Chapter 4 - The Rules of a Criminal King
Ruth did not return the next day.
She told Sister Agnes she was sick.
It was not entirely a lie.
She spent most of the morning sitting at her kitchen table with Miguel's old belongings spread around her.
Wallet.
Watch.
Wedding ring.
A photograph of Sophia asleep on his chest.
And one small brass key police had returned after the shooting.
Ruth had never known what it opened.
For three years it had remained in a wooden box.
Now she stared at it.
Miguel had supposedly been carrying a ledger.
Where?
She remembered the grocery-store trip.
They had left home because there was no milk.
Miguel had worn jeans and an old brown jacket.
No bag.
No briefcase.
Nothing large enough for a ledger.
Unless ledger did not mean a book.
She called the police property division.
After forty-seven minutes and three transfers, a tired clerk located the original evidence inventory.
“Brown leather wallet. Keys. Wedding band. Wristwatch. Forty-three dollars cash.”
Ruth waited.
“Anything else?”
“One flash drive.”
She sat upright.
“What?”
“Small black USB device.”
“I never received that.”
The clerk paused.
“It says transferred.”
“To who?”
“Detective Valez.”
Ruth's blood ran cold.
Martin Valez.
The detective who died before Salvatore's trial.
“When?”
“Two days after the shooting.”
“What happened to it?”
“No disposition listed.”
Ruth closed her eyes.
A flash drive.
Not a paper ledger.
That afternoon she returned to Stateville.
Salvatore looked at her and immediately knew something had changed.
“There was a USB drive.”
He did not deny it.
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I just did.”
“No. You told me ledger.”
“That is what was on it.”
Ruth sat.
“What was inside?”
“Financial records.”
“Of what?”
“My organization.”
She stared at him.
“Your crimes?”
“Some of them.”
“And Caruso?”
“Most importantly, his.”
Salvatore explained.
For years, Vincent Caruso had overseen shipping operations at the South Docks.
Salvatore suspected someone was siphoning money and using his warehouses to transport narcotics without authorization.
Salvatore had strict rules about what entered his territory.
Gambling.
Protection rackets.
Illegal loans.
Smuggling stolen goods.
He admitted all of it without pride.
But narcotics were forbidden.
Ruth looked skeptical.
“You expect moral credit because you chose which crimes you liked?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I expect accuracy.”
That answer silenced her.
Salvatore continued.
When he discovered unexplained shipments, he ordered an internal audit.
One accountant copied records onto a drive.
Before delivering it to Salvatore, the accountant panicked.
He passed the drive to his cousin.
Miguel Delgado.
Ruth's eyes filled with disbelief.
“My Miguel?”
“Yes.”
“Who was the accountant?”
“Rafael Delgado.”
Ruth knew the name.
Miguel's cousin.
They had not been close, but Rafael had attended their wedding.
Ruth whispered, “Rafael disappeared after the shooting.”
“Yes.”
“Police said he probably left the country.”
“He did.”
“You helped him.”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Caruso.”
Ruth frowned.
“Why would Caruso help someone who stole evidence against him?”
Salvatore's eyes darkened.
“He didn't help Rafael escape.”
Ruth understood.
“You think he's dead.”
“Yes.”
The room became quiet.
Ruth placed the brass key on the counter beneath the glass.
“Do you recognize this?”
Salvatore leaned forward.
His expression changed.
“Where did you get it?”
“Police returned it with Miguel's things.”
Salvatore studied the key.
“That's not his.”
“How do you know?”
“It belongs to a locker.”
“What locker?”
“Union Station.”
Ruth stared at him.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because I gave a matching key to Rafael.”
Ruth nearly stopped breathing.
“You think Miguel put something there?”
“Maybe.”
“Why wouldn't Caruso find it?”
“Because he thought Miguel still had the drive.”
Ruth looked down at the key.
For three years she had kept it in a box.
Three years.
The evidence that might explain her family's deaths could have been sitting inside a locker the entire time.
“Would the locker still exist?”
“No.”
Her hope collapsed.
Salvatore continued.
“But long-term storage items are transferred to property holding.”
Ruth stared at him.
“How do you know?”
“I owned half the vending contracts in that station.”
Despite herself, Ruth almost laughed.
It came out like a breath.
Salvatore's mouth moved slightly.
Not quite a smile.
It was the first almost-human moment between them.
Ruth noticed.
So did he.
Both became serious again.
She picked up the key.
“I'm going.”
“To Union Station?”
“Yes.”
“Don't.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You just told me where to look.”
“I told you what the key is.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Salvatore leaned closer.
“If Caruso has someone watching you—”
“You don't know that.”
“I requested you.”
“That doesn't mean anyone cares.”
“It means anyone who helped frame me will wonder why.”
Ruth hesitated.
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Take Sister Agnes.”
Ruth blinked.
“You know Sister Agnes?”
Salvatore looked away.
“How?”
“My mother knew her.”
Ruth stared at him.
“What?”
Salvatore sighed.
“She volunteered at Saint Catherine's twenty years ago.”
“Sister Agnes never told me that.”
“She promised my mother something.”
“What?”
Salvatore's expression closed.
“Ask her.”
Ruth stood.
“I am getting very tired of people telling me half the truth.”
“I know.”
She moved toward the door.
“Ruth.”
She stopped.
Salvatore's voice became quiet.
“Whatever you find at that station, remember something.”
She looked back.
“I was a criminal. Vincent did not invent that.”
“I know.”
“I hurt people.”
“I know.”
“I deserve consequences.”
Ruth watched him.
“But?”
“But guilt for one thing does not make a man guilty of everything.”
Ruth said nothing.
Salvatore glanced at the brass key.
“And if you find the drive, don't bring it here.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever removed it from police evidence three years ago may still have access to this prison.”
Ruth left without answering.
Twenty minutes later she confronted Sister Agnes.
The older woman listened silently.
Then Ruth placed the brass key on her desk.
“You knew Salvatore's mother.”
Agnes closed her eyes.
That was answer enough.
“How long?”
“Many years.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Maria Bianke asked me never to involve you unless Salvatore himself chose to.”
Ruth stared.
“Involve me in what?”
Agnes opened a drawer.
From inside she removed a faded photograph.
A woman stood beside a teenage Salvatore.
Next to them was Sister Agnes.
And beside Sister Agnes stood another young man Ruth recognized immediately.
Miguel.
Her husband.
Ruth's hand flew to her mouth.
She whispered, “What is this?”
Agnes looked at her with tears in her eyes.
“Your husband knew Salvatore long before you ever heard his name.”
May you like
And suddenly Ruth realized the story had begun years before the night her family died.
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