The Signature

Danny's sister got off work shortly after six on Saturday morning. She opened the workshop for him and went home to sleep. By seven he was back at North Pier with a padded envelope under his arm.

Vincent met him at the ticket counter. Outside, a father was explaining the CLOSED sign to a little boy who'd brought his hockey stick anyway.

"I used to keep the key in the truck," Danny said. "My sister found out and told me I deserved to get my tools stolen. I guess she saved me a fair bit of trouble."

He handed over the envelope. The edges of the pages inside had left square impressions in the paper.

"Did you read these?" Vincent asked.

"The first one was about a property sale. I checked that there weren't any addresses from the other list in there and stopped."

Vincent thanked him. Danny shifted his weight, waiting for the next instruction. Vincent asked what he was going to do about the damaged sound system.

"I have to get the parts in before I can fix anything."

"Order them. I'll tell you when we can open."

Danny rubbed his thumb over the counter, clearing a small circle of dust. "My grandfather never told me why he wanted that locker left alone. I used to think he had a second wife in there or something."

"What do you think now?"

"I think he knew your dad. There were people he'd do a lot for if they asked him straight."

Vincent carried the envelope upstairs. Elena was at his desk with her coat still on and two coffees set far apart so they couldn't spill onto the photograph from the repair shop.

"Ruth took Sophie for pancakes," she said. "She wants to know whether you'll find her somewhere to skate later."

"I have a place in mind. I owe her a call."

He set the envelope down. Elena moved the picture out of the way. He was glad she did. He wanted to be able to see her at seventeen, with the ends of that red scarf tucked into her jacket, after he knew what was in front of him.

The first pages were copies of transactions he'd seen discussed years ago. Carlo had sold a building near the river. The buyer had paid what the building was worth. Beside the sale price, Luis had written the name of a landlord Vincent didn't recognize. Two pages later there was a receipt from the landlord for the first month's rent on an apartment. It matched an entry in the family records Danny had handed him the night before.

Vincent read another receipt. A school uniform. Another. First and last month's rent for a woman with two daughters.

Then the pages changed.

A different account had been paying the same men Carlo had been trying to keep away from the families. Some of the payments had dates typed beside them. One came through the morning after the ferry terminal. The authorization sheet was clipped to the payment. It was a copy of a signed order, with a handwritten line squeezed under the printed heading.

Hold C.R. until he gives you the names. The car goes back to the waterfront.

Vincent read the line twice. He knew the initials at the bottom before he saw the full name beside them. Rafael wrote the capital R in two strokes, and the second always went too far below the line.

He went to the window. Through the glass he could see the west end of the rink, the narrow strip of floor where the visitors' bench came up against the gate. Rafael used to sit there during Vincent's lessons and hold his gloves. He'd always given them back one at a time, making him say thank you for each of them.

"Did Carlo see this?" Vincent asked.

Elena had the order in front of her now. "The payment went through after he died. My dad dated the envelope the week after the funeral."

Vincent remembered Luis at the funeral, standing in line with everybody else. He'd squeezed Vincent's elbow and said he'd be at the shop if Vincent wanted him. Rafael had been close enough to hear. He'd steered Vincent away to greet another guest.

"He knew where my father had been," Vincent said. "He knew he'd been alive in that car. He sat in my kitchen and waited for me to stop asking about it."

Elena slid the authorization back onto the stack. "What do you want to do?"

For a second Vincent wanted to call Rafael and read the line aloud. He could hear his uncle telling him to come over, make a pot of coffee, bring the paper and sit down. He could also hear how easy it would be to go.

"Call Marco up," he said.

Marco brought the account of the break-in the police had shared with him. The intruder had been picked up on a warrant from another borough and had agreed to speak with investigators about the job. He'd been paid to get behind the old stands. When he found the corridor occupied, he went into the maintenance room looking for another way through. He'd been told to leave the badge where someone would see it if he had to run. He'd stuck it in the outside pocket of his bag before he dropped it.

"Did he say who gave him the badge?" Vincent asked.

"He dealt with a man who works for your uncle. I've seen him drive Rafael to the airport. The police know who he is. They want the original footage."

"Give it to them."

Vincent looked at the photo Marco had taken of the badge the day before. He'd noticed the scratch across Adrian's eye right away. He could imagine Rafael pulling the card from the drawer, seeing that same scratch, and putting it aside for a man he'd never have to meet. After the funeral, he had offered Vincent a key to the office. Vincent had told him to keep it.

"Do you think Adrian knew?" Elena asked.

"He knew enough to tell me to ask who had the drawer. I'll let him tell it himself."

There was one more sheet folded behind the authorization. Vincent nearly passed over it. The first two entries were amounts paid on the same account a year later. The signature beside the third was his own.

He remembered the office where he'd signed it. Rafael had said the transfer covered old debts that couldn't be allowed to disrupt payroll. Vincent had called it a small price to pay for everyone to get a quiet Christmas.

He had signed three of those sheets before he stopped asking what they were for. He could remember the pen he'd used.

"Marco," he said. "I need my attorney here. Ask her to call me from the car."

Marco looked down at the papers and saw the signature. For years Vincent had paid him to know which questions to leave unasked. He watched him make the decision to leave this one where it was.

"I'll get her," Marco said.

When the office door closed, Vincent took his phone out to call Sophie. He'd promised to find her a patch of ice. His own name was sitting in black ink under Rafael's, and for the first time all morning he knew exactly what he could do with his hands.