Now the four of them were driving along the Lungotevere on the Trastevere side of the river, slowly checking the huddled bunches of people sheltering by the Tiber. The sluggish current was out of sight from the road here. The flat, broad shelf by its banks, reached by steps from street level, was a popular shelter for the homeless.
Alexa was in the front passenger seat blowing cigarette smoke out of the crack she’d opened the window, not minding the freezing air it brought into the car, looking for where she wanted them to stop. The atmosphere in the car was bad. They all sensed failure.
“These kids won’t talk to cops,” she said. “Why should they?”
“Because this girl needs our help,” Emily muttered icily.
Alexa shook her head. “They don’t know that. They don’t believe a word you say. They think cops spell trouble. With good reason.”
“What do you suggest?” Costa asked.
“Leave it to me. Stay out of the way. I’ll tell them you’re family, looking for her. You got any money?”
Peroni reached over from the backseat and handed her some notes. She looked at them and whistled. “Wow. You could buy a couple of tricks for that. Supply and demand. Lots of the former, none of the latter.”
“We need to find this kid,” Peroni insisted.
She stuffed the cash into the pocket of her bright red nylon anorak and pointed across the river. “There. I know a couple of places. Besides, thinking about it, the wind’s coming from the wrong direction for this side. These kids are destitute. They’re not stupid. Not most of them anyway.”
The jeep moved into the right-hand lane and waited at the traffic lights at the next bridge.
“You’re not his niece,” Emily stated with some certainty.
The woman turned and stared at her. “Says who?”
“I just thought… It was a turn of speech.”
“You mean like ”sex worker“?”
“N-n-o,” she stuttered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m his niece. My mother is Stefan’s sister. My old man was a gypsy who climbed in the window one night.” She paused for effect. “That was a turn of speech. They got married. Eventually. Then…”
The jeep moved forward onto the bridge. Alexa looked down towards the river. “Then things fell apart. Not just personal things, you understand. Life. The country. Everything. Pull in somewhere. I can see lights down there.”
Costa parked the vehicle on the deserted pavement. They got out of the car and stood in the snow, shivering. The night was bitterly cold, with a stiff wind whipping through the open channel cut through the city by the Tiber. They were close enough now to see the black, silky surface of the river and a silver moon reflecting back at them, a perfect shining circle. It was dark down there, but there were people around, huddled in the shelter beneath the bridge. Costa could see the tiny firefly embers of cigarettes and smell the bitter smoke of a makeshift brazier.
“Stay here,” Alexa said, “until I call.”
She hesitated before heading for the steps. “There’s something you ought to know. Stefan is my uncle. When we lost the farm-his farm, our farm, everyone’s-I just ran away here. I thought I could make everything right. I thought the streets were paved with gold. You know the funny thing?”
She stared at them, with those black, gypsy eyes, and didn’t bother to hide her bitterness.
“Compared to what it’s like back home now, they are. I sometimes have to remind myself of that when I’ve got some fat businessman wheezing into my face wondering if he’s ever going to get there. I came here… and did what was easy. Stefan used what little money he had to find me, to try to get me to go back. We argued. I won. Which is as it should be because, in the circumstances, I was right. If you’ve got to have a pimp, best it’s your uncle. Best it’s an honest man, and Stefan is. Ask any of his girls.”
Emily looked her in the face and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”
The three of them waited while Alexa walked down the steps shuffling their feet in the snow in a vain effort to keep warm. The night had the crisp, biting smell of a hard winter, one that wanted to hang around. The snow would surely resume soon. Peroni glanced down at the sound of voices below.
“What do we do when this doesn’t work?” he asked.
“Keep looking,” Costa replied, “until she runs out of places.” He turned to Emily Deacon. “You don’t need to stick with us. We’re on night duty anyway. You’re not.”
“I’m fine,” she answered.
“You could-”
“I’m fine.”
Peroni caught Costa’s eye and shrugged. “How many people has Leapman got working for him here?” he asked.
She scowled. “I don’t know.”
“Two? Three? Fifty?” Peroni insisted.
She hugged herself tight inside her jacket. “Listen, until a couple of months ago I was a lowly intelligence officer working nine to five in a systems office in Washington. Then I got plucked out to come here. Why? Maybe because I know Rome. Or I speak good Italian. Maybe Leapman thinks I’m owed it because of my dad. But believe me when I say this. I do not know. He doesn’t tell me. He doesn’t listen to a damn word I say. As far as he’s concerned we’re just chasing some lunatic serial killer with a lot of air miles.”
“Maybe we are,” Peroni wondered.
“No!” she insisted angrily. “There’s a logic here. A crazy, distorted logic but it’s rational somehow too. We just have to see it.”
“I agree,” Costa said, and wondered how much that was worth. Leapman’s focus might be awry but the American had a point. They all knew the way these cases went. Intelligence, forensics, careful investigation… all of these things were important. But the final act of closure usually came by accident. A mistake, a chance encounter. The killer was active. With activity came risks. The point was to have people there, on the ground, when he slipped up. Falcone knew that as well as anyone. Both he and Leapman would surely have men on the street steadily building up a picture of the man from what little information they had, hoping that one day soon they would turn a corner and find him staring into their faces.
The reason they were chasing the girl was to save her and not, in all honesty, because they thought she’d lead them to his lair.
The voices from under the bridge began to grow in volume. They were heated, too, and it wasn’t just Alexa shouting. Costa cast Peroni a concerned glance. They’d let the woman walk straight into the unknown, assuming she could handle herself. Then, to Costa’s relief, they heard careful footsteps on the snow-covered stone steps. Alexa reappeared. She looked puzzled, a little scared maybe.
“We were getting worried,” Peroni said. “They didn’t sound too friendly down there.”
“They’re just doped up to hell, most of them. I’ve got a name for you. Laila. Kurdish. She was here tonight, apparently. They don’t know where she’s gone. Or so they say.”
“And?” Costa pressed.
“I don’t know,” she answered hesitantly. “They just took the money and came up with the story. It could be complete bullshit. Tell me, are you the only people looking for her?”
“As far as we know.”
“It’s just that someone else has been asking. He didn’t have a picture, but he knew what she looked like.”