Chapter 2 - The Recording of My Brother's Voice
My brother's voice had been hidden beneath the table of Baltimore's most feared mafia boss.
And suddenly, the entire evening felt less like an assassination attempt and more like a message meant for someone to discover.
"Caleb?" I whispered.
Detective Mitchell studied me.
"You have a younger brother?"
"He's twenty-three."
"Does he work at a marine repair facility?"
My knees weakened.
"He did. Before the accident."
She nodded.
"I'd like you to listen to a short portion of the recording."
She guided me toward a police vehicle.
Inside, another investigator played an audio file.
Static crackled.
Then I heard Caleb.
"I told them the containers were leaking. I told them somebody would get hurt."
My hand flew to my mouth.
His voice sounded frightened.
Another man answered.
"Then stop asking questions, kid."
I didn't recognize that voice.
Caleb continued.
"They're hiding chemicals in the repair yard. My dad knew about it before he died."
The recording ended.
I stared at the detective.
"My father?"
Mitchell nodded.
"That's why we need to ask you some questions."
My father, Thomas Marlowe, had died sixteen months earlier.
A sudden heart attack.
That was what the hospital told us.
He'd been fifty-six.
Healthy enough to work long days repairing commercial trucks.
Healthy enough to complain about baseball, argue over dinner, and insist he didn't need help with anything.
Then one morning, he never woke up.
Now I was hearing Caleb suggest Dad had known something about hazardous shipments.
"Where did you get this recording?" I asked.
"We recovered it from the equipment under the table."
"Who recorded my brother?"
"We don't know yet."
I looked toward Harbor House.
Police lights flashed across the waterfront.
Vincent Moretti was speaking with a uniformed officer.
His expression was unreadable.
Then something occurred to me.
"Why would anyone put Caleb's voice beneath Vincent's table?"
Mitchell studied me.
"That's what we're trying to establish."
I swallowed.
"Do you think Vincent knows?"
"We'll be asking him."
At that moment, Vincent looked toward us.
His gaze met mine.
He said something to Marco.
Then approached.
Detective Mitchell stepped between us.
"Mr. Moretti, we're not finished speaking with Miss Marlowe."
He nodded.
"I understand."
Then he looked at me.
"Your brother's name is Caleb?"
My heart stopped.
"How do you know that?"
He hesitated.
"I heard the detective mention him."
I didn't believe him.
Not completely.
Vincent glanced toward the restaurant.
"Elena, did your father work near the port?"
I stared.
"He repaired trucks."
"At which company?"
"Marlowe Fleet Services."
Vincent went completely still.
His expression changed so dramatically that even the detective noticed.
"What is it?" she asked.
Vincent looked toward the harbor.
Then whispered, "Thomas Marlowe."
I felt cold.
"You knew my father?"
He didn't answer.
I stepped forward.
"Mr. Moretti, did you know him?"
Vincent finally looked at me.
"Yes."
My chest tightened.
"How?"
"He maintained vehicles for one of my shipping companies."
I stared.
Dad had never mentioned that.
Vincent continued.
"He came to see me shortly before his death."
The world seemed to tilt.
"Why?"
Vincent looked toward Detective Mitchell.
"Because he believed someone was using our port operations to transport hazardous materials without proper authorization."
I stopped breathing.
May you like
Then Vincent said something that shattered everything I believed about my father's death.
"Your father told me someone was trying to kill him."
