Dick Francis - The Danger

I may have to come back, but that seems enough for now.' He sighed. 'She knows so little. Not much help. The kidnappers were too careful. If you learn any more, Andrew, you'll teli me?5

I nodded,

'How much was the ransom?' he said.

I smiled. 'The list of the notes' numbers will come here today. I'll let you have them. Also, do you have the Identikit system, like in England?

'Something like it, yes.'

'I could build a picture of one of the other kidnappers, I think. Not the ones in the siege. If you like.'

'If I hike! Where did you see him. How do you know?'

'I've seen him twice. I'll tell you about it when I come in with the lists.'

'How soon?' he demanded.

'When the messenger comes. Any time now.'

The messenger obligingly arrived while Pucinelli was climbing into his car, so I borrowed the Fiat runabout again and followed him to his headquarters.

Fitting together pieces of head with eyes and mouth, chin and hairline, I related the two sightings, 'You probably saw him yourself, outside the ambulance, the night the siege started,' I said.

'I had too much to think of.'

I nodded and added ears. 'This man is young. Difficult to tell… not less than twenty-five, though. Lower thirties, probably.'

I built a full face and a profile, but wasn't satisfied, and Pucinelli said he would get an artist in to draw what I wanted.

'He works in the courts. Very fast.'

A telephone call produced the artist within half an hour. He came, fat, grumbling, smelling of garlic and scratching, and saying that it was siesta, how could any sane man be expected to work at two in the afternoon? He stared with disillusion at my composite efforts, fished out a thin charcoal stick, and began performing rapid miracles on a sketch pad. Every few seconds he stopped to raise his eyebrows at me, inviting comment.

'Rounder head,' I said, describing it with my hands. 'A smooth round head.'

The round head appeared. 'What next?'

'The mouth… a fraction too thin. A slightly fuller lower lip.'

He stopped when I could think of no more improvements and showed the results to Pucinelli. 'This is the man as your English friend remembers him,' he said, sniffing. 'Memories are usually wrong, don't forget.'

'Thanks,' Pucinelli said. 'Go back to sleep.'

The artist grumbled and departed, and I said, 'What's the latest on Lorenzo Traventi?'

'Today they say he'll live.'

'Good,' I said with relief. It was the first time anyone had been positive.

'We've charged the two kidnappers with intent to kill. They are protesting.' He shrugged. 'So far they are refusing to say anything about the kidnap, though naturally we are pointing out that if they lead us to other arrests their sentences will be shorter.' He picked up the artist's drawings. 'I'll show them these. It will shock them.' A fleeting look of savage pleasure crossed his face: the look of a born policeman poised for a kill.

I'd seen it on other faces above other uniforms, and never despised it. He deserved his satisfaction, after the strains of the past week.

'The radio,' Pucinelli said, pausing as he turned away.

'Yes?'

'It could transmit and receive on aircraft frequencies.'

I blinked. 'That's not usual, is it?'

'Not very. And it was tuned to the international emergency frequency… which is monitored all the time, and which certainly did not pick up any messages between kidnappers. We checked at the airport this morning.'

I shook my head in frustration. Pucinelli went off with eagerness to his interrogations, and I returned to the villa.

Alessia said, 'Do you mind if I ask you something?'

'Fire away.'

'I asked Papa but he won't answer, which I suppose anyway is an answer of sorts.' She paused. 'Did I have any clothes on, when you found me?'

'A plastic raincoat,' I said matter-of-factly.

'Oh.'

I couldn't tell whether the answer pleased her or not. She remained thoughtful for a while, and then said, 'I woke up here in a dress I haven't worn for years. Aunt Luisa and Ilaria say they don't know how it happened. Did Papa dress me? Is that why he's so embarrassed?'

'Didn't you expect to have clothes on?' I asked curiously.

'Well… ' She hesitated.

I lifted my head. 'Were you naked… all the time?'

She moved her thin body restlessly in the armchair as if she would sink into it, out of sight. 'I don't want…' she said; and broke off, swallowing, while in my mind I finished the sentence. Don't want everyone to know.

It's all right,' I said. 'I won't say.'

We were sitting in the library, the evening fading to dark, the heat of the day diminishing; freshly showered, casually dressed, waiting in the Cenci household routine to be joined by everyone for a drink or two before dinner. Alessia's hair was again damp, but she had progressed as far as lipstick.

She gave me short glances of inspection, not sure of me.

'Why are you here?' she said. 'Papa says he couldn't have got through these weeks without you, but… I don't really understand.'

I explained my job.

'An advisor?'

'That's right.'

She thought for a while, her gaze wandering over my face and down to my hands and up again to my eyes. Her opinions were unreadable, but finally she sighed, as if making up her mind.

'Well… advise me too,' she said. 'I feel very odd. Like jet lag, only much worse. Time lag. I feel as if I'm walking on tissue paper. As if nothing's real. I keep wanting to cry. I should be deliriously happy… why aren't I?'

'Reaction,' I said.

'You don't know… you can't imagine… what it was like.'

'I've heard from many people what it's like. From people like you, straight back from kidnap. They've told me. The first bludgeoning shock, the not being able to believe it's happening. The humiliations, forced on you precisely to make you afraid and defenceless. No bathrooms. Sometimes no clothes. Certainly no respect. No kindness or gentleness of any sort. Imprisonment, no one to talk to, nothing to fill the mind, just uncertainty and fear… and guilt… Guilt that you didn't escape at the beginning, guilt at the distress brought on your family, guilt at what a ransom will cost… and fear for your life… if the money can't be raised… or if something goes wrong… if the kidnappers panic.'

She listened intently, at first with surprise and then with relief. 'You do know. You do understand. I haven't been able to say… I don't want to upset them… and also… also…'

'Also you feel ashamed,' I said.

'Oh.' Her eyes widened. 'I… Why do I?'

'I don't know, but nearly everyone does.'

'Do they?'

'Yes.'

She sat quiet for a while, then she said, 'How long will it take… for me to get over it?'

To that there was no answer. 'Some people shake it off almost at once,' I said. 'But it's like illness, or a death… you have to grow scar tissue.'

Some managed it in days, some in weeks, some in years; some bled for ever. Some of the apparently strong disintegrated most. One couldn't tell, not on the day after liberation.

Ilaria came into the room in a stunning scarlet and gold toga and began switching on the lamps.

'It was on the radio news that you're free,' she said to Alessia. 'I heard it upstairs. Make the most of the peace, the paparazzi will be storming up the drive before you can blink.'

Alessia shrank again into her chair and looked distressed. Ilaria, it occurred to me uncharitably, had dressed for such an event: another statement about not wanting to be eclipsed.

'Does your advice stretch to paparazzi?' Alessia asked weakly, and I nodded, 'If you like.'

Ilaria patted the top of my head as she passed behind my chair. 'Our Mr Fixit. Never at a loss.'

Paolo Cenci himself arrived with Luisa, the one looking anxious, the other fluttery, as usual.