Chapter 23
VALENTINA
With Luca busy investigating his own people in light of Lanny’s confession, I’m able to accompany Victor, along with two of our security guards, to the city’s medical examiner’s office.
To my surprise, Victor has access to pretty much any building in Chicago, and he’s always greeted with a polite smile and a nod.
Where Luca’s heritage makes him fearsome and dangerous, Victor’s warm and diplomatic demeanor opens different kinds of doors, doors we desperately need open right about now.
“Mr. Ellison!” exclaims Dr. Cooper, the city’s chief medical examiner, upon seeing us in his office. “What a surprise. What brings you here?”
“Dr. Cooper,” Victor replies and shakes his hand. “I never imagined I’d have to do this, to be perfectly candid. But I need your help, no matter how crazy it may sound.”
“You have my attention.”
“You were in charge of the nightclub bombing that killed my previous employer, Stefano Petrucci,” Victor says.
Dr. Cooper nods once. “Only in charge. I didn’t perform the actual autopsy.”
“But you have access to the complete case file, the autopsy report, the evidence catalog, all of it.”
“I do, yes.”
“I need you to run through everything for me, piece by piece, page by page,” Victor says, but the doctor politely resists and his face is cast in doubt.
“With all due respect, Victor, while I certainly enjoy our Sunday brunches and tennis matches, along with the fact that you always let me win, I can’t hand over any of that information without you being a law enforcement professional with an open investigation. You know that.”
“I know,” Victor sighs. “But our current situation demands it.”
Dr. Cooper shakes his head. “I can’t, Victor. It would be considered obstruction of justice.”
A sense of urgency tangled with waves of throat-tightening nausea hits me.
I’ve been having more and more of these spells, and the smell of disinfectant is only making it worse.
I need to get out of here, but I can’t, not until we get what we came for.
Desperation may be the weapon of a cornered animal, yet sometimes it’s the only weapon we have.
“Dr. Cooper, I’m Valentina Petrucci,” I say with a soft smile. “Have you perhaps heard of me?”
The examiner gives me a curious look. “I don’t lend my ear to town gossip, Mrs. Petrucci. But yes.”
“Stefano was the father of my child,” I reply. Victor waits patiently, though I’m surprised he let me take the lead. “Ours was a complicated relationship, but I love our son deeply, with every bone in my body.”
“Of course.”
“His brother took me as his wife because he wanted to keep me and Michael safe, because he wanted to do right by us, and Luca has done all that and more,” I say. “Unfortunately, someone out there is still determined to hurt me.”
Dr. Cooper frowns slightly, adjusting his stance with an uncomfortable sigh. “I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m not sure how I can help in this situation.”
“The people who are trying to hurt me have access to highly sensitive and privileged information,” I tell him. “The kind of information only Stefano Petrucci could provide.”
Maybe we should’ve led with that from the beginning, because Dr. Cooper’s interest is piqued. His confusion is also amplified. His first instinct, however, is to deny the possibility altogether—which is what any reasonable man would do.
“That sounds impossible,” Dr. Cooper says, tilting his head.
“Maybe a little crazy, but not impossible,” Victor says and chuckles softly.
“Which is why we need to go over the forensic case file with you, my good friend. You’re the only one who can tell us for sure if Stefano died, or who can, at least, write us a letter instructing the city to exhume Stefano’s body and have his DNA tested to confirm it’s him.
That was never done, if I’m not mistaken. ”
“Victor, this is insane. My people did their job. They confirmed that the remains belonged to Stefano Petrucci. It should all be in the case file.”
“Why don’t you pull it up then?”
“I could get fired for this,” Dr. Cooper says.
“And I could get killed if we don’t figure out who’s been feeding these people information,” I say with new urgency. “There’s a price on my head, Dr. Cooper, and my son deserves to grow up with his mother. Do you have children of your own?”
The pained look in his eyes says yes. “I do.”
“How many?” I ask.
“Two,” he says.
“How old are they?”
“The boy just graduated from college. The girl is in her freshman year of high school.”
I nod slowly. “I would love to live long enough to see my son graduate from college. To meet his future wife and to cheer him on when he finds success in whatever line of work he chooses for himself… but in order to do that, I need to get to the bottom of this. I need to make sure that Stefano is really dead. It’ll help us get closer to whomever is so determined to kill me. ”
“Or it will at least close off one avenue of investigation, so we can focus on the others,” Victor adds.
The doctor thinks about it for a moment, and I’m hoping we’ve done enough. I understand his concerns, I do. I’d probably hesitate, too, if I were in his shoes. But then Victor takes a deep breath and closes the deal.
“This stays between us, Doctor,” he says. “No one will ever know.”
“And if you need an exhumation order after we’re done here, how will I back that up with the office and the judge who signs it?”
Victor smiles broadly. “If you can direct the request to Judge Hennessy, you won’t need to worry about any of that. It will get done, and your name will be protected.”
“Judge Hennessy. Let me guess, another tennis partner?” Dr. Cooper raises an eyebrow.
“A cigar and cognac aficionado, actually. We frequent the same club. Every Thursday evening, I delight him with some of my contraband treasures,” Victor admits with a wry smile.
It dawns on me, and probably on Dr. Cooper, too, that Victor’s connections across the city’s elite run deep.
Favors are exchanged, fealties are bought, and people somehow always end up doing what Victor wants them to do.
I think it’s more about people willingly doing things for Victor than it is about Victor demanding it from them.
“Alright,” the doctor concedes and turns on the wall-mounted monitor, which is wirelessly connected to his computer.
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.