Conor Fitzgerald - The Namesake

…’

‘… died from cancer, they have a son called Enrico. I know, but why does any of this exonerate Curmaci?’ demanded Blume.

‘Because, since they used a Mancuso property and got Mancuso help, it suggests Tony Megale carried out the killing, or ordered it.’

‘Yeah, but why?’ said Blume. ‘Tony Megale had no compelling reason to kill Arconti’s namesake.’

‘Maybe Tony wanted to put Agazio Curmaci in an awkward position just before the Polsi summit. Compromise him, cast doubt on his judgment, and make it too dangerous for anyone to appoint him as head of operations in Germany,’ said Caterina. ‘Maybe he just hates Curmaci. Maybe, Alec, there are people out there who will do things, like forge confessions, so that the blame falls on others.’

‘You are always so moral, Caterina. We’re talking about someone killing a guy just to embarrass his rival.’

‘You’ve always told me that people don’t need compelling reasons to kill.’

‘I have? How wise-sounding of me. How about this: Tony Megale killed the Arconti namesake, just like you say, but he did it because Curmaci told him to.’

‘Is Curmaci so powerful he can order Megale to do this?’

‘You’ve made enough good points for one call, Caterina, bearing in mind that others may be listening into this conversation,’ said Blume, as he turned and headed back towards the forecourt where the highway cops were both eating Cornetto ice cream and making a great show of not watching his movements from behind their sunglasses.

‘Is that all you have to say?’

‘I realize that I think now I may have been wrong in some of my assumptions and a few of my actions.’

‘At last!’

Blume pulled a windscreen squeegee out of a bucket and slipped his oily hand into the filthy water, then, unable to bear the disequilibrium of having one hand dry and the other one wet, transferred the phone into the wet one, which was now dripping black water up his arm, and plunged his clean hand into the bucket. The cops looked on impassively as he reached for the paper towel dispenser and found it empty.

‘You didn’t ask about the wedding ring,’ said Caterina.

‘That’s right, I didn’t,’ said Blume, cradling the phone with his shoulder and flicking filth from his fingers.

‘He probably took it off himself and dropped it there to leave us a clue.’

‘It worked a treat, then,’ said Blume. ‘Good thinking by the actuary.’

‘Or he could have taken it off so they wouldn’t rob it from his corpse, or find the name of his wife inscribed inside.’

‘Also possibilities,’ said Blume.

‘Or it could have been a gesture of love and respect,’ she said.

‘That, too,’ agreed Blume, crouching down and drying his hands on his socks.

Caterina gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Listen, that confession from Curmaci’s wife…’

‘What about it? You realize you are speaking on an open line.’

‘I know what I am doing, but are you doing what I asked?’

‘You mean helping the much put-upon wife? It’s hardly my main priority, Caterina. It’s not as if a person like that…’

But she was gone.

Blume climbed into the front of the police car, crossed his arms and sat back in his seat, resolutely refusing to join in the driver’s one or two attempts at light banter as they sped down the autostrada towards Cosenza. He wished he had a wide-brimmed cowboy hat that he could tilt down over his brow. But by dint of half closing his eyes and squinting truculently at the handbrake, he managed to impose silence in the car. Settling back in his seat and wondering why Massimiliani had stopped phoning, he almost fell asleep. Not until they pulled in under the shadow of the modern grey police headquarters in Cosenza did he bestir himself.

The driver stopped the vehicle and addressed his companion in the back. ‘Giuseppe, come round to the front seat. The commissioner gets out here.’

The policeman came round as instructed and pulled open the passenger door. Blume stepped out. The door behind him slammed and the car sped off. In front of him, standing with folded arms beside an outsized blue-and-white Range Rover with cages over its side windows and headlights, stood Captain Massimiliano Massimiliani.

Cosenza, Calabria

‘You have a lot of explaining to do,’ said Massimiliani. ‘But first of all, where is Konrad Hoffmann?’

‘ I have a lot of explaining to do?’ said Blume. ‘How did you get here ahead of me?’

‘Flew.’

‘Cosenza has an airport?’

‘No.’

‘A helicopter all this way just for me?’

‘Shut up, Blume. I took a chartered plane from Ciampino to Lamezia Terme, came up north by car. You’ve lost our German friend?’

‘If I hadn’t already, I would have when those two clowns picked me up at the service station.’

‘That was not my decision. They couldn’t very well leave you with that car. Come on, get in. We can talk as we get out of this horrible town.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ said Blume, looking around for the first time. ‘A bit like a seaside town without any sea. But it’s quiet and there’s plenty of parking. And it’s nice and cool because we’re actually pretty high up. So there is that.’

Massimiliani looked at him and shook his head. ‘I thought I had the measure of you, but I don’t know when you are being serious. Please don’t tell me you took this whole Konrad Hoffmann thing as some sort of elaborate joke.’

‘I didn’t take it entirely seriously, not at first. I knew you were testing me…’

‘Wait,’ Massimiliani held up his hand, ‘which direction?’

‘For what?’

‘Konrad. That’s still your mission. It’s rather embarrassing that we’ve lost him.’

‘You don’t seem that embarrassed,’ said Blume.

‘I learned about Konrad and Dagmar just before you,’ said Massimiliani. ‘If the BKA doesn’t see fit to explain what’s happening, then there is no reason we should care what happens to their agent. As long as he does not upset any equilibrium here in Italy. Wouldn’t you agree?’

‘That it serves the Germans right if Konrad gets himself killed? Maybe. But then I would have to believe you when you say you only just found out.’

‘I am telling you the truth, but whether you believe me or not is of no consequence to anyone, Blume,’ said Massimiliani.

‘I’m glad to hear you say that out loud. From the beginning you have had a restrained contempt for me, for the mission, for the Germans. For Arconti, too.’

‘Arconti’s a friend. He recommended you. Friends make mistakes.’

‘Recommended me for what, Massimiliani?’

‘For being unattached, dissatisfied with your prospects, pigheaded, occasionally unscrupulous…’

‘I was not referring to my many qualities. What was the nature of the mission?’

‘Where’s Hoffmann?’

‘Like you said, I lost him. What was the mission?’

‘To keep an eye on Konrad. So well done, there.’

They continued in silence for a few minutes until Massimiliani arrived at an intersection. ‘So, now what?’

‘Go south, back to Lamezia Terme airport,’ said Blume. ‘Then we can cut across to the east coast.’

‘You’re sure that’s where he’s headed? I mean you believe this thing about him looking for Curmaci because of a dead girlfriend from decades ago?’

‘Are you still pretending that the Germans so fooled you that you still don’t know what story to believe in?’

‘The BKA asked me to find someone to keep an eye on an agent whose business in Italy was unclear. I don’t know why they didn’t share the full story from the beginning,’ said Massimiliani.