Dick Francis - The Danger

One thing was crystal clear, I thought. It wasn't Giuseppe-Peter who had most frightened Dominic. The baby, like Alessia herself, had liked him.

Eagler said, 'I thought the boy wouldn't talk. Superintendent Rightsworth told me he'd tried, but the child was in shock, and the mother was being obstructive about treatment.'

'Mm,' I said. 'Still, that was yesterday. Today Dominic has positively identified the photostat as being one of the kidnappers, known to him as Peter.'

'How reliable do you think the kid is?'

'Very. He certainly knew him.'

'All right. And this Peter - and I suppose he's the one the kidnappers are talking about on those tapes - he's Italian?'

'Yes. Dominic had learned two words from him: ciao bambino.'

'Luv-a-duck,' Eagler said quaintly.

'It seems also,' I said, 'as if Giuseppe-Peter has a fondness for Verdi. Alessia Cenci said her kidnappers played three of Verdi's operas to her, over and over. Dominic is humming the Soldiers' Chorus from Il Trovatore , which was one of them. Did you by any chance find a cassette player in that house?'

'Yes, we did.' He sounded as if nothing ever again would surprise him. 'It was up in the room where the kid was kept. There were only two tapes there. One was pop music, and yes, laddie, the other was Verdi. Il Trovatore .'

'It's conclusive, then, isn't it?' I said. 'We have a practitioner.'

'A what?'

'Practitioner. Sorry; it's what in Liberty Market we call a man who kidnaps on a regular basis. Like a safe-breaker or a con-man. His work.'

'Yes,' Eagler agreed. 'We have a practitioner; and we have you. I wonder if Giuseppe-Peter knows of the existence of Liberty Market.'

'His constant enemy,' I said.

Eagler almost chuckled. 'I dare say you made things too hot for him in his part of Italy, flooding the place with what is obviously a recognisable portrait. It would be ironic if he'd decided to move to England and came slap up against you all over again. He'd be speechless if he knew.'

'I dare say he'll find out,' I said. 'The existence of Liberty Market isn't a total secret, even though we don't advertise. Any kidnapper of experience would hear of us sometime. Perhaps one of these days there'll be a ransom demand saying no police and no Liberty Market either.'

'I meant you, personally, laddie.'

'Oh.'I paused. 'No, he wouldn't know that. He saw me once, in Italy, but not here. He didn't know then who I worked for. He didn't even know I was British.'

'He'll have a fit when he finds his picture all over England too.' Eagler sounded cheerfully smug. 'Even if we don't catch him, we'll chase him back where he came from in no time,'

'You know,' I said tentatively, 'you and Pucinelli might both flash that picture about among horse people, not just put it up in police stations. Many crooks are ostensibly sober citizens, aren't they? Both of the kidnaps that we're sure are his work are to do with racing. They're the people who'd know him. Someone, somewhere, would know him. Perhaps the racing papers would print it?'

'It's a pity I can't compare notes with your friend Pucinelli,' Eagler said. 'I sometimes think police procedures do more to prevent the exchange of information than to spread it. Even in England it's hard enough for one county to get information from another county, let alone talk to regional coppers in Europe.'

'I don't see why you can't. I can tell you his 'phone number. You could have an interpreter this end, standing by.'

'Ring Italy? It's expensive, laddie.'

'Ah.' I detected also in his voice the reluctance of many of the British to make overseas calls: almost as if the process itself was a dangerous and difficult adventure, not just a matter of pressing buttons.

'If I want to know anything particular,' Eagler said, 'I'll ask you to ask him. Things I learn from you come under the heading of information received, origin unspecified.'

'So glad.'

He chuckled. 'We had our three kidnappers in court this morning: remanded in custody for a week. They're still saying nothing. I've been letting them stew while I listened to all the tapes, but now, tonight, and with what you've just told me, I'll bounce them out of their socks.'

Eagler opened his oysters, but they were barren of pearls. He concluded, as Pucinelli had done, that none of the arrested men had known Giuseppe-Peter before the day he recruited one of them in a pub.

'Does Giuseppe-Peter speak English?' I asked.

'Yes, apparently, enough to get by. Hewlitt understood him, right enough.

'Who's Hewlitt?'

'Kidnapper. The voice on the ransom tape. Voice prints made and matched. Hewlitt has a record as long as your arm, but for burglary, not anything like this. The other two are in the same trade; housebreaking, nicking silver and antiques. They finally gave their names, once they saw we'd got them to rights. Now they're busy shoving all the blame onto Peter, but they don't know much about him,'

'Were they paid at all? I asked.

'They say not, but they're lying. They got some on account, must have. Stands to reason.'

'I suppose Giuseppe-Peter didn't telephone the house in Itchenor, did he?'

There was dead silence from Eagler. Embarrassment, I diagnosed.

'He did,' I suggested, 'and got a policeman?'

'Well… there was one call from someone unknown.'

'But you got a recording?'

'All he said,' said Eagler resignedly, 'was "Hello". My young PC thought it was someone from the station and answered accordingly, and the caller rang off.'

'Can't be helped,' I said.

'No.'

'Did Hewlitt say how Giuseppe-Peter knew of him? I mean, you can't go up to a perfect stranger in a British pub and proposition them to kidnap.'

'On that subject Hewlitt is your proverbial silent stone. There's no way he's going to say who put him up. There's some things, laddie, one just can't find out. Let's just say that there are a lot of Italians in London, where Hewlitt lives, and there's no way he's going to point the finger at any of them.'

'Mm,' I said. 'I do see that.'

I telephoned Alessia to ask how she was feeling and found her full of two concerns: the first, her own plans for a come-back race, and second, the predicament of Miranda and Dominic.

'Miranda's so miserable and I don't know how to help her,' she said. 'John Nerrity's being thoroughly unreasonable in every way, and he and Miranda are now sleeping in different rooms, because he won't have Dominic sleeping in the room with them, and Dominic won't sleep by himself.'

'Quite a problem,' I agreed.

'Mind you, I suppose it's difficult for both of them. Dominic wakes up crying about five times every night, and won't go to sleep again unless Miranda strokes him and talks to him, and she says she's getting absolutely exhausted by it, and John is going on and on about sending Dominic to hospital.' She paused. 'I can't ask Popsy to have her here to stay. I simply don't know what to do.'

'Hm… How much do you like Miranda?'

'Quite a lot. More than I expected, to be honest.'

'And Dominic?'

'He's a sweetheart. Those terrific eyes. I love him.'

I paused, considering, and she said, 'What are you thinking? What should Miranda do?'

'Is her mother still with her?'

'No. She has a job and doesn't seem to be much help.'

'Does Miranda have any money except what John gives her?'

'I don't know. But she was his secretary.'

'Yeah. Well… Miranda should take Dominic to a doctor I know of, and she should go and stay for a week near someone supportive like you that she can be with for a good deal of every day. And I don't know how much of that is possible.'

'I'll make it possible,' Alessia said simply.

I smiled at the telephone. She sounded so whole, her own problems submerged under the tidal wave of Dominic's.