I walked to the patch of shade beneath the stone pine next to the sheepfold that had saved our lives and stayed clear of the trunk and neighboring boulders, which had become a mine of forensic evidence. There were dozens of bullets buried in the pockmarked bark and embedded in the stones. I turned away from the body and gazed at the beautiful Technicolor countryside shining under the glorious Italian sun and waited for the police to arrive.
Chapter 17
Two hours later, I found myself in the very same interview room where I’d met Matteo earlier that day, only this time I was on the wrong side of the table being held as a suspect, interviewed by Mia Esposito. A uniformed colleague lolled against the wall near the door, while an electronic recorder captured our conversation. I was aware my filthy suit smelt of churned earth and sweat, and desperately wanted to take a shower.
“And you say he jumped?” Esposito asked. There was no chance of me leaving any time soon. It seemed she was intent on going over my story one more time. I’d already told her what had happened, leaving out Luna’s presence as promised, but otherwise offering the truth: that I’d visited the location to look into the accident that had led to city prosecutor Filippo Lombardi’s death, and when I’d arrived a man had opened fire. I told Esposito I had been able to climb to the outcrop, had fought the man, and had watched him jump to his death.
“And you didn’t push him?” she asked.
I shook my head. “He jumped when he realized I’d got his gun.”
“But there was no witness,” Esposito countered. “Who can say what really happened?”
“You can see the state of the tree,” I replied. “And the number of shots fired. There’s no doubting what really happened.”
“And how did you get there? Remind me.”
“I took a taxi,” I replied. “He didn’t want to wait, and I don’t remember his number.”
I didn’t want her interviewing the driver and learning Luna had been with me. “I paid cash and let him go because I wasn’t sure how long I would be.”
“I see. And you planned to walk back to Rome?”
“Uber,” I said. “Or a phone call.”
Esposito grunted and smiled. “I don’t know who this dead man is, but he should have taught you a valuable lesson, Mr. Morgan. Rome is no place for innocents. And it is even worse for the guilty. You are shining a light into the shadows, revealing things other people want hidden. My advice would be to forget whatever it is you are doing here and go home.”
I nodded slowly. “Does that mean I’m free to leave?”
She hesitated and glanced at her colleague.
“Yes,” she said at last. “I see no reason to doubt your account. You’re free to go.”
Twenty minutes later, I walked out of police headquarters, reunited with my possessions, and breathed in warm evening air scented with rich aromas of food coming from restaurant kitchens dotted around the neighborhood. I was glad to be out. I walked away from the imposing building, took out my phone and dialed a number while looking for a cab.
“Jack,” Justine said when she answered. “Where have you been? I must have left half a dozen messages.”
My phone vibrated as notifications arrived.
“I’m just getting them now,” I replied. “My phone’s been off. I was arrested.”
She gasped.
“It’s okay. I’m out now. Some guy tried to shoot me and Luna Colombo, Matteo’s former partner.”
“Jeez, Jack. Are you alright?”
“Nothing a shower and an Old Fashioned won’t fix,” I told her. “I’ve sent Mo-bot some photos of the shooter’s tattoos. I need to know straight away if she identifies them. And I’m going to need the details of someone local who can analyze a SIM.”
“You’re borderline obsessive, Jack Morgan,” she responded. “You get shot at and your mind is still locked on the case.”
“The detective in charge thinks I should go home.”
“I think you should too,” Justine said. “Come back to me, Jack. Let someone else take care of this.”
“I can’t,” I replied. “I’ve taken on the Chief Operating Officer at the Vatican Bank as a client. He wants to know the truth about Father Brambilla’s death.”
“Don’t we have someone in Rome who can handle it?” she countered.
“Matteo was still in the process of staffing up. The people he’s hired haven’t started properly yet or had their Private training. I’m all there is.”
She sighed. “I don’t like you getting shot at.”
“Me neither. I don’t know what Matteo was into, but I might have made a mistake hiring him. I feel a little responsible for this mess and want to fix it. I underestimated the extent of corruption in Rome. Innocent or guilty, I have to find out the truth about him,” I said. “I will come home as soon as it’s done.”
“Be—”
“Careful,” I interrupted. “I know. I will. And I’ll call you later. Love you.”
“Love you, you infuriating obsessive,” she replied, before hanging up.
I pocketed my phone and made a beeline for a cab that had responded to my hail.
“Hassler Hotel,” I said, jumping in the back.
Chapter 18
The taxi took me to Via Bocca di Leone and I walked two blocks though the luxury shopping district, passing busy sidewalk cafés, to the Spanish Steps where tourists thronged in the evening sun. Its glow caught the tops of the old buildings and shadows gathered in the narrow alleyways beside them as the day neared its end. I climbed the ancient stone steps, picking my way past people taking selfies and photos of the church at the top, the city laid out at the base.
The doorman at the Hassler nodded a greeting as I went inside. I saw his eyes flick up and down my filthy suit, but his training meant he knew better than to remark on my dishevelment. Hotel staff saw all sorts of oddities, and a higher star rating often correlated with more outrageous guests. My dirty clothing would not be the strangest thing this man had ever seen.
I walked into the cool marble-lined lobby, looking forward to a shower, but the moment I stepped inside I knew such simple pleasures would have to wait. Faduma was seated on a chair from which she could see everyone who entered. She saw me the moment I came in. Her impassive expression gave nothing away. I still had no idea whether she was friend or foe but at least my background check had established she was probably honest.
I walked over to her. As I drew nearer, she got to her feet.
“You look like you could use a drink,” she said, leading me into the lobby bar.
She didn’t seem fazed by my appearance, and we took our seats at a table in the quiet room. A waiter came over immediately.
“Iced water, please,” I told him.
“Orange juice,” Faduma added. “You’ve had quite the day,” she said to me while the waiter walked away.
She produced an iPad from a satchel she had slung over her shoulder and put the device on the circular table between us. She switched it on and flicked through a series of photographs of Luna and me at the spot where Filippo Lombardi had driven off the road, or more likely been forced off. The photos had been taken with a long lens and showed the gunman attacking us, my ascent, our fight and his death. Faduma paused at the photo of Luna getting into the cab.
“Why did you conceal her involvement?” she asked, tapping the image of the detective being driven away.
“How did you get these?”
“I followed you, Mr. Morgan.”
I wondered just how badly I was slipping not to have noticed a tail.
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you following me?”
“You’re stirring a hornets’ nest,” Faduma replied. “That makes you interesting.”
“For a story?” I countered. “I know who you are.”