He opened out his hands, slapped the pockets of his coat. “Search me. No new customers. Honest.”
“Is it important? I’ve got people screaming for budget figures. Now I’ve summoned the courage to try to put some together I’d really like to get this done.”
“It’s important.”
She pointed to the chair and said, “In that case, sit.”
“Thanks. So what do you think about Emily Deacon?”
The sudden question surprised her. “In what way?”
“What’s driving her?”
She pulled a face that said: Isn’t it obvious? “Family. The fact that it was her dad that died. What else? Does she look like an FBI agent to you?”
“Looks can be deceptive. Lots of people think I don’t look like a cop.”
She pushed the keyboard away from her. “That’s easy. You’re… a little shorter than most. You like art, don’t eat meat and rarely lose your temper. You could pass for a sane, intelligent human being most of the time. Is it any wonder you stick out like a sore thumb around this zoo?”
“You’re too kind.”
“I know. So why the questions about Emily Deacon?”
“She’s missing. Or, to put it another way, I don’t know where she is.”
“Are you supposed to?” she asked. “I mean, she’s a grown woman. What about that pig of a colleague of hers? Does he know?”
“No. It’s just…” He didn’t want to go into the details about the previous night. He wasn’t sure what to make of them himself. “She was at my place yesterday. This morning she was gone. No note. Nothing. Then her car’s found double-parked in town, which I don’t think is like her.”
“Ooh. ”Yesterday. This morning.“ Interesting.” Teresa Lupo was rubbing her hands with glee.
“I could be wrong,” he said, ignoring the invitation to go further. “After all, she went off on her own yesterday and had a pretty interesting time.”
“Sightseeing?”
“Digging up a few facts we weren’t supposed to know.”
A rueful thought said: Perhaps more than she told you.
“She’s a smart woman, Nic. Maybe she’s just out there looking for some more.”
“So why doesn’t she answer her phone? Why did she leave her computer at my place?”
“Ah. The arrogance of men. Could it be because she doesn’t want to hear from you? After all, the Leapman guy isn’t interested. And if you’re being honest, do you really want some rookie FBI agent hanging around all day long?”
He didn’t answer that.
“Oh,” Teresa said with a heavy sigh which indicated, Costa thought, that she perceived some personal interest on his part. “In that case let me simply say this: Emily Deacon strikes me as a very intelligent, very honest woman. Which, given the situation she’s in, may be part of her problem.” She paused, surprised, perhaps, by the thought that followed, and what prompted it. “Honesty’s a risky trait in this business, don’t you think?”
That was about Gianni Peroni. He couldn’t miss it.
“No,” he said with some conviction. “Honesty’s all we’ve got. And Gianni’s OK, if that’s what you mean. He saved that kid’s life last night.”
“I know. He was brave as hell. What else do you expect? But is that what saved them? I’m not so sure. Gianni said something about a message. Busy, busy, busy. Not one he understood, though.”
“All the same-”
She interrupted him. “All the same he’s doing fine because he’s kind of adopted that Kurdish kid. I know what’s in his head. He thinks some cousin of his will take her on full-time or something. Then she can get regular visits from Uncle Gianni. But he needs to break that habit, Nic. This is a tough world. You can’t hope to cure it with just love and honesty and putting away bad guys from time to time.”
“Why the hell not?” This was the kind of sentiment he got too often from Falcone.
“Because it breaks you in the end. It weakens you. I can see that happening with Gianni already. He’s guilty over his family. He’s… vulnerable. More than you think. He’s got to learn to bury some of this deep down inside, otherwise it’s just going to mess him up. I know. I love the man.”
From the sudden blush on her face it was obvious this had just slipped out. “By which I mean,” she corrected herself, “I think he’s a wonderful human being. All that caring. All that compassion. I wonder what the hell he’s doing in a job like this. Whether he can keep it up.”
She frowned. “I used to wonder that about you once upon a time. Now… You’ll make it. That’s good.”
“And Emily Deacon?” Costa asked. “What about her?”
“A part of me says she’d love to walk straight out of that job and sit in the corner of an old building somewhere, sketching away. Have you talked painting with her yet?”
“No,” he replied, a little offended.
“You will. A part of me says Emily is deeply, deeply pissed off about what happened to her father. So hung up over what happened, maybe, that she’d do anything to put it straight. Regardless of the consequences. Regardless of the pain it might cause her or anyone who gets in the way. Do you understand what I mean?”
Costa did. He’d known it all along. He just needed her to confirm it.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Get a coffee. Wait for Falcone to call.”
She looked at her watch. “To hell with budgets. I hate numbers. Also I’m supposed to be off duty. Let’s make that two coffees.”
They walked out of the gloomy morgue building, then round the corner to the little cafe Teresa Lupo used. It wasn’t popular with cops. That was one reason why she liked the place. The ponytailed teenager behind the counter looked a little scared when she walked in. He usually did. That meant the coffee came quickly and was, as usual, wonderful.
As good as the Tazza d’Oro. Nic recalled Emily Deacon talking about her favourite cafe, then glanced at his cup and wondered whether he wouldn’t be better off going round there and checking it out.
Teresa Lupo’s hand fell on his arm. “Relax for a moment, Nic. You and Gianni aren’t the only cops in Rome.”
But it felt that way just then. Falcone had pulled them aside for some reason of his own, one he had yet to explain.
“Talk to me about Christmas,” Teresa said. “Tell me what it was like in a pagan household.”
Was that really what the house on the Appian Way was? Nic Costa knew he suffered from the same misapprehension as every kid. The childhood you got was the normal one. It was everyone else’s that was weird.
And a few memories did come back. Of food and laughter and singing. Of his father drinking too much wine and behaving, for once, as if there was no tomorrow, no great battle to be fought, nothing to do in the world except enjoy the company of the people around you, people who loved you and were loved in return.
“It was happy,” he answered.
She was already ordering her second macchiato. Teresa drank coffee as if it were water. “What more can anyone ask?” she wondered.
“Nothing,” he muttered.
His phone was ringing. Falcone had promised to call.
“Nic,” Emily Deacon said. She sounded distant, tired and scared.
“Emily. I’ve been looking-”
She interrupted him briskly. “Not now. I don’t have the time. You must listen really carefully. It’s important. You have to trust me. Please.”
“Of course.”
There was a pause on the line. He wondered how convinced she was.
“I’m with Kaspar,” she said finally. “I can bring him in, Nic. No more killings. No more bloodshed. But you’ve got to do what I say, however crazy it sounds. Otherwise-”