“Will do,” she said, before I hung up.
“Have you been following me?” I asked my visitor.
“What? No,” Faduma replied, stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind her. “Not tonight, anyway. I was out for dinner.”
“What do you mean, not tonight?” I asked. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I followed you here after we met at the cemetery. I wanted to see what you did with the information I gave you.”
I scoffed, but she waved away my disbelief.
“I came because there’s something you need to see.”
She reached into her purse for her phone, which she turned toward me. The screen was filled with a news website’s piece covering Father Carlos’s murder.
“There’s been another priest murdered,” she said.
“I know. I was there.”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
“He said Antonelli is behind the killings, right before he was shot.”
“That’s terrible. Poor man.”
I nodded. I couldn’t shake the memory of the priest dying in front of me.
“But you were unhurt?” she asked.
“They didn’t seem interested in me, thankfully,” I said. “It’s clear they wanted to silence Father Carlos, but they weren’t quick enough.”
“Do you think he was telling the truth?”
I nodded.
“Does that mean Matteo Ricci is a liar?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied. “But I do know I want to talk to him again.”
“I want to come with you,” she said. “We’ll go first thing in the morning.”
She turned for the door.
“Don’t I get a say in that?” I asked.
“Of course not,” she replied with a mischievous smile. “Meet me on the Via di San Vitale at eight tomorrow.”
I nodded. “And I’ll ask Gianna Bianchi to join us.”
Chapter 43
I tried to get hold of Justine again once Faduma had left, but there was no reply. After grabbing a gyro from one of the local Turkish takeout stands, I went to bed, exhausted.
I hardly slept and when I did drift off, I was troubled by dreams about the death of Father Carlos. I kept waking with a terrible feeling of guilt. I could and should have done more to protect him. Looking back on my career, I wondered how many more innocents might still be alive if I had just been that little bit faster, stronger or better.
I rose before dawn and went for a run along the coast, relishing the relative peace and quiet, the streets sparsely populated by other early risers, runners, people coming off their night shifts, and workers just beginning their day. I covered ten kilometers in forty minutes and returned to the apartment where I showered and dressed in the black T-shirt and jeans I’d worn briefly the previous night.
I took a cab from Ostia to police headquarters on the Via di San Vitale and arrived at 7:55 a.m.
Faduma was already waiting outside. She wore a dark green maxi summer dress.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Morning,” I replied.
It didn’t feel like a good one to me.
“Any sign of Gianna?” I asked.
Faduma shook her head just as the lawyer emerged from the large archway that at the front of police headquarters. She looked distraught.
“Mr. Morgan, I have terrible news,” she said. “According to the duty officer, Matteo Ricci tried to hang himself last night. He’s in Ospedale Fatebenefratelli under armed guard.”
Chapter 44
Fatebenefratelli hospital was located on Isola Tiberina, a small island in the center of the Tiber near the Marcello Theater. Approached from the treelined southern bank of the river, across the cobbled Cestio bridge, the hospital looked like one of the classical terracotta apartment blocks found in the upmarket older parts of Rome. The windows of the three-story building were surmounted by white stone frames, beveled slightly, giving the building additional character.
Gianna had driven us to the hospital in her dark green Audi Q7, weaving skillfully through the city traffic so we covered the three-mile journey in under fifteen minutes. She spent most of the drive on the phone, speaking to Mia Esposito to ensure we had access to Matteo when we arrived at the hospital.
He was in a private room on the third floor and there were two uniformed Carabinieri posted outside. Gianna presented her identification and they allowed us into Matteo’s room. There was a window overlooking the river. Matteo had a dressing around his neck and was dozing beneath a sky-blue sheet. He was surrounded by monitors and an IV feed. This shadow was a far cry from the confident, competent man I’d hired to run the Rome office, and I was struggling to understand how he’d unraveled so quickly and comprehensively.
He stirred when we approached the bed and his eyes flickered open. They were bloodshot and sunken, his skin gray. He seemed traumatized by whatever had happened to him.
“I...” he rasped.
More words followed, but his voice was too weak and strained for us to make sense of them.
I moved closer and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You’re going to be okay.”
He strained against whatever damage had been done to his vocal cords. I looked at Faduma and Gianna, both wearing pained expressions as they felt Matteo’s struggle and suffering from across the room.
“Jack,” he said at length, his voice as raw and rough as a deep-scored graze. “I didn’t do this.”
He gestured to his neck.
“Was sleeping. Someone strangled me. Staged hanging.”
He fell back exhausted from the effort of communicating, and I looked at Faduma and Gianna.
“Did you hear that?” I asked.
They shook their heads.
“He says someone tried to kill him. Made it look like he tried to kill himself.” I turned to Matteo, somewhat relieved to have his explanation but not entirely sure I could trust it. “I’m glad they underestimated you. Do you know who it was?”
He shook his head slowly and covered his face with his hand.
“Mask?” I suggested, and he nodded.
“Do the police know this wasn’t your doing?”
He shook his head again, wincing with pain.
“I know this is difficult, but it’s important,” I told him. “Why did you tell Luna not to investigate the prosecutor’s death? Filippo Lombardi, the car wreck. Why did you listen to Brambilla when he told you to back off?”
Matteo shrugged.
“Did you know Luna is Elia Antonelli’s daughter?”
His eyes darted to Gianna and Faduma before he nodded.
“Do you think Antonelli and Father Brambilla were connected?” I asked.
He hesitated then nodded again. “Ignacio... Father Brambilla... told me Antonelli had asked him to warn me off.”
I looked at Faduma who very obviously understood the significance of this immediately. Antonelli was implicated in this whole affair. I felt very foolish for having taken the man at face value.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the connection to Antonelli?”
Matteo’s eyes welled up and he forced out a word.
“Shame.”
I patted his shoulder. “You rest, Matteo. Get better. I will take care of this.”
I turned to Gianna and said, “We don’t have an operational team yet. Do you have any security agencies you can recommend? I want to put a couple of close-protection specialists on this ward to boost the police guard.”
It was standard operating procedure whenever a Private employee’s life was in danger. Until I had evidence to the contrary, I had to take Matteo at his word.
She nodded. “I’ll phone a company we use.”
“I’m worried they’ll make another attempt on his life,” I said. “It seems Elia Antonelli is busy tying up loose ends.”