Page 76 of The Hidden Heir

He fiddles with the files for a bit before he sends everything over to the large screen, using a small remote to navigate through a slew of images and forensic reports, briefly going over everything before he settles on an autopsy photo. The view makes me queasy, given that not much was left of the body for the examiner to work with in the first place.

I look away, my stomach churning, as I try not to remember the torn and charred flesh, the splintered bones, the melted fabric of a shirt and other equally gruesome details.

“I’m sorry, I’ll just sit here for a moment,” I mumble and take one of the guest seats across from Dr. Cooper’s desk while he leans back into his chair and looks at the screen.

Victor puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Valentina. It’s my eyes you need for this, anyway.” He pauses and looks at the doctor. “Talk to me, my good friend.”

“To be perfectly honest, I’m a little disappointed,” Dr. Cooper says.

“Why?”

“There wasn’t that much for my examiner to work with. He should’ve run a DNA test to confirm.”

My blood runs cold. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the damage from the bomb wasn’t just extensive, by the looks of these remains, it was downright catastrophic. I remember asking Dr. Menendez if she cataloged all the injuries and the physical details to confirm his identity as Stefano Petrucci. She said yes without a sliver of hesitation. But there should’ve been some doubt… for example…”

I listen to the clicking of buttons on his remote as he studies the photograph closer.

“See here? According to Mr. Petrucci’s general medical records, he was supposed to have a healed fracture of his right tibia, right above where the leg was blown off. I can’t believe this,” Dr. Cooper scoffs. “You know what, Victor? I might end up being the one to thank you after this is over.”

“How so?” Victor asks.

“Either Dr. Menendez was incredibly incompetent, or she was paid to be this incompetent by someone outside the medical examiner’s office, and I specifically remember hiring her because of her incredible competence. Look at the tibia, or what’s left of it, anyway. Let me zoom in.”

“Alright, what am I looking at?” Victor replies.

Slowly, I open my eyes and let my gaze wander back to the screen.

“The blast broke the bone, and there are spidering fractures just above, which is normal, given the force applied to it,” the doctor says. “Two inches higher, however, and according to Stefano Petrucci’s X-rays from three years ago, there should be clear signs of remodeling from a fracture he sustained during a skiing accident.”

“I don’t see anything,” I mumble.

“Precisely. You should see it. Even you, an untrained medical professional, would recognize a portion of remodeled bone because it tends to stick out to the naked eye,” Dr. Cooper replies. “Then there’s this…”

He zooms over to another body part. The shoulders and neck, which look particularly awful, especially in that cold, clinical light. Victor squints, and I wonder for only a moment how he’s able to look at this stuff without puking his guts out. Then I remember that he must’ve seen so much worse during his many years working for the Petrucci family.

I was always shielded from the bloody details. I was supposed to marry and bear children, to continue the bloodline and to look pretty on my husband’s arm. I guess I did get to do that, just not in the traditional and desired order.

“According to the same medical file, Stefano should have a metal plate here after a car accident in his early twenties,” Dr. Cooper says. “Again, there’s nothing. There is some remodeling present, if you look closely, particularly near the acromial facet, closer to the sternum, but that happened from a direct blow to the chest likely sustained during a physical fight and likely caused by a powerful punch or a blunt object.”

“Wait, so what are you telling us right now, doctor?” Victor asks the obvious question, his brow furrowing with understandable concern.

Dr. Cooper sighs heavily, dismay darkly imprinted upon his face. “I’m telling you that I need to get Dr. Menendez in here to explain these glaring mistakes that led to the misidentification of this body.”

“So…” I whisper, afraid to say it myself.

“That’s not Stefano Petrucci,” Cooper says. “A DNA panel should’ve been requested. Therefore, I will absolutely write a letter and address it to Judge Hennessy, because what happened here is a reflection of my leadership, too, not just Dr. Menendez’s shoddy performance, dammit.”

He’s angry now. I can’t blame him. The Petruccis thought they buried one of their own.

By the time we leave the examiner’s office, and as the cool morning air fills my lungs again, the clarity returns. Sitting in the passenger seat of Victor’s car, watching our security detail get in the black SUV parked behind us before we take off, a tornado of thoughts ravages my mind.

“I can’t believe this,” I manage.

“I thought it was crazy. I was hoping, somehow, to be proven wrong, not proven right,” Victor confesses. “And I don’t know what to do with any of this.”

“For now, nothing,” I tell him. “Judge Hennessy will get Cooper’s letter. He’ll approve the exhumation order. And once we have all the facts, we’ll be able to investigate this further.”