Jeffery Deaver - The Burial Hour

‘ L’ha fatto? ’

‘Yes. He did. He wanted ways to limit or even dismiss the case, but he couldn’t do it himself. Nor did he want his protégé, that young officer... What is his name?’

‘Silvio De Carlo.’

‘Yes. He couldn’t have his protégé do so either. Silvio is destined for high places in the Police of State. Massimo wanted you, a Forestry officer, to take the blame for the case’s failure. So he assigned you to log the evidence in, arranged to have it stolen and pointed his finger at you.’

Ercole took a large sip of wine. ‘And now my name is on record as having ruined a major investigation. My chances of moving into regular policing are gone. Maybe even my career at the Forestry Corps is endangered.’

‘Ah, Ercole. Let us pause a minute here, may we? Think. Rossi has blamed you for a mistake, not a crime. Yet he himself has committed a crime by arranging for the disappearance of physical evidence. The last thing he wants is any further examination of the matter.’

‘Yes, that makes sense.’

‘So, true, within the Police of State, there will be no career opportunities for you.’

Ercole finished his wine and set the glass down. ‘Thank you, sir. It’s kind of you to tell me that I’m not, in fact, responsible for the destruction of the case. And to have the courage to break the news to me about the consequences to my career.’ He sighed. ‘So, buona notte . I will get home to my pigeons now.’ He extended his hand.

Spiro ignored it. He muttered, ‘Pigeons? Are you making a joke?’

‘No, sir. I am sorry. I—’

‘And did I say that our conversation is over?’

‘I... No. I’m...’ The stammering young man dropped to his seat again.

‘Now perhaps you will be silent and let me finish telling you why I have summoned you here. In addition to dining with our American friends, of course.’

‘Oh, I didn’t realize I was invited to dine.’

Spiro snapped, ‘Why would I ask you to a restaurant, one of the best in Campania, by the way, if not to have you join us?’

‘Of course. Very kind of you, sir.’

‘ Allora. My comment is this: I have made some inquiries. It is largely unprecedented for a Forestry Corps officer, especially one as old as you, to transfer directly into the Carabinieri training program. But, of course, interoffice politics can have a positive side as well as a negative. I have called in favors and arranged for you to be accepted into the service and begin military and police training in one month.’

‘Carabinieri?’ Ercole whispered.

‘As I have just said. And as you have just heard. I was told that it has been a goal of yours for some time to join them.’

The young man was breathless. ‘ Mamma mia! Procuratore Spiro, I don’t know what to say. Grazie tante! ’ He took the prosecutor’s hand in both of his and Rhyme thought for a moment he was going to kiss the man’s fingers.

‘Enough!’ Then Spiro added, ‘One month should give you time to finish up any assignments that are pending at Forestry. I understand from speaking to your superior officer that your arrest of a particularly troublesome truffle counterfeiter was interrupted by the arrival of Il Compositore . I assume you wish to close that case.’

‘I do indeed.’ Ercole’s eyes narrowed.

‘One thing more I should add. The regulations of the Carabinieri have changed. You may know that in the past, officers were required to be assigned posts far from home. This was so that they might remain undistracted and do their job most efficiently. That is no longer the case. Accordingly, Beatrice Renza, of the Scientific Police, will not have to worry that her new boyfriend will be assigned some distance from Campania. You can be posted here.’

‘ Beatrice? Oh, Procuratore , no, I... That is to say, yes, we had an aperitivo the other night at Castello’s Lounge. I walked her to her flat.’ A huge blush. ‘Yes, perhaps I stayed the night. And she will be attending my pigeon race tomorrow. But I do not know that there can be any future between us. She is an exceedingly difficult woman, even if she exhibits quite some intelligence and has a peculiar charm.’

His rambling — and red face — amused them all.

‘Not Daniela?’ Sachs asked. ‘I thought you were attracted to her.’

‘Daniela? Well, her beauty is quite clear. And she is very keen in her police skills. But, how can I say?’ He looked to Sachs. ‘You, as a lover of automobiles, will understand: The gears do not engage between us. Am I making sense?’

‘Perfectly,’ Sachs replied.

So, Rhyme had been wrong. It had been Beatrice who’d lit the fire in Ercole’s heart, challenging though she was. Well, Lincoln Rhyme himself would take challenge over slipped gears any day, however beautiful the automobile.

The restaurant door opened and a tall woman — with a fashion model’s figure and poise — stepped into the room, smiling to the table. She wore a dark-blue suit and carried an attaché case. Her dark hair was pulled back into a buoyant ponytail. Spiro rose. ‘Ah! Ecco mia moglie — my wife, Cecilia.’

The woman sat and Spiro signaled to the waitress for the meal to begin.

‘May have a problem.’

Thom was speaking over his shoulder to Rhyme and Sachs. He was peering through the front window of the accessible van as it approached the security entrance to the private aircraft portion of Naples airport.

Rhyme cricked his neck to the left — the wheelchair was fixed perpendicular to the direction of traffic — and noted the black SUV, pulling forward and blocking their way.

Behind it were uniformed guards — Italian officers — standing at lackadaisical attention at the gate but they had little interest in either vehicle. This was not their business.

Sachs sighed. ‘Who? Massimo Rossi?’

‘On what theory?’

Thom offered a potential answer. ‘ He and Mike Hill share a certain bigoted philosophy? Brothers in arms?’

Hm. A reasonable theory.

Sachs nodded. ‘Possible, sure. Though I think Dante’s right and Rossi wants as little publicity as possible about the whole thing now. Besides, I wonder if vans like that are in the Police of State budget.’

They certainly weren’t in the NYPD’s.

But as the ominous vehicle bounced forward over the uneven asphalt, like a boat in chop, closing the distance, Rhyme could see the US diplo license tag.

So the odds of ending up in an Italian jail were minimized.

A US penitentiary?

Ahead of them, on the other side of the chain link, was their borrowed jet, waiting to hustle the three of them away. The aircraft, with stairs extended, was nearby, in terms of distance, and the phrase ‘making a run for it’ tipped into Rhyme’s mind. Though the wheelchair made that cliché technically impossible, and in any case it was an unlikely solution to the problem of avoiding arrest by the US authorities.

No, there was nothing to do but stop. And Rhyme told Thom to do so.

The aide eased to a halt, the brakes giving a triplet squeak.

After thirty seconds the SUV passenger door opened and Rhyme was surprised to see who climbed out. The diminutive man, face so very pale, sweat stains visible on his shirt under the gray suit, smiled amiably and held up a wait-a-minute finger; he was on his mobile. Rhyme looked to Sachs. She too was frowning. Then she recalled, ‘Daryl Mulbry. From the consulate.’

‘Ah. Right.’ The community and public relations liaison.

‘The door,’ Rhyme said.