Patrick didn’t want to hear this. It seemed too real, too tragic, but he kept listening, revolted and entranced.

Mick took another swig of cognac, then continued. “All kids like puppies, and I started bringing one with me when I staked out the house. One day after the nanny went back inside, I slipped into the yard. The boy didn’t seem to mind, but his dog sensed the puppy I had hidden in my coat, and it came lumbering over. I showed the puppy to the boy, and he asked if he could play with it. I put a finger over my lips to shush him and said we would need to go into the yard next door if he wanted to play with the puppy. He was happy to agree. After I had him in the neighboring yard, I conked him over the head. And that was that.”

Mick’s story came to a halt, but Patrick needed to keep pushing. “How did the Italians get him?”

Mick shrugged and refused to answer.

“How did the Italians get him, Mick?” Patrick demanded.

Mick started weeping, moaning that he was surely going to hell because of how that child suffered, and it was all his fault. He sobbed until he got sick in the chamber pot.

When Patrick pressed again for more details, Mick unleashed a string of curses and threw the bottle of cognac at Patrick’s head. Patrick ducked, and the bottle smashed against the wall.

“I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen to the kid, I swear it!” Mick whimpered. “I should have taken better care of him. I should have gotten him a doctor.”

“So he died, right?”

Mick nodded, weeping. “That sweet little kid is gone forever. He never had a chance.”

That was the last that Mick revealed. Patrick risked a look at Gwen. Her face was stark with anguish, and he covered her hand with his.

“I’m breaking every rule in the book by telling you this, but Mick can’t be prosecuted for it anymore, and you deserve to know what happened. He told the truth about how he snatched your brother.”

Gwen squeezed his hand. “The man in the courtroom, the one who had my wedding ring—he claimed to be related to Mick, but he looks like my father, not Mick Malone.”

Patrick’s gaze flew to hers. Apparently, Gwen had the same suspicion he did, but the possibility that Willy Blackstone had survived was minuscule.

“There was a $100,000 reward for information about your brother,” he said. “There’s no way someone wouldn’t have come forward to claim it. I think William died from pneumonia, but I don’t know the circumstances. The only thing I know for sure is that Mick can’t be tried a second time. He got away with it, and the government can never come back for a second bite at the apple.”