Jeffery Deaver - The Burial Hour

‘Nothing definitive,’ Sachs said. ‘We could find nothing about the source of the musical strings he used for the nooses. His keyboard was purchased with cash from a large retailer. There are no fingerprints anywhere. Or, at best, small fragments that aren’t helpful.’

Rhyme added, ‘Our FBI is looking at manifests for flights here.’

‘We have done so too, with no success. But flight manifests would be, what do you say, a long shot. With no picture, no passport number? And your Composer could have flown into a dozen airports in the EU and moved over borders without any record. Rented or stolen a car in Amsterdam or Geneva and driven. I assume you considered he might not have left from a New York-area airport. Perhaps Washington, Philadelphia... even Atlanta on Delta. Hartsfield is the busiest airport in the world, I have learned.’

Well, Rossi was at the top of his game.

‘Yes, we considered that,’ Rhyme said.

Rossi asked, ‘He’s American, you think?’

‘It’s our assumption but we aren’t sure.’

Ercole asked, ‘Why would a serial killer leave the country and come here to kill?’

Sachs said, ‘The Composer isn’t a serial killer.’

Ercole nodded. ‘No, he hasn’t killed, that’s true. You saved the victim. And we have not found the abducted man’s body here.’

Rossi: ‘Detective Sachs doesn’t mean that, Ercole.’

‘No, Inspector, you’re right. A serial killer is a rare and specific criminal profile. In males the motives’re sexual in nature usually, or nonsexual sadism. And while there’s ritualistic behavior, that’s limited in most cases to binding or arranging the victims in certain ways or leaving fetishes at the scene or taking trophies, postmortem. The behavior doesn’t rise to the Composer’s level of elaborate staging — the videos, the noose, the music. He’s a multiple perpetrator.’

Silence flowed into the room. Then Rossi spoke. ‘We thank you for your insights and assistance.’

‘In whatever humble way we can,’ Rhyme said. Not very humbly.

‘And in coming all this way to deliver to us that file.’ Not very subtly.

Then Rossi looked him over. ‘You, Captain Rhyme, I think, are not used to perpetrators, come si dice? Absconsioning?’

‘Absconding,’ Ercole corrected his boss. Then froze, blushing once more.

‘No, I am not,’ Rhyme said. Dramatically, perhaps overly so. Though he believed the delivery was appropriate since his impression was that Rossi, too, was a cop who would not do well with absconsioning perpetrators.

‘You are hoping for extradition,’ Rossi said. ‘After we catch him.’

‘I hadn’t thought that far,’ Rhyme lied.

‘No?’ Rossi brushed at his mustache. ‘Whether the trial is here or in America, that is a decision for the court, not for me or for you. Allora , I appreciate what you’ve done, Captain Rhyme. The effort. It must be taxing.’ He avoided a glance at the wheelchair. ‘But now you have delivered your report I cannot see how you can be of further help. You are a crime scene expert but we have crime scene experts here.’

‘Your Scientific Police.’

‘Ah, you know of them?’

‘I lectured at the main facility in Rome years ago.’

‘I do hate to disappoint you, and you, as well, Signorina Sachs. But, once again, I see little you can offer other than that.’ He nodded to her bag. ‘And there are practical issues. Officer Benelli and I speak serviceable English but most others involved in the case do not. I must add too that Naples is not a very...’ He sought a word. ‘... accessible city. For someone like you.’

‘I’ve noticed.’ Rhyme shrugged, a gesture he was fully capable of.

Silence, again.

Broken at last by Rhyme: ‘Translation is easy, thanks to Google. And regarding mobility: In New York, I don’t get out to crime scenes much. No need. I leave that to my Sachs and other officers. They return like bees with nectar. And we concoct the honey together. Forgive the metaphor. But what can it possibly hurt, Inspector, for us to hang around? We’ll be sounding boards for ideas.’

‘Sounding board’ seemed to confuse him.

Ercole translated.

Rossi paused then said, ‘This that you are proposing, it is irregular and we are not people who are well with irregularness.’

At that moment Rhyme was aware of a person striding into the room. He swiveled the chair around to see a lean man of slight build in a stylish jacket and slacks, pointy boots, thinning hair and salt-and-pepper goatee. His eyes were narrow and tiny. The word ‘demonic’ came to mind. He looked over Sachs and Rhyme and said, ‘No. No sounding boards. There will be no consulting, no assistance at all. That is out of the question.’ His accent was thicker than Rossi’s and Ercole’s but his grammar and syntax were perfect. This told Rhyme he read English frequently but probably had not been to America or the UK often and watched little English-language media.

The man turned to Ercole and fired off a question in Italian.

Flustered, blushing, the young officer muttered defensively, obviously a denial. Rhyme guessed the question was: ‘Did you ask them to come?’

Rossi said, ‘Captain Rhyme, Detective Sachs, and Signor Reston, this is Prosecutor Spiro. He is investigating the case with us.’

‘Investigating?’

Rossi was silent for a moment, considering Rhyme’s question, it seemed. ‘Ah, yes. From what I know, it is different in America. Here, in Italy, prosecutors function as policemen, in some ways. Procuratore Spiro and I are the lead investigators in the Composer case. Working together.’

Spiro’s dark eyes lasered into Rhyme’s. ‘Our tasks are to identify this man, to ascertain where he is hiding in Italy and where he is keeping the victim, and to marshal evidence to be used at the trial when we capture him. As to the first, you clearly cannot help because you have failed to identify him in your country. The second? You know nothing of Italy so even your expertise in evidence would offer little help. And as to the third, it is not in your interest to assist in a trial here , as you wish to extradite the suspect back to America for trial there . So, you see, your involvement would at best be unhelpful and at worst a conflict of interest. I thank you for the courtesy of providing us with your files. But now you must leave, Mr Rhyme.’

Ercole started to blurt, ‘It is Capitano —’

Spiro shut him off with a glare. ‘ Che cosa? ’

‘Nothing, Procuratore . Forgive me.’

‘So, you must leave.’

Apparently prosecutors — or this prosecutor, at least — carried more authority than police inspectors when it came to investigations. Rhyme sensed no disagreement on the part of Rossi. He nodded to Sachs. She dug into the shoulder bag and handed the inspector a thick file. Rossi flipped through it. On the top were photos of the evidence and profile charts.

He nodded and handed them to Ercole. ‘Put this information on the board, Officer.’

Spiro said, ‘Do you need assistance getting to the airport?’

Rhyme said, ‘We’ll handle our departure arrangements, thank you.’

‘He has a private jet,’ Ercole said, still awestruck.

Spiro’s mouth tightened, approaching a sneer.

The three Americans turned and headed to the door, Ercole escorting them — as Rossi’s nod had instructed.

Just before they left, though, Rhyme stopped and pivoted back. ‘If I can offer an observation or two?’

Spiro was stone-faced but Rossi nodded. ‘Please.’

‘Does fette di metallo mean “bits of metal”?’ Rhyme’s eyes were on the chart.