Jeffery Deaver - The Burial Hour

‘Could the Composer be seeing a mental doctor here?’ Ercole asked. ‘For those treatments?’

‘No, no,’ Rhyme said. ‘The procedure takes time in the hospital. It’s probably from the same place where the Composer got the antipsychotic drug: a US hospital. He’s functioning well enough, so I’d guess he had the treatment a few days before the New York attack. And what’s amobarbital? Another antipsychotic?’

Sachs said, ‘I’ll check the NYPD database.’ A moment later she reported, ‘It’s a fast-acting sedative to combat panic attacks. It was developed a hundred years ago in Germany as a truth serum — it didn’t work for that but doctors found it had a side effect of quickly calming agitated or aggressive subjects.’

Many bipolar and schizophrenic patients, Rhyme knew from past cases, were often racked with anxiety.

Another figure stepped slowly into the doorway. It was Dante Spiro, who scanned everyone with an expressionless face.

‘ Procuratore ,’ Ercole said.

The prosecutor cocked his head and wrote something in his leather-bound book.

For some reason, Ercole Benelli witnessed this with concern, Rhyme noted.

Spiro slipped the book away and reviewed the evidence chart. He said only, ‘English. Ah.’

Then he turned to Sachs and Rhyme. ‘Now. Your involvement in this case is to be limited to these four walls. Are you in agreement, Inspector?’ A nod toward Rossi.

‘Of course. Yes.’

‘Mr Rhyme, you are here by our grace. You have no authority to investigate a crime in this country. Your contributions to analyzing the evidence will be appreciated, if they prove helpful. As they have, and I acknowledge that. And any thoughts you might have about the Composer’s frame of mind will be taken into account too. But beyond that, no. Am I understood?’

‘Perfectly,’ Rhyme muttered.

‘Now one more thing I wish to say. On a subject that has been raised before. Extradition. You have lost jurisdiction over the Composer and his crimes in America, while we have gained it. You will wish to try for extradition but I will fight it most strenuously.’ He eyed them for a moment. ‘Let me please give you a lesson in the law, Mr Rhyme and Detective Sachs. Imagine a town in Italy called Cioccie del Lupo. The name is a joke, you see. It’s not a real place. It means Wolf Tits.’

‘Romulus and Remus, the founding of Rome myth,’ Rhyme said. His voice was bored because he was bored. He stared at the newsprint pads on the easel.

Ercole said, ‘The twins, suckling on a wolf.’

Rhyme corrected, absently, ‘The female suckles , the baby sucks .’

‘Oh. I didn’t—’

Spiro cut Ercole short with a glare and continued to Rhyme: ‘The legal lesson is this: Lawyers from America do not win cases in Cioccie del Lupo. Lawyers from Cioccie del Lupo win cases in Cioccie de Lupo. And you are Americans firmly in the city center of Cioccie del Lupo at the moment. You will not win an extradition, so it will be better for you if that thought vanishes from your mind.’

Rhyme said, ‘Maybe we should concentrate on catching him. Don’t you think?’

Spiro said nothing but slowly withdrew his phone and sent a text or email.

Rossi stirred a bit, uneasy at the exchange.

Ercole said, ‘ Procuratore , Inspector, I have a thought and I would like to pursue it.’

After a moment Spiro put his phone away and lifted an eyebrow toward the young man. ‘ Sì? ’

‘We should set up surveillance at the place where we found Maziq. The entrance to the aqueduct.’

‘Surveillance?’

‘Yes. Of course.’ Ercole was smiling at Spiro’s apparent inability to see what was obvious to him. ‘There has been no press announcement. The police have left the area. There is tape on the door, but you must get close to see that. He might return to the scene of the crime and when he gets within the area, slap! We can arrest him. When I was there I noted hiding places across the street where one could remain concealed.’

‘You don’t think that would be a waste of our resources — which we know are more limited than I would hope for.’

Another grin. ‘Not at all. Waste? How do you see that?’

Spiro flung his arm in the air. ‘Why do I even bother? Is that what you do in the woods, as a Forestry officer? Disguise yourself as a stag, a bear? And wait for a poacher?’

‘I just was...’ Then Italian trickled from his mouth.

Rhyme glanced at the doorway and noted that another officer stood in the hallway, watching the exchange. He was a handsome young man, dressed quite stylishly. He was studying Ercole’s blushing face with a neutral expression.

‘I simply thought it made sense, sir.’

Rhyme decided to end the mystery. ‘He will not be back.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ Spiro said. ‘Tell him why, Mr Rhyme.’

‘Because of the water that spilled when you and Sachs opened the door.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘Do you see what the water drenched?’

Ercole looked toward the pictures. ‘The phone.’

‘The Composer set up the table and the items on it very carefully. Anyone opening the door — especially quickly — would knock the bottle of water over, shorting out the phone.’

Ercole closed his eyes briefly. ‘Yes, of course. The Composer would call every fifteen minutes or so and as long as the mobile rang he knew no one was there. When he called and it was dead, he would realize that someone had breached the door. And it was unsafe to return. So simple, yet I missed it.’

Spiro cast a glance down his nose at Ercole. Then he asked, ‘Where is Maziq now?’

‘A protective cell,’ Rossi said. ‘Here.’

‘Forestry Officer,’ Spiro said.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Make yourself useful and find our Arabic-speaking officer. I am interested in that substance, the electroconductive gel.’

‘ Allora ...’ Ercole fell silent.

‘What do you wish to say?’

The officer cleared his throat.

Rhyme broke in again. ‘Our supposition was that it was from the Composer. He’s taking antipsychotic drugs, so we assumed he’d undergone ECS treatment.’

Spiro replied, ‘That is logical. But it’s not impossible that Maziq was being treated in Libya for a condition. And I would like to eliminate that as a possibility.’

Rhyme nodded, for it was a theory that he had not considered, and it was a valid one.

‘ Sì, Procuratore .’

‘And that other substance, amobarbital?’ Spiro gazed at the chart.

Sachs told him it was a sedative the Composer took to ward off panic attacks.

‘See if Maziq has ever taken that too.’

‘I will go now,’ Ercole said.

‘Then go.’

After he’d left, Rhyme said, ‘Prosecutor Spiro. It’s rare that someone knows the raw ingredients of electroconductive gel.’ Rhyme had concluded that’s what the ingredients were, before the prosecutor had arrived.

‘Is it?’ Spiro asked absently. His eyes were on the chart. ‘We learn many things in this curious business of ours, don’t we?’

Stepping outside the situation room, Ercole Benelli nearly ran directly into Silvio De Carlo, Rossi’s favorite boy.

The Stylista, the Fashionista of the Police of State.

Mamma mia. And now I will endure the comments.

Will De Carlo snidely remark on my mopping up spilled mineral water too, or just the most recent dressing-down by Spiro?

More Forestry Corps comments?

Zucchini Cop. Pig Cop...

Ercole thought for a moment about walking past the young man, who was again dressed in clothing that Ercole not only couldn’t afford but wouldn’t have had the taste to select, even if he’d been given the run of a Ferragamo warehouse. But then he decided, No. No running. As when he was young and boys would torment him about his gangly build and clumsiness at sports he’d learned that it was best to confront them, even if you ended up with a bloody nose or split lip.