Chapter 6 - THE BODY BENEATH THE WHITE SHEETFor fourteen months, I had lived with one certainty.
My wife was dead.
I had watched her coffin disappear into the ground.
I had stood beside her grave while three little girls clung to my coat.
I had spent hundreds of nights imagining her final moments.
The sound of gunfire.
The cold pavement.
The terror of knowing she would never see our daughters grow up.
Now Sophie was telling me she had seen Isabelle open her eyes after the shooting.
I wanted to believe her.
God help me, I wanted it so badly that I was afraid to speak.
We drove for twenty minutes before I stopped at an abandoned service station near the North Shore.
Marco was losing blood.
I called a physician who had treated my family for years.
Dr. Samuel Reed.
Unlike most people around me, Samuel had never taken money to overlook something he shouldn't.
He had been Isabelle's friend.
And he had attended her funeral.
He answered on the second ring.
“Dominic?”
“I need help.”
“What happened?”
“Marco's been shot.”
“Where are you?”
I gave him the address.
He immediately said, “Don't move him unless you have to. I'm coming.”
I ended the call.
Then I turned toward the back seat.
Grace held Nora.
Hannah sat beside Sophie.
Olivia stared through the window.
I looked at my middle daughter.
“Sophie, sweetheart.”
She turned.
“Can you tell me what you saw?”
Grace touched my shoulder.
“Carefully.”
I nodded.
“Sophie, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to.”
She studied me.
Then she whispered, “Mommy was crying.”
My throat tightened.
“When?”
“In the car.”
I looked at Hannah.
She shook her head slowly.
“I didn't see that.”
“Where were you?” I asked.
“Unconscious.”
I turned back to Sophie.
“Who was with Mommy?”
She looked at the floor.
“Uncle Vinny.”
I closed my eyes.
“And?”
“A lady.”
“What lady?”
She shrugged.
“White coat.”
A woman in a white coat.
Doctor?
Nurse?
Someone disguised as one?
“What did the lady do?”
Sophie pressed her lips together.
Then she touched her own arm.
“Needle.”
I felt sick.
“Did she give Mommy an injection?”
Sophie nodded.
“And then?”
“Mommy stopped moving.”
Nora began crying.
Grace held her closer.
I stopped asking.
The girls had already given me more than enough.
I stepped outside.
The night air smelled of gasoline and rain.
I leaned against the vehicle and tried to remember Isabelle's funeral.
The coffin had been closed.
Vincent said the damage was too severe.
The medical examiner had recommended it.
I had accepted that.
Before the funeral, I had been allowed into a hospital room to identify her.
A woman lay beneath a white sheet.
Her face was bruised.
Her hair was dark.
Her wedding ring was on her finger.
I remembered touching her hand.
Cold.
So cold.
But there had been swelling.
Bandages.
And I had been in shock.
Had I truly recognized her?
Or had I recognized the ring?
The necklace?
The clothes?
I took out my phone.
Called Anthony Bellucci.
He answered immediately.
“Dominic.”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Turn on the news.”
A pause.
“I already heard about the house.”
“Who told you?”
“Vincent.”
I looked toward the dark road.
“Of course he did.”
“Are the girls safe?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God.”
I said nothing.
He continued.
“Dominic, we need to coordinate with the police. This is going to be a disaster.”
“I need Isabelle's autopsy report.”
Silence.
Then, “What?”
“The complete report.”
“Why?”
“Because I want it.”
“Dominic, this isn't the time—”
“Send it.”
He sighed.
“Those records are sealed.”
“By whom?”
“The medical examiner's office.”
“You handled the funeral arrangements.”
“Vincent did most of that.”
“Then send me whatever you have.”
A pause.
“Of course.”
I ended the call.
Five minutes later, an email arrived.
Twenty-three pages.
Official letterhead.
Medical terminology.
Photographs omitted.
I scrolled to the identification section.
Visual identification confirmed by surviving spouse.
Me.
I stared at the words.
Then I opened the death certificate.
Cause of death: multiple gunshot wounds.
