The Fingerprint Under the Grip
Chapter 11 - The Fingerprint Under the Grip
Josephine read the report until the letters blurred.
Samuel Hartley.
Partial fingerprint.
Weapon discharged.
The facts sat together on the page with the confidence of a verdict.
She hated them for it.
“My father would not hurt Dileia.”
Raphael stood across from her in the library.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
The words came sharper than she intended.
He accepted them.
“You’re right. I don’t.”
Josephine pressed the report flat on the desk.
“I knew him. He hated guns.”
“People touch things they hate.”
“He hated violence.”
“People do things they hate when they’re afraid.”
She looked at him.
“Are you trying to make me doubt him?”
“No.”
Raphael came around the desk.
“I’m trying to keep one piece of evidence from becoming a whole story. We have already seen what happens when people do that.”
Josephine’s anger loosened.
He was right.
She disliked him for being right at that exact moment.
The state police interviewed Gideon for six hours.
They interviewed Eleanor for two.
They asked Josephine about her father’s habits, temper, finances, friendships, and whether she had ever seen him with Vittorio Orsini.
Most of her useful memories were from childhood.
Dad sang badly in the car.
Dad carried peppermints in his coat.
Dad cried when the Red Sox won the World Series and denied it afterward.
None of that helped establish who had held a gun on a dark road eleven years ago.
Two days later, Detective Lena Alvarez returned to the estate.
She was in her forties, compact, direct, and unimpressed by expensive rooms.
“We found something,” she said.
Raphael led her into the morning room.
Josephine sat beside him.
Alvarez opened a folder.
“Mr. Hartley’s print is under the right side of the grip.”
Josephine nodded.
“We know.”
“That matters.”
“Why?”
“Because a print there is less likely to be left by someone firing normally. It suggests he may have been holding the weapon sideways or trying to control someone else’s hand.”
Josephine stopped breathing.
Raphael leaned forward.
“Can you prove that?”
“No.”
The detective did not dress uncertainty as certainty.
“But there’s more.”
She placed a photograph on the table.
A small copper-colored fragment rested in an evidence tray.
“We recovered this yesterday from a tree near the old crash site.”
Raphael looked at her.
“After eleven years?”
“The property owner remembered investigators marking damage on a maple tree after the accident. It was never collected because the original report treated it as debris impact.”
“A bullet.”
“Yes.”
Josephine stared.
“So the gun was fired outside the car?”
“Likely.”
“Did it hit anyone?”
“Not that we know.”
Alvarez turned another page.
“The gunshot occurred before the collision. We can’t establish exactly how long before.”
Raphael sat back.
“Meaning the gun may have had nothing to do with the crash.”
“Correct.”
Josephine’s eyes filled.
It was not proof of her father’s innocence.
But it was air.
She could breathe again.
Alvarez continued.
“We also reexamined archived photographs of the vehicle.”
Raphael’s face hardened.
“And?”
“There was damage to the rear quarter panel inconsistent with a single-car accident.”
“A second car.”
“Possibly.”
Gideon, standing near the door, went still.
Alvarez noticed.
“You remember something?”
Gideon looked at Raphael.
Then Josephine.
“I saw black paint on the bumper.”
Raphael’s expression changed.
“You never said that.”
“Vittorio told me the second vehicle belonged to family.”
“What family?”
Gideon hesitated.
“Vale.”
Josephine felt cold.
Conrad’s surname filled the room without anyone saying it.
Alvarez closed the folder.
“We’re looking for repair records from that week.”
Raphael said, “Conrad’s car?”
“Not necessarily his. His firm had three fleet vehicles registered at the time.”
After she left, Josephine walked outside.
The September air had turned cooler.
She stood beside the fountain until Raphael joined her.
“My father grabbed the gun,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“To stop someone.”
“Maybe.”
“You are very irritating today.”
“I have been told.”
She turned toward him.
“I need you to say what you think.”
Raphael considered her.
“I think Samuel helped my sister leave. I think someone followed them. I think a gun was pulled, Samuel tried to stop it, and another car forced them off the road.”
Josephine closed her eyes.
“That’s what I think too.”
“It may be wrong.”
“I know.”
He stood beside her.
Not touching.
Close enough.
After a while, Josephine said, “Why did your father lie about Dileia driving?”
“I don’t know.”
“If he was protecting her reputation, she was dead. If he was protecting Samuel, Samuel was dead too.”
Raphael looked toward the house.
“So he was protecting someone who survived.”
Josephine followed his gaze.
Wyatt was inside.
Her stomach tightened.
Before either spoke again, Detective Alvarez called.
Raphael answered on speaker.
“We found one of the old repair invoices.”
“What vehicle?”
“A black Mercedes registered to Vale & Vale Legal Holdings.”
Raphael looked at Josephine.
Alvarez continued.
“The rear passenger side was repainted two days after Dileia’s crash.”
“Who authorized the repair?”
A pause.
“Conrad Vale.”
Josephine’s face went pale.
Then the detective added, “But Conrad was not listed as the driver.”
Raphael’s eyes narrowed.
“Who was?”
“Vittorio Orsini.”
Silence.
Josephine stared at Raphael.
Raphael stared at the phone.
The evidence had swung again.
Not toward Samuel.
May you like
Toward his father.
**And the one man who could explain why Vittorio had been driving Conrad Vale’s damaged car had been dead for six years.**
