Don Pendleton: Point Blank

“And would you know the number of its license plate by any chance?”

“I couldn’t say. It’s registered commercially,” Adamo answered. “To our winery, if I am not mistaken.”

“Never mind,” the lieutenant said. “I can check that myself.”

“Why do you ask about the car?” Adamo pressed him.

“Ah. Because we found one at the scene, damaged by gunfire. It’s a rental, from the airport at Lamezia Terme. It was hired out today, in fact, to someone named...um...Scott Parker. Is that name familiar to you, sir?”

“It is not,” Adamo said. But it will be, he thought .

“An American, it appears, if we may trust his operator’s license and the credit card he used to hire the car. We will be tracing both.”

“Of course . Please keep me informed of any progress, and advise me when the bodies may be claimed for burial. Their families...”

“Under the circumstances,” Albanesi said, “I’m afraid the magistrate will certainly demand autopsies. The delay in their release may be substantial.”

“Do the best you can,” Adamo said. “Your efforts are appreciated, Lieutenant.”

Meaning that he owed the little troll another envelope of cash, with more to come if Albanesi could identify the killer and deliver him to the family.

But the main headache for Adamo now was the missing woman.

A headache he was about to share with his padrino .

Bracing for the storm to come, Adamo made the call.

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