Page 77 of The Hidden Heir

Victor shakes his head. “I can’t wait that long. I don’t think we have that kind of time, but there’s something else we can do. Put your seatbelt on.”

Our next stop is at the 27th Precinct, where the bombing case was assigned. We’re greeted by an officer named Doyle, whom Victor knows well.

“When you called me, Victor, I thought you were crazy,” Doyle says.

We follow him through the station’s reception hall first, then through a narrow corridor with several doors, each marked as interview rooms. Doyle opens the third door to our right and motions for us to go in.

There’s a table in the middle with four chairs. A large mirror is mounted on the wall—most likely a double mirror, giving people in the room next door a clear view of the interrogations that usually happen here. The overhead light flickers once in a while.

I take a seat, my knees feeling weak. There’s already so much for me to process.

“The detective who was in charge of the bombing is coming downstairs in a minute,” Doyle says. “He was just as skeptical about this, mind you.”

“At this point, we’re no longer doubtful. The ME provided us with enough information to warrant an exhumation,” Victor replies.

Doyle shrugs, his brow pulled into a deep frown. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“We’re not blaming anyone in particular. Not yet anyway. We’re just trying to figure out who died that night, who was there that night, and who might’ve made it out alive.”

“Alright, well, the two of you sit tight; he’ll be down shortly.” Doyle hesitates for a moment, gazing at Victor with curiosity. “Did you ever find that Lanny guy who robbed your truck?”

“Lanny led us here,” Victor replies.

It’s all Doyle needs to know.

About a minute later, Detective Ethan Reece comes into the room. He’s surprised to see me as I am to see him. “You were in charge of Stefano Petrucci’s case?”

“I was, yes,” he says, then looks at Victor. “Have we met?”

“Briefly on different occasions,” Victor replies and shakes Reece’s hand. “I’m an advisor for the Petrucci family.”

“A consigliere,” Reece says and smirks.

“A man who has the family’s best interests at heart.”

Reece nods and motions for Victor to sit next to me, while he takes the chair across the table so he can look at both of us. He brought a large case file with him, which he opens and places before us.

“I’m only doing this so you understand I have nothing to hide,” Reece says. “I did my job. I followed the evidence.”

“Detective, no one is doubting your proficiency as an investigator. On the contrary, we’re looking to help you.”

“How so?”

“You need to re-examine Stefano Petrucci’s case.”

Reece raises his eyebrows, his doubt clear. “Technically speaking, it’s still open. But it has gone cold in the absence of any viable leads. We’re nowhere closer to finding the bomber, and some of the trails we followed didn’t yield anything useful.”

“Perhaps you need to approach this from a different angle,” Victor says.

“Go on.”

“Stefano might still be alive,” I interject, carefully studying Reece’s reaction.

His shock seems genuine enough. The way he shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the possibility. Confusion draws a deep, dark shadow over his eyes as he starts flipping through the file until he produces several crime scene photographs.

“We found personal items of Stefano’s near or on his body, including one of his monogramed cuff links, which was fused to his wrist when the explosion occurred,” Reece says. “According to the medical examiner’s office, they positively identified the body. What am I missing?”

“Turns out the forensic specialist in charge overlooked several important aspects while performing the autopsy,” Victor says. “As we speak, there is a letter on its way to Judge Hennessy, signed by the chief medical examiner himself, stating that his colleague, Dr. Menendez, misidentified the body.”