Elizabeth George - Just One Evil Act

LUCCA

TUSCANY

Daniele Bruno’s solicitor spoke English. He spoke, in fact, exactly like an American and with an American accent as well. He was called Rocco Garibaldi, and he’d learned the language from watching old American films. He’d only been in the US once, he told Barbara, laying over in Los Angeles for two days en route to Australia. He’d gone to Hollywood, he’d seen the imprints in cement of the hands and feet of long-dead movie stars, he’d read the names on the Walk of Fame . . . But mostly he had practised his language in order to see how well he’d done learning it.

Perfectly well, Barbara reckoned. The man sounded like a mixture of Henry Fonda and Humphrey Bogart. Obviously, he favoured the old black-and-whites.

After an interminable exchange of Italian between Garibaldi and Lo Bianco in the reception area of the questura , they all decamped to Lo Bianco’s office. Salvatore indicated that Barbara was to accompany them and she did so, although she hadn’t the first clue what was going on and Rocco Garibaldi, his perfect English notwithstanding, did not enlighten her. Once inside the office, the unimaginable happened in very short order. Salvatore showed Bruno’s lawyer the television film, followed by the list of employees from DARBA Italia, followed by what appeared to be a report that she highly suspected was the autopsy information from Angelina Upman’s death. What else could it be since Garibaldi read it, frowning and nodding meditatively?

All of this Barbara watched in a welter of nerves. She’d never seen a cop play his hand in this manner. She said, “Chief Inspector . . .” quietly and in appeal, then, “Salvatore . . .” then, “Chief Inspector,” although she didn’t know how the hell she could stop him aside from physically backing him into a corner, tying him to his desk chair, and gagging him.

She hadn’t the first clue about what had passed between Salvatore and Bruno in the interview room. She’d picked out various words among the Italian being flung about, but she hadn’t been able to put together much. She’d heard DARBA Italia over and over, as well as E. coli and the word incubatrice . She’d seen Daniele Bruno’s growing agitation, so she had some hopes that Salvatore was putting the thumbscrews to him. But throughout the interview, Salvatore had looked like a man in need of an afternoon siesta. The bloke was casual to the point of virtual unconsciousness. Something had to be going on beneath those hooded eyes of his, Barbara thought, but she had no idea what it was.

At the end of his reading, Garibaldi spoke again to Salvatore. This time, he brought Barbara into their conversation by saying, “I am asking the ispettore to allow me to see my client, Detective Sergeant Havers.” This, Barbara thought, was what a UK solicitor would have done in the first place, and just when she’d got to the point of accepting that things were different in Italy when it came to police work, they became more different still.

Salvatore made no move to take Garibaldi to his client in the interview room. Instead, he had Daniele Bruno brought to them. This was irregular but she was willing to wait to see how things would proceed from there. She got no comfort at all when within less than five minutes Garibaldi gave a formal little from-the-waist dip to Salvatore, said, “ Grazie mille ,” put his hand on Bruno’s arm, and led him from the premises. It happened so quickly that she didn’t have time to react other than to swing round to Salvatore and cry, “What the bloody hell?” to which he smiled and gave that Italian shrug of his.

She cried, “Why did you let him go ? Why did you show him that TV film? Why did you tell him about DARBA Italia? Why did you give him . . . Oh, I know he would’ve got to see everything eventually, at least I think he would’ve because God knows I haven’t a clue what goes in this country, but for God’s sake you could have pretended . . . you could have suggested . . . But now he knows your hand—which, let’s face it, is bloody empty—and all he has to do is to tell Bruno to keep his mug plugged from now till the end of time because all we have is supposition anyway and unless you blokes practise some very strange form of justice over here no one is going to gaol based on supposition, and that includes Daniele Bruno. Oh, bloody hell why don’t you speak English, Salvatore?”

To all of this Salvatore nodded sympathetically. For a moment, Barbara thought he actually understood, if not from her words then from her tone. But then, maddeningly, he said, “ Aspetti, Barbara .” And with a smile, “ Vorrebbe un caffè? ”

“No, I do not want a cup of bloody coffee!” she fairly shouted at him.

He smiled at this. “ Lei capisce! ” he cried. “ Va bene! ”

To which she said with sagging shoulders, “Just tell me why you let him go, for God’s sake. All he has to do is ring up Lorenzo Mura and we’re cooked. You see that, don’t you?”

He gazed at her, as if some kind of understanding would come from a close reading of her eyes. She found herself getting hot under his scrutiny. Finally, she said, “Oh, sod it,” and dug her packet of Players from her shoulder bag. She took one of the fags and offered the packet to him.

“Sod . . . it,” he repeated softly.

Their cigarettes lit, he nodded towards the window of his office. She thought he intended them to blow the smoke from it into the afternoon air. But instead he said, “ Guardi ,” and he indicated the pavement below them. There she saw Garibaldi and Bruno had emerged from the questura and were strolling along without a care.

“And this is supposed to reassure me?” she demanded.

He said, “ Un attimo , Barbara .” And then, “ Eccolo .” She followed the direction of his hooded gaze to see a man in an orange baseball cap following some thirty yards behind them. “Giorgio Simione,” Salvatore murmured. “ Giorgio mi dirà dovunque andranno. ”

Barbara felt only a small measure of relief at the sight of Giorgio following the other two men since all they needed to do was get into a car and that was that when it came to Bruno disappearing or getting in touch with Lorenzo Mura. But Salvatore seemed absolutely and preternaturally bloody assured of everything going along according to some sort of inner plan he had. Barbara finally decided there was nothing for it but to trust the man, although she hated to do so.

They spent a half hour waiting. Salvatore made a few unintelligible phone calls: one to mamma, another to someone called Birgit, and a third to someone called Cinzia. Real ladies’ man, she reckoned. It probably had to do with those hooded eyes of his.

When Rocco Garibaldi appeared at the doorway to Salvatore’s office, Barbara was both relieved and surprised. He came alone, which caused her some serious consternation, but this time when he spoke to Salvatore, he showed some degree of mercy by telling Barbara what he was saying.

His client Daniele Bruno was back in the interview room. He was now ready and willing to tell Ispettore Lo Bianco everything he knew about this matter under investigation because he was deeply grieved by the death of an innocent woman who was carrying a child. That he now wished to speak had nothing at all to do with any fear he had for his own neck, and he had insisted that Garibaldi make this clear to the polizia . He would tell everything he knew and everything he had done because what he did not know at any time was how Lorenzo Mura intended to use the E. coli that he gave to him. As long as Ispettore Lo Bianco could promise to be satisfied on this one point, they could proceed. But it would be information in exchange for release: total immunity for Signor Bruno.