Spider

'Sounds like my kind of place, I love your Italian churches and all that Da Vinci stuff,' said McLeod, wiping crumbs from his mouth. 'You just sold it to me, err… I'm sorry, what's your name?'

'Paullina,' she said. 'I am Paullina Caffagi.'

'Terry McLeod, very pleased to meet you.' He stuck out his hand and she shook it hesitantly. 'Been here a couple of days now and not seen you. Do you only do part-time?'

'Scusi, I don't understand.'

'Part-time – just mornings, just breakfasts?'

'Aaah yes, I only work at the breakfasts.'

'Then maybe, if you're free, you could come with me, act as my guide,' McLeod suggested hopefully.

'Oh no, I don't think I could do that,' said Paullina, wondering exactly what sights he was really interested in seeing.

'Why not? I'll pay you. Whatever you get paid to work breakfasts, I'll pay you to show me around Montepulciano.'

Paullina thought about it for a second. Although he was a bit of a jerk, he seemed harmless enough, and the extra money would really come in handy. 'Then all right, I will be pleased to be showing you Montepulciano.'

'Great!' said McLeod. 'When's good for you?'

'Tomorrow? I will be finished here and could go by twelve o'clock. Is that okay?'

'That's fine,' said McLeod. 'Could you fix a cab, a taxi for us? I'm not big on public transport.'

Paullina smiled. 'I will have one waiting.'

McLeod's interest in Paullina disappeared as soon as Nancy King entered the dining room. The older woman needed only to throw half a glance Paullina's way to send her scuttling off to resume her duties.

His luck was in. She had come into the restaurant to mix with the guests, ask them how they were enjoying their stay, that sort of thing. McLeod played his spoon across the froth on the cappuccino and listened to the small talk. She did all the tables; moving from an old couple at the back to some honeymooners, then a pair of walkers and finally himself.

'Good morning,' she said brightly. 'I'm Nancy King, my husband and I own La Casa Strada, and we hope you're enjoying your stay with us.'

'Terence T. McLeod,' he said, getting to his feet as he shook hands. 'And I'm having a terrific time, Mrs King. You sure have a great little hotel here and great staff.' He nodded towards Paullina as he sat back down.

'That's very kind of you to say so. Thank you, Mr McLeod,' she said. 'We certainly aim to please.'

'I hope you don't mind, but I've asked your waitress over there if she'd show me Montepulciano. I've offered to pay, of course. And if there's a surcharge or some kind of fee to you at the hotel, then that's also okay. I just want a good guide.'

The unusual request threw Nancy and she weighed it up for a moment before agreeing. 'No. No, I don't mind at all. We don't encourage the staff to mix with the guests out of the hotel, but providing this is purely a business arrangement, then I don't have any objections at all.'

'Great, thanks.'

Nancy smiled and started to walk away, to have a quiet word with Paullina while the matter was still fresh in her mind. 'Have a nice day, Mr McLeod.'

'And you,' said McLeod, adding, 'Oh, by the way, did you catch him?'

Nancy spun round. 'I'm sorry?'

'The man last night. Did you catch him? Everyone in the restaurant was talking about it. Some hooded guy running through the place.'

Nancy gathered her wits. 'No, no, we didn't. But let me reassure you, it wasn't anything serious. Nothing was taken and we've called the police. Please don't be worried by it. I can assure you everyone and everything here is perfectly safe.'

'I'm sure it is,' said McLeod. 'Was it your husband who chased him off? I think I read somewhere that he's an ex-cop, ex-fed or something?'

Nancy wished the conversation would end. The fright last night had left her irritable, and while she supposed that it was only natural that the guests would ask questions about what had happened, this guy was bugging her. 'No, Mr McLeod. It wasn't my husband. It was my chef and his kitchen boy. He was a lucky man. I hate to think what they'd have done with him if they'd caught him.'

'I guess battered burglar would have been on the menu?' quipped McLeod, feebly.

'And that would be just for starters,' said Nancy King.

She smiled again and this time did manage to walk away from his table. Terry McLeod was delighted. If former FBI man Jack King hadn't been here last night, on Independence Day of all days, and he wasn't here this morning to comfort his wife after her ordeal, then just where the hell was he?

47

Rome Jack had been unable to shake off the horrors of his latest nightmare until he'd spoken to Nancy on the phone. He'd waited until just after seven, the time when he was sure the bedside alarm would have woken her. He had been soothed by listening to his wife's sleepy voice and imagined how warm she would have felt if he had been lying in bed with her. Nancy hadn't mentioned the burglar, although it had still been very much on her mind.

After the call, Jack felt reassured and energized enough to take a short jog around the centre of Rome, followed by a hot shower and a healthy breakfast on the terrace. By the time he climbed into the chauffeur-driven car to take him to police HQ the streets were almost gridlocked with traffic. The journey took twice as long as it should have done and Jack got out feeling hot enough to need another shower.

He tipped the driver Massimo had sent him, even though the guy insisted that there was no need, and made his way to the meeting room. Massimo had other appointments that day and it had been arranged that Jack would sit with Orsetta, Benito and Roberto to get an update on their enquiries and swap any new thoughts they might have had. The starting time for the meeting was noon and Jack was still finding it hard to become accustomed to the fact that people weren't at their desks by eight a.m. or earlier, as he was used to in New York. The Italians seemed to have the work-life balance thing better sussed than the Americans. They worked to live rather than lived to work. Free time, family time, me time – those were the three things they looked forward to most.

Jack sat in the plain, dull room on his own and was going over a checklist of the subjects he wanted to cover when Orsetta walked in.

'Buon giorno,' she said. 'You are a little early, no?'

'Not by US standards,' he answered. 'The meeting's not until twelve, right?'

'That's right,' said Orsetta, 'I thought I might already find you here, so I came along ahead of the rest.'

'Thought or hoped?' he asked, unable to resist flirting a little.

'I guess both,' she said coolly. 'But it's something professional rather than personal that I have in mind.' Nevertheless, she couldn't stop her eyes sparkling playfully.

'Then shoot,' he said.

They both settled into black plastic chairs across the corner of a long table that faced whiteboards and video screens. She was dressed demurely in matching dark brown jacket and trousers, accompanied by a green striped blouse, her hair tied back in a green 'scrunchy'.

'Okay,' she said, finally deciding how she was going to open the discussion. 'Some years back, I went to England and attended some courses at Scotland Yard and at a place in the country called Brams Hall…'

'Bramshill,' interrupted Jack. 'It's called Bramshill, not Hall, and it's the location of the National Police Staff College run by the Association of Chief Police Officers. I guess you were there as part of your profiling training?'

'Yes, that's right,' said Orsetta, a little irritated at being corrected.

'It was ACPO that launched offender profiling in the UK. They had to nurture it through the regional forces for years. The Bramshill course is probably the best in the world – outside Quantico, of course.'

'Of course,' said Orsetta. 'Well, when I was there, at Bramshill,' she continued, 'apart from the training, I learned a very important English saying.'