“This is Isabella’s sister,” Enzo tells me. “Her parents are missing.”
“Since when?”
“They were gone when she woke up this morning.”
“Why didn’t she report it?”
Enzo translates the question, then tells me, “She says she did. Officers came and took a report.”
If Salvatore has informants in the police service, Morello must too.
“When did she last see Isabella?”
He asks, and then the woman replies.
“They talked on the phone two days ago.”
“Isabella doesn’t live here?”
More Italian.
“She moved into her own apartment last week.”
“Did Isabella say anything unusual when they spoke?”
I glance down the street while Enzo asks, trying to rein in my impatience about the lack of useful information. Morello must have taken the parents to prevent Isabella from warning Carina. I doubt they’re being held where she is, if they’re even still alive. Prisoners are an inconvenience.
“She says her sister sounded normal,” Enzo tells me. “It was a short call. Isabella was going to a doctor’s appointment.”
“Was she sick? Why did she go to the doctor?”
The answer comes a minute later. “She was getting an A1C test,” Enzo tells me. “She has type 2 diabetes.”
Something occurs to me. “Does she wear a glucose monitor?”
Enzo frowns. “What?”
“Ask if her sister wears a glucose monitor,” I tell him testily.
He still looks confused, but he translates.
“Sì,” is the answer.
I head toward the car, already dialing.
Misha takes four rings to answer. “He?—”
“Four years ago, you tracked down that arms dealer using his pacemaker. Can you do that for a different medical device?”
“It depends. What are the details?”
“Patient’s name is Isabella—” I glance at Enzo, who’s followed me, and switch to English. “What’s her last name?”
“Ricci.”
“Isabella Ricci. She’s diabetic; it’s a glucose monitor. Was likely treated at Chicago General.”
“Do you know which doctor? Or the exact device?”
