Jeffery Deaver - The Burial Hour

‘I... well, I am somewhat familiar with him, yes.’

‘And did you not, after you saw me arrive, slip away and coach him to ask me about my brilliance in inviting the Americans here?’

The officer’s cheeks glowed bright red. ‘I am so very sorry, Procuratore , but I thought we could benefit if Detective Sachs assisted, and you, with all respect, did not seem willing to allow her to do so.’

‘ La truffa , your scam, served a purpose, Ercole, and so I played along, even though I saw it as such. It was a chance for the investigation to save face, while allowing the talented Detective Sachs to work on the case directly. But your plan was, in English, cheap. And most embarrassing for you, it was pathetically inept.’

‘Why do you say that, Procuratore ?’

‘Did it not occur to you that rather than being lauded for my choice, I might be ridiculed for inviting to Italy detectives whom the serial killer managed to elude in New York?’

Rhyme and Thom smiled.

‘Thank the Lord that the press are sufficient idiots that they missed that contradiction too. But in the future you will be straightforward with me. Do I not have the persona of a purring kitten?’

‘ Allora, Procuratore , the fact is...’

‘You behave as if you are afraid of me!’

‘I think many people are afraid of you, sir. With all respect.’

‘Why is that?’

‘You are stern. You are known to bark, even scream at people.’

‘As do generals and artists and explorers. Of necessity.’

‘Your book...’

‘My book?’

Ercole looked down at the man’s pocket; the gilt-edged, leather-bound volume was just visible.

‘What of it?’

‘ Allora , you understand.’

He snapped, ‘How can you assert I understand something if I have just asked you to explain?’

‘Sir. You write down in it the names of people who offend you. Who you wish to get even with.’

‘Do I now?’

‘I have heard people say that. Yes, I have.’

‘Well, Forestry Officer, tell me how many names you see, names destined for the pillory.’ Spiro handed the book to Ercole, who took it timidly.

‘I—’

‘Read, Forestry Officer. Read.’

He cracked open the pages and Rhyme could catch a glimpse of dense and very precise Italian script. The lettering was minuscule.

Ercole frowned.

Spiro said, ‘The title. Read what is at the top of the first page. Aloud.’

Ercole read: ‘ La Ragazza da Cheyenne. ’ He looked toward Rhyme and Thom. ‘It means The Girl from Cheyenne .’

‘And below?’

‘ Capitolo Uno. First Chapter.’

‘And below that, please continue. Translate for Capitano Rhyme.’

Ercole puzzled for a moment. He cocked his head and read in a halting voice, as he translated, ‘“If the four twenty-five train to Tucson had not been attacked, Belle Walker would have married her fiancé and her life would have settled into the same dull, predictable routine as that of her sisters, and their mother before them.”’

Ercole looked up.

Spiro said, ‘It is a hobby of mine. I like very much American cowboy stories and I read many of them. I have from the time I was a boy. You know Italy and American Westerns are inextricably linked. Sergio Leone. The Clint Eastwood movies. A Fistful of Dollars. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Then there is the masterpiece Once Upon a Time in the West . Sergio Corbucci’s Django , which starred Franco Nero. And of course there are the scores for so many of those films by Ennio Morricone. He even scored a most recent movie by Quentin Tarantino.

‘I particularly enjoy Western novels written by women in the nineteenth century. Did you know some of the best were written by them?’

Didn’t have a clue, Rhyme reflected. And don’t much care. But he nodded agreeably.

Ercole, perhaps relieved not to be inscribed in the prosecutor’s book of doom, said, ‘Fascinating, Procuratore .’

‘I believe so too. Mary Foote wrote a clever novel about mining in 1883. Helen Hunt Jackson wrote Ramona , quite famous, the next year. And one of the most interesting is by Marah Ellis Ryan, Told in the Hills . It is as much about race relations as it is an adventure story. I find that remarkable. Well more than one hundred years ago.’

Spiro nodded at the book, which Ercole continued to read and said, ‘I too try my hand at Westerns and have created that character, Belle Walker. A society woman from the East who becomes a hunter of outlaws. And, ultimately, in future books, a prosecutor. So, as you can see, Forestry Officer, you do not need to worry about ending up in the pages of my book. Though, this is not to say that the least failing on your part will not result in catastrophic consequences.’

‘Yes, yes.’ The young officer’s eyes then dropped once more to the pages.

Spiro lifted the book out of his hands.

‘But, please, who were the train attackers, Procuratore ? Savages? Bandits?’

Spiro waved his hand with a grimace, and Ercole instantly fell silent.

‘Now, we have two cases to work on. And at the moment Captain Rhyme wants you to arrange for Beatrice to run a further analysis regarding the Garry Soames case... What would this be?’

Rhyme answered, ‘I was reading the charts and the accounts of the crime. And I would like a full analysis of the wine bottle found at the smoking station.’

‘The contents were checked for the date-rape drug and the outside for fingerprints and DNA.’

‘I understand but I would like an examination of trace on the surface of the bottle and the label.’

Spiro said to Ercole, ‘Do that now.’

‘Yes, I will see Beatrice about this. Where would the bottle be?’

‘The evidence facility is up the hall. She will know. Is there anything else, Captain Rhyme?’

‘Lincoln, please. No, I think that will be enough for now.’

Spiro looked him over. ‘You have a question about the wine served at the party. I myself find another question equally intriguing.’

‘And what is that?’

‘This third person, who broke into Garry Soames’s apartment, might have planted the evidence to shift guilt to an innocent man either to protect the actual rapist or to visit revenge on Soames.’

‘Yes. That’s one theory.’

‘There is another, you know: The intruder might also be a friend of Soames who committed the break-in in hopes that we would come to the very conclusion we just have: that he is being framed... when in fact he’s guilty as — what do you Americans say? — guilty as sin.’

The G6 jet settled low on the approach to Naples airport, smooth as a Cadillac in soft-suspension mode.

Amelia Sachs was the only passenger today and the flight attendant had doted.

‘More coffee? You really should try the croissants. The ones filled with prosciutto and mozzarella are the best.’

I could really get used to this...

Now, breakfasted and caffeinated, Sachs sat back and looked below the plane, on final. She got a clear view of the Capodichino Reception Center. From here it was a messy sprawl, much bigger than it appeared from the ground. Where, she wondered, would all those people end up? In ten years, would they have homes here? In other countries? Or would they have been sent back where they had come from — to meet a fate merely postponed by their voyage here.

Would they be alive or dead?

Her phone hummed — the crew didn’t require mobiles to be powered off — and she answered.