Mary made a mental note. She knew that corner.

“We used to be so close.” Rosaria smiled at the memory, almost talking aloud, her voice soft as a tear. “He used to tell me everything. I was his big sister, and it was just the two of us, really. He needed a best friend, and I was that, for him, all through grade school and high school.”

“He used to tell me about you.” Mary thought back, remembering.

“He used to tell me about you,” Rosaria said, pain flickering through her eyes. “He really loved you, you know.”

Mary’s throat caught.

“I think you were his first love.”

It was impossible to believe, given what had happened.

“You look surprised,” Rosaria said, and Mary’s mouth went dry.

“Try shocked.”

“Why?”

He didn’t tell you everything. “He didn’t tell me he loved me, or show me, in any way.”

“I’m not surprised. In that house we weren’t exactly taught how to express affection.”

Mary felt herself go into a sort of emotional stall.

“After you broke up with him, he just shut down. Closed up. We talked about it, but I don’t think he ever got over you.”

Mary felt a wave of sadness. How did it all go so wrong?

“I mean, it’s not like it’s your fault, what he did or the choices he made later. He chose to hang with Ritchie and his hoods, who were in and out of juvy. He chose Trish, too, but they were never happy, at least they never seemed happy.” Rosaria sighed. “Then the drinking got worse. I think his life didn’t turn out the way he thought it would.”

Mary let her gaze run over the lush green grass and the shifting splotches of light that filtered through the leaves of the tall trees. An older man drove on a riding mower, its green-and-yellow John Deere gleaming like new. She wished it had all been different, or at least part of it.

“But that’s in the past. It doesn’t matter now.”

How wrong you are.

“The fact is, my uncle’s toxic, that’s what my therapist says, and so is my cousin.”

Mary came out of her reverie, her heart heavy. She had to get back to the city. She didn’t have time for the guilt, for the second-guessing, for the woulda coulda shoulda.

“You okay?”

“I think so.” Mary straightened up and slipped her heels back on. “So he sold drugs around Ninth and Kennick. Anything else you can tell me?”

“No. That’s all. I have no idea where he could be now, or what he’s thinking, taking Trish. You know, I used to try to talk to him, but he said he knew what he was doing.” Rosaria paused. “Oh, wait a minute.”

“What?”

“He might have a place, somewhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to tell him I was afraid for him, getting in with the boys, but one time, he said not to worry.” Rosaria frowned in thought. “That he had a place to go, to get lost, when he finally got out.”

“Like a second house?” Mary asked, puzzled.

“I don’t know.”

Mary thought of the diary. There had been no mention of a second house.

“He said it, just once, and I wasn’t sure he was telling the truth. I told him, you can’t quit, they don’t let you quit. And he said, you can quit if they can’t find you.”

Mary’s heartbeat quickened. “That could be where he took Trish.”

Rosaria nodded. “It could.”

“So where could it be?”

“I don’t know.”

Mary thought a minute. “It would have to be out of the city. Away.”

“That’s possible.”

Mary felt on edge. “You have no idea where he could have been talking about? This is important.”

“Sorry. I’d like to help, but I can’t.”

“How could he buy another house? Could he afford it?” Then Mary realized. Maybe that’s why he’d been skimming profits from the drug sales. She knew herself how hard it was to make a down payment. Still, where was the house? “Did he have any hobbies, so he’d buy a house with that in mind?”

“Hobbies?” Rosaria looked at Mary like she was crazy.

“Did he fish? Hunt?”

“Are you kidding?” Rosaria laughed, but Mary didn’t. She wracked her brain.

“Did he like the ocean? Would he buy in Jersey?”

“It’s expensive.”

“Was there any place he talked about? A place he considered a refuge?”

Rosaria snorted. “Who has a place like that?”

“I do.” Mary thought about it. “Church.”

Rosaria stopped laughing, then looked away. “Not that I know of.”

“Any place you went as children, that he would go back to?”

“No, not that I remember.”

“How about in summers?”

“No.” Rosaria moved back her hair with her hand.

“Where did you go on vacation? Like, we went to Atlantic City.”

“We weren’t a family-vacation kind of family.”

Mary tried a new tack. “Do you know the names of any of the guys he knew, in the Mob?”

“Only my cousin.”

Mary thought about the name in the diary. “Does Cadillac ring a bell?”

“No. I didn’t know a Cadillac. I didn’t wanna know.”

“How about your father? Is he connected, too?”

“My uncle, no, but my cousin is. He is the one that got my brother involved.”

“Anybody else?” Mary was trying everything. She wouldn’t get another chance. “So he had nobody he trusted enough to tell about the house?”

“No, not that I knew.”

“Everybody trusts somebody.”

“Me. He trusted me.” Rosaria looked at her, eyes flinty. “Honestly, I don’t know anyone else he trusted. I never heard him talk about any friends. I guess he kept the house a big secret. He’d have to.”

Whoa. It struck a chord. Maybe the house was the secret he was going to tell Trish about, on the night of her birthday. The fact that she didn’t mention it in the diary suggested she hadn’t known about it.

“That’s all I know, sorry.”

“Thanks. If anything else occurs to you, will you call me?” Mary extracted a business card from her wallet and handed it to her.

“Sure, thanks.” Rosaria slipped it into her pocket, and the little dog jumped around, excited to be back on the move.

“Thanks for the help. It was great seeing you again.”

“You, too.” Rosaria stood up. “Take care.”

“You, too.” Mary rose, gave her a brief hug, and turned to go.

“Mare? One last thing.”

“Yes?” Mary turned, and Rosaria’s expression was pained.

“I don’t want to know about it, if he kills her.”

“I hear that.” Mary turned away and hurried back to the car.

Back in the car, Mary checked the clock. 2:25. She had to do something with the information about Ninth amp; Kennick. She considered calling Giulia, but she couldn’t trust her not to blab the information and that wouldn’t do any good, anyway. When traffic slowed, she reached for her phone and plugged in Brinkley’s cell number, reading the pen marks still faint on her hand. The call connected with his voicemail, and she left a complete message, telling him about Ninth amp; Kennick. Still she felt vaguely unsatisfied.

She called information, asked for the Missing Persons department, and the call connected. “Hello, I’m calling about the abduction of Trish Gambone. I may have information as to their whereabouts. With whom should I speak?”

“Hold, please,” a man answered, and the call went click, then came back on. “Sorry, is this a tip about the Amber Alert? We’re fielding calls in that case.”

“No, this is a woman, an adult. She was on the TV news last night.”

“Oh, is this the case that they had in Homicide?”

“Yes.”

“We have it logged in here. Who did you say you are?”

Mary told him, spelling her name and giving her cell number, against the background noise of ringing phones.

“Give me your information. I have to get these other calls. The Amber Alerts are just a monster.”

Mary sighed. The car moved an inch. She told him everything she knew and hung up, feeling assured of nothing. The BlackBerry rang again before she could even set it down, and she checked the display before she answered. It was Amrita, returning her call.