Page 96 of Taming Seraphine

“What about Seraphine?” he asks.

“We’re going to work our way through Capello’s bodyguards. At least one of them will lead us to Samson’s whereabouts.”

“I could hack into the nightclub’s security feed,” Miko says.

“He only walked past the entrance, but you can see if the camera caught anything.”

I pick up my phone. It’s time to inform the Montesano brothers of this new development. Wiping out the Capello family wasn’t just about getting Roman off death row. They also wanted to claw back the empire Frederic Capello stole from their father.

“Any word on Gabriel?” I ask.

He looks up from his screen. “Are you sure you still want me looking for the brother? If Samson’s out there, putting out hits on your head?—”

“Gabriel is the only leverage he has over Seraphine,” I say. “There’s no telling what she might do if Samson makes her choose between her brother’s survival or slitting my throat.”

Miko shudders. “Alright. I’ll keep digging.”

Benito is the first to reply with a string of expletives, followed by a list of Samson’s usual haunts. I doubt that the last legitimate Capello will be out in the open again after being recognized.

Roman doesn’t text back, and neither does Cesare. I expect Roman is busy trying to romance Emberly Kay out of her inheritance. Cesare? I shake my head. Let’s just say that Rosalind won’t have any complaints.

“I searched all hospitals within a hundred-mile radius of New Alderney,” Miko says, breaking me from my thoughts. “There was no trace of anyone with the name of Capello, Capelli, or any other variation, beginning with CAPE having had a liver transplant.”

“So he used another fake name?”

“That’s what I thought, so I searched all liver transplants with live donors and narrowed them down by gender, age, and ethnicity.”

“And?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Any way to find out which patients are repeat transplants?”

He shakes his head. “None, but if he used a different fake name?—”

“And a different date of birth.” I rub my chin.

“I’ll keep looking. Once I find Capello’s transplant information, then I’ll be able to locate information on the donor.”

I’m about to make another suggestion when my phone rings. It’s Rita, sounding snippy. “The client just called with a description of a man he thinks is the shooter.”

Fuck.

“Do you know what he said?” she asks.

I don’t reply because Rita is already on a roll.

“That the man was last seen escorting his sister into a black BMW and even gave me the license plate number. He wants to know why he’s making more progress than trained professionals.”

I exhale the longest breath. “We’re not a detective agency, and if he already knew the identity of the killer, why didn’t he provide that information?”

“Don’t you think I asked him that?” she answers with a huff. “He’s considering passing those details to another agency.”

I swallow back a curse. “Tell him we’ll send details of the car’s owner during working hours. If we can ID the lone gunman, he’ll be dead before the close of business tomorrow.”

“Alright,” she says, sounding less harried. “We’ve also had a few more inquiries, but all the junior agents are busy with assignments.”

“Turn them down. I’m busy chasing down this mysterious gunman.”

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