Chapter 5: What the Sea Kept

Santo's POV

They found her gray coat on the rocks at low tide.

It was torn at the shoulder and soaked through.

A diver carried it up the rocks in both hands.

I stood on the shingle with Ottavio's hand on my back and looked at it for a long time.

The Mercedes was a black frame on the rocks, burned down to the axles.

There was no body.

"The tide goes out past the point," the police captain told me.

He was one of ours, and he kept his eyes on his shoes.

"If she was in the water, Don Barone, we may never get her."

"Then keep looking."

"We will."

"Every cove from here to Maine."

"Santo," Ottavio said quietly. "Let the men work. You haven't slept."

I hadn't, and I didn't intend to.

For three days I walked the shoreline with a flashlight, and on the fourth they brought me the ring.

A diver had found it wedged in the dash, a small gold band, scorched black on one side.

I had put it on her finger myself, in a church full of people.

I closed my fist on it, and the metal bit my palm.

The lab called that afternoon.

The blood on the steering wheel and the seat was hers.

I said thank you to the technician.

Then I put the phone down on my desk and did not pick it up again.

That night I went up to our bedroom for the first time since Thursday.

The bed was still made, because the maid had been told not to touch anything.

Her side was cold, and her slippers were under the chair.

I sat down on the edge of the mattress with my head in my hands and tried to remember what I had said to her.

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