Page 80 of The Unraveling of Julia

“Well, it’s speculation, but I suppose it is possible. What is your view, then?”

“The driver of the white Fiat could have followed Gianluca and driven him off the road. He could have caused the accident.”

“But you saw the skid mark.”

“I couldn’t see it in the rain, but no skid mark tells youwhyGianluca skidded.” Julia felt horrified at the pictures flashing through her mind. “What if the Fiat driver followed Gianluca and scared him so much that he sped up and skidded off the road?”

“I understand, but there is no evidence of that. No skid marks or the like.”

“If it happened the way I said, the Fiat driverdidn’tskid. There would be nothing to show you what he’d done.”

“Why would the Fiat driver do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, for whatever reason they’re following me. Please, go talk to that Fiat driver. We gave you the license plate, and I’m telling you right now, I’m suspicious.”

“Okay, we will do so. We will investigate and determine where he was tonight, as well as the reason he may have been following you.”

“Thank you.” Julia almost cried with relief.

“But I must note that I am suspicious too, of Mr. Moretti’s driving. If you recall, he admitted that he drove between the lanes and on the shoulder, chasing the Fiat. That is hardly the conduct of a sensible, cautious driver.”

Julia felt her stomach flip-flop. “He did it only because I asked him to.”

Marshal Torti sighed. “Ms. Pritzker, I have decades of experience in law enforcement, and I am also a father of two sons. I will not allow them to buy a motorcycle. Do you know why? Because I have seen many motorcycle accidents and I know firsthand that young men often take chances they should not.”

Julia could hear the conviction in his voice, but she still couldn’t agree. “But what if this is tied to the villa and the underground cell? Were you able to find the names of any missing children?”

“We have just begun to investigate. We don’t have the answer yet.”

“Then again, what if this is connected to the cell, the villa, my inheritance? Tome?” Julia didn’t know if she was making sense, but wasn’t about to stop now. If her theory was correct, Gianluca was targeted because of her. She felt the same guilt she had with Mike, as if the worst thing she could imagine was happening all over again. “Wait, Marshal Torti, did you get a call tonight from Detective Malloy of the Philadelphia police? In homicide? He was going to talk to you about my husband’s murder.”

“No.”

“You need to call Detective Malloy. I can give you his number. You should talk to each other. These things could be related, even though they’re in different countries.”

“Fine, we will do so. Kindly call me at the office tomorrow with the number. Now, please, I must go.”

“Okay, thank you.” Julia hit the gas, her gut churning.

44

NEUROCHIRUGIA, or, neurosurgery, read the sign, and Julia hurried off the elevator and down the hallway. She’d asked downstairs about Gianluca’s condition, and they’d directed her to a waiting room on the fourth floor, telling her he was in surgery. The thought terrified her. She hustled past patients’ rooms and a nurse rolling a grayish standing desk.

Julia spotted a waiting room with glass walls at the end of the hall. She got closer and saw it contained a handful of people talking and comforting each other. She realized they had to be here for Gianluca.

How can he be gone, just like that?

She recognized the voice, disconcerted. It was her mother-in-law, grief-stricken at Mike’s wake, and Julia flashed back to the scene, which had looked just like the waiting room. Mike’s family, lawyer friends, basketball buddies, fraternity brothers, secretaries, and other staff had come, but impossibly, he was gone. It was like a sick joke. Come to the party, where the guest of honor lies in an open casket.

Her mother-in-law said,He looks good.

Her father-in-law said,They did a good job.

Julia had said nothing. She’d avoided looking at Mike in a casket. She’d touched his hand, which felt cold and oddly tacky. His flesh-toned makeup had come off on her fingers, appalling her. She couldn’t accept that he was dead, dressed in a dark suit that she remembered him trying on at Bloomingdale’s.

Babe, am I partner material or what?

The tie that Mike was buried in was her birthday present to him, a blue silk Hermès with tiny horseshoes. When he opened the gift, he’d been puzzled.

---