Chapter Forty-five
Richard
My heart raced as I stepped out of the service elevator, my mind still spinning from the fruitless search for any link between the mafia and Elliott's murder.
The police have already combed through the crime scene, dusting for prints, checking for anything that might have connected the dots, but there was nothing—no murder weapon, no solid evidence, and now nothing that tied the mafia to the crime.
If there was a clue, it wasn't here. Hopefully, my men at Elliott's residence would have better luck. Still, the question gnawed at me: Who really killed Elliott Mason? That would be the hardest mystery to solve without a clear lead.
As I reached the lobby, I allowed myself a brief moment of relief—until I saw her.
There she was, Vanessa, bathed in the golden light of the chandelier, her white nightwear almost glowing against the dim surroundings.