Time of death: 9:56 a.m.
Attending physician: Dr. Eleanor Price.
I recognized the name.
Price had been the trauma surgeon who informed me Isabelle couldn't be saved.
I remembered her standing in the hospital corridor.
Blonde hair beneath a surgical cap.
A tired face.
A hand resting briefly on my shoulder.
I had never questioned her.
I searched the report.
No fingerprints.
No dental comparison.
No DNA identification.
Only my visual confirmation.
My breathing changed.
“Dominic?”
Grace stood behind me.
I showed her the report.
“Look.”
She read silently.
Then looked up.
“This isn't proof she's alive.”
“I know.”
“But it isn't proof the body was Isabelle either.”
I nodded.
Grace touched my arm.
“Don't tell the girls anything yet.”
I looked at her.
She continued.
“Please. Not until you know.”
I glanced toward the vehicle.
Olivia was holding Nora's hand.
Sophie had fallen asleep against Hannah.
They had lost their mother once.
I would not make them lose her twice.
“You're right.”
Grace looked surprised.
I almost smiled.
“Don't get used to it.”
She didn't smile back.
Instead, she said, “There's something else.”
“What?”
“When we were escaping, I saw Mrs. Donnelly.”
I went still.
“Where?”
“Near the kitchen.”
“What was she doing?”
“Talking to one of the men.”
I looked toward the distant glow above the trees.
My mansion was still burning.
“Did you recognize him?”
Grace nodded.
“Carlo.”
I closed my eyes.
Carlo Vescari.
Vincent's man.
“Did she know you saw her?”
“I don't think so.”
“What did you hear?”
Grace hesitated.
“Only a few words.”
“Tell me.”
“She said, ‘The girls aren't in the nursery.’”
My blood chilled.
Mrs. Donnelly hadn't been helping the attackers find valuables.
She had been helping them find my children.
I looked at Grace.
“Anything else?”
“She said Vincent would blame the fire on you.”
I stared.
“On me?”
Grace nodded.
“He planned to tell the police you'd discovered the girls were being manipulated and lost control.”
I understood immediately.
A grieving mob boss.
A suspicious housekeeper.
A house fire.
Dead children.
If the plan had succeeded, the story would have written itself.
I would have been blamed for the deaths of my own daughters.
And Vincent would have inherited control of everything.
Dr. Reed arrived twenty minutes later.
He brought a medical bag and a second vehicle.
He examined Marco, then looked at me.
“He needs surgery.”
“Can you stabilize him?”
“For a short trip.”
He worked quickly.
When Marco was finally stable enough to move, Samuel pulled me aside.
“What happened?”
“Someone tried to kill my family.”
He looked toward the girls.
Then back at me.
“Does this have anything to do with Isabelle?”
I studied him.
“Why would you ask that?”
He hesitated.
“Because I received a phone call this morning.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“From whom?”
“A woman.”
“What woman?”
“She wouldn't give her name.”
“What did she say?”
Samuel glanced toward the vehicle.
“She asked whether I still remembered the night Isabelle was admitted.”
I stared.
“What night?”
“The night she died.”
I stepped closer.
“What did you tell her?”
“That I wasn't her attending physician.”
Samuel looked uncomfortable.
“Then she asked whether I knew Dr. Eleanor Price.”
“Do you?”
He nodded.
“Not well.”
“Where is she now?”
He looked away.
“That's the strange part.”
“What?”
“She disappeared shortly after Isabelle's funeral.”
I felt the ground shift beneath me.
“Disappeared?”
“Resigned. Closed her practice. Nobody knew where she'd gone.”
I took out my phone.
“Do you have her address?”
“An old one.”
“Give it to me.”
He did.
A townhouse in Westchester.
I saved it.
Then Samuel said something that made me stop.
“Dominic, there's one more thing.”
“What?”
“The woman who called.”
I waited.
“She knew my private number.”
“So?”
“Only a handful of people have it.”
“Who?”
May you like
He looked directly at me.
“Isabelle was one of them.”
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