“Oh.” She stared at the photo then gave it back to him. “Are you telling me Neri’s mob is now in the hands of his widow? These are changed times. I know that happens in the South. But in Rome—? It seems wrong somehow.”
“It seems wrong,” he agreed.
“And you think she was involved in what happened? With this in mind?”
“Partly with this in mind. I’m certain of it.”
“Can you prove anything?”
He said nothing, watching her open the chocolates, put one in her mouth, smile faintly with pleasure then close the lid.
“Life will be interesting when I get out of this bed,” she said, still chewing.
“Quite,” he replied, then very suddenly, too quickly for her to protest, began to extend the tear in the silk shirt, ripping it up her arm with both hands until he reached the shoulder.
“Leo!”
The three men stared at the pale patch there, round, like the mark of a coin. Or a badge. Skin that was unlike the rest of her, bleached, changed.
“I remembered that,” Falcone said.
“I imagine,” she replied, “you remember most of me. Oh, Leo. You’re not that kind, are you? Lying in bed at night, on your own, just thinking of me? Trying to picture what I looked like when I was there under the sheets with you? Really. Aren’t you a little old for that kind of thing?”
Falcone couldn’t take his eyes off the white patch of skin. “It never quite works, does it? I imagine they promise no one will ever notice. The tattoo will just go and you get old skin in its place.” He touched her on the shoulder. “What you really get is new skin that never ages. Not quite right.”
“It’s a birthmark,” she said very patiently. “I told you, surely.”
Falcone wasn’t listening. “Neri worked so hard to clean this up, to keep you all sweet and silent. He married one of you. Barbara he put in the police. He put you through law college, then into the DIA. And another ran away for some reason. She knew all along Eleanor never died from drugs. She just didn’t dare say so. Then, when a body turns up, she decides to put matters right. She comes back to make sure you all know the price of what you’d won.”
Rachele D’Amato was into her second chocolate by now. “These really are delicious, you know. You don’t mind my not sharing them. I am still an invalid. Just. And frankly I always feel good chocolate is wasted on men.”
“So she tells Vergil Wallis, who goes along with everything,” he continued. “Perhaps he bankrolls things. This fake abduction. He leans on Randolph Kirk to cooperate. Never understanding that you know already who killed Eleanor. And it’s not just him you want. It’s all of them, him included. Him especially.”
She closed the box. “No more. I’ve put on enough weight in this place already. I must say, Leo. You are entertaining today. Is this how the police intend to pursue investigations in the future? Just guess your way through everything until you find an answer that fits?”
Falcone took no notice. “Someone had to tell her about Vercillo. Kirk wouldn’t know him as anything other than a face at the party. There’s no reason to think Wallis could have provided his address. But the DIA—”
“No reason?” She laughed. “Have you actually run these fantasies past a lawyer? Is this what constitutes evidence in the police force these days?”
He shook his head. “And someone had to drive that bike with the bogus Suzi Julius on the back. You have a licence.”
Rachele D’Amato stared coolly at the three of them. “I have a licence? My. That’s incriminating.”
“It bothered me afterwards. I talked to you that day. You were in a hurry to leave for an appointment. I told you, I checked. There’s nothing on your DIA diary to account for that.”
“I told you. I met a man. I’m sorry if that hurts your tender ego.”
“Does he have a name?” Falcone asked.
“He’s married. I’m not dragging him into this for your sick curiosity.” She nodded at Costa and Peroni. “Is that why they’re here? Is this a formal interview?”
“Just came along to wish you well, ma’am,” Peroni said with a little bow. “So pleased to see you’re recovering your customary composure so quickly.”
“Jesus,” she murmured. “That man gets uglier by the day, Leo. Did you have to pick him?”
“And your charm too,” Peroni said with a smile. “Glad that’s returning.”
“There was no man,” Falcone said. “There never has been. Not even me. What was I for, Rachele? Promotion? Or did you just feed back information to Neri even then?”
“This is ridiculous,” she hissed.
“That’s what they did to you,” he continued. “All of you. Barbara. Miranda Julius. They took away any chance you had of a normal relationship. Perhaps that’s what you hated most, even more than the thought that they’d tricked you over Eleanor.”
He threw another photo on the bed. She looked at it. “And what’s this supposed to be?”
“You. Dressed up and ready just like all the others. You were there. Which one was it? Do you remember? Toni Martelli? Wallis? Or did they take turns?”
She flung the picture at him. “Take this away. Go find something better to do, Leo.”
“It’s you,” he insisted. “They even got you to dye your hair blonde back then. Whose idea was that?”
She was laughing at all of them. “What are you talking about? Look at this girl! It could be anyone!”
“It’s you.”
Rachele D’Amato sighed and leaned back into the pillow. “Do you think you could convince a court of that? And even if you could, does it matter? It’s just a picture.”
“What about those people outside Neri’s house?” Costa asked. “Don’t their relatives deserve some answers?”
“I was one of them,” she snapped. “In case you forgot. Neri placed that bomb. Neri’s dead. How many answers do you need?”
Peroni sniffed and looked at her. “What about Barbara Martelli? No feeling there?”
She picked at another chocolate then said, “I never knew the woman.”
“Rachele,” Falcone said, and heard the note of pleading that had crept into his voice. “You can’t just bury this.”
“It’s buried already, Leo. You just don’t see it. Ask yourself a question. Are we living in a better world now? Or a worse one?”
“That’s not for the likes of us to decide.”
“No!” she yelled. “Don’t take that line with me. You make those decisions just as much as anyone. If you think you have one piece of hard evidence against me then use it. If not I suggest you keep your mouth shut and try catching a few criminals instead of boxing shadows. Now get out of here. And take these with you!”
She picked up the vase of flowers and launched them against the wall next to Peroni and Costa where they shattered noisily, dispensing water, petals and fragments of pottery everywhere.
IT WAS DARK by the time they got outside. Falcone clutched his leather case to his chest, looking lost. Costa shuffled on his feet, hunched up inside his jacket, silent, thinking.
“I know—” Peroni said hopefully. “Let’s get a drink. Something to eat. There’s a place near here—”
“Is the wine good?” Falcone asked. “I don’t drink any old shit.”
“Me neither,” Costa grumbled. “And I don’t just want salad.”
“Boys, boys,” Peroni sighed. “Stick with your old uncle Gianni. He’ll see you right.”