed.
“Yes.”
Sal lowered himself slowly into a chair.
“Jesus.”
Marcus remained standing behind her.
Helena sat opposite Sal.
“Did you know my father?”
“I knew enough.”
“What does that mean?”
Sal looked at Marcus.
“Tell her.”
Marcus shook his head.
“You tell her.”
Sal rubbed both hands over his face.
“Your father came here twelve years ago. Nervous. Angry. Said cops were protecting cargo theft.”
Helena’s breathing slowed.
“Which cops?”
“He wouldn’t give names.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t know who he could trust.”
Marcus spoke from behind Helena.
“He contacted me because stolen containers were moving through terminals leased by my company.”
Helena turned.
“You expect me to believe a police officer went to you for help?”
“No,” Marcus said. “I expect you to believe he ran out of police officers he trusted.”
Sal continued.
“Tommy believed somebody high inside the department was selling information.”
Helena thought of Hale.
“How high?”
“Command.”
Marcus’s expression hardened.
“Your father had evidence.”
“Where is it?”
“Missing.”
Helena stood.
“This is convenient.”
Marcus didn’t react.
“My father supposedly found corrupt cops, contacted you, then died before revealing evidence that mysteriously vanished.”
“Yes.”
“And you somehow survive.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Marcus looked directly at her.
“Because I wasn’t the target.”
The room became silent.
Sal stood.
“Marcus—”
“No.”
Marcus reached beneath his shirt.
He pulled out a chain.
At the end hung nothing.
Only an empty loop.
Helena stared.
“What is that?”
“The chain your medal came from.”
Her fingers closed around St. Michael.
“No.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“It belonged to me.”
Helena shook her head.
“My father gave it to me when I was nine.”
“Because I gave it to him three days before he died.”
“Why?”
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
“Because we knew someone was watching him.”
Helena stared at him.
“I told Thomas that if something happened, he should give the medal to the person he trusted most.”
Her throat tightened.
“My mother?”
Marcus shook his head.
“You.”
Helena looked down.
For twelve years, she had worn evidence she never understood.
She looked up sharply.
“What does it prove?”
“Nothing by itself.”
“Then why?”
Marcus pointed to the medal.
“There’s an inscription inside the back plate.”
“I’ve never seen one.”
“Because you need to remove the rim.”
Helena pulled the chain over her head.
Marcus took the medal carefully.
He pressed his thumb against a small groove.
The back rotated.
Inside were four tiny engraved numbers.
4317.
Helena frowned.
“What is that?”
Marcus looked at Sal.
Sal looked frightened.
Marcus answered.
“A locker number.”
“Where?”
“The old Union Station storage facility.”
Helena stared at him.
“That building was demolished.”
“The public section was.”
Marcus handed the medal back.
“A private archive still exists beneath the east wing.”
Helena stood.
“We go now.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if somebody inside your department killed your father over whatever he hid there, the moment you open that locker—”
“They’ll know.”
“Yes.”
Helena looked at him.
“Then how do we get it?”
Marcus’s mouth tightened.
“Carefully.”
Her phone rang.
Deputy Chief Hale.
Helena and Marcus looked at the screen.
“Answer it,” Marcus said.
She did.
“Hale.”
“Where are you?”
“Following a lead.”
“With Ferraro?”
Helena looked at Marcus.
“How do you know?”
Silence.
Half a second too long.
Then Hale said:
“Get away from him.”
Helena’s stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because we intercepted information indicating Ferraro knows you’re investigating him.”
“He’s known from the beginning.”
Another silence.
Hale’s voice changed.
“Helena, listen to me. Go directly to headquarters.”
Marcus watched her face.
“What happened?” Helena asked.
“Your access credentials were used thirty minutes ago.”
“To what?”
“Your father’s sealed case file.”
Helena stared at Marcus.
“I’m not at headquarters.”
“I know.”
“Then who used them?”
Hale exhaled.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
The call ended.
Helena lowered the phone.
Marcus already understood.
“Someone knows,” he said.
Helena closed her hand around the medal.
May you like
“Then we’re already late.”
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