Blume checked the time on his phone and walked with his head down, not saluting anyone in the corridor. It was quarter to two already. If Angelo Pernazzo had been in Di Tivoli’s house the night before and taken Di Tivoli’s car… When he reached the elevator, he suddenly turned on his heel and marched back the way he had come and straight into Principe’s office without knocking. Principe was on the phone and covered the mouthpiece as Blume entered. Then without even saying anything to whoever it was, he hung up.
“Filippo, listen to me,” said Blume, speaking rapidly. “Di Tivoli had-has-a second house in Amatrice. I just remembered Manuela Innocenzi mentioned it. There’s a damned good chance that’s where we’ll find Pernazzo. Find out as quick as you can. Get the address. If Di Tivoli has more than one property outside Rome, give priority to whichever is nearest, but I’d bet on Amatrice. If Di Tivoli’s vehicle is logged going in that direction, then we’ll have him.”
Blume left again, and walked quickly down the corridor again and out of the Halls of Justice. He hurried across the broad avenue and headed in the direction of Via Cola di Rienzo. A platinum blonde woman with black made-up eyes and puffed-up lips eyed him contemptuously from a cafe table. Mutton dressed as lamb.
Blume pulled out his phone, called Principe, and got a busy signal.
Only four minutes had passed, anyhow. Calling like that would just slow things down. But he could not allay the feeling that Innocenzi was ahead of them.
Two youths in red and yellow tracksuits sat outside the cafe, neither of them drinking anything, both of them smoking. They side-watched Blume as he walked in. Innocenzi was seated alone at one of the four tables in the cafe, reading Il Messaggero. There was no sign of the pastries he was supposed to have bought.
Innocenzi folded the paper as Blume sat down opposite him.
“What do you want?” said Blume.
“Coffee, thanks, Alec.”
“Very funny.”
“Calmness and control, Alec. If you’re not offering, then I’ll get the coffees.”
This entailed raising his hand in a languid salute. The barman was beside the table as if teleported there. Innocenzi ordered. The coffees arrived. They drank them in total silence. Innocenzi curled his little finger in the cup, covering the tip in a sludge of coffee and undissolved sugar, which he rubbed like cocaine on this gums, then sucked his finger.
“I see you, and I feel a sort of admiration-you know? Like a singer who won’t compromise his style or politics to sell albums. Like Lucio Battisti, Gino Paoli, Neil Young, you know?”
“No,” said Blume.
Innocenzi laughed. “That’s it. Just that sort of bolshie attitude. So what can I do for you?”
Blume wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothing. You said you wanted to tell me something.”
“I heard about your trouble this morning.”
“Who told you? D’Amico?”
“I don’t betray people who tell me things. That’s how come I’m the last one standing. Are you all right?”
“I am fine, and very moved by your concern.”
“Will they get the person who tried to do this?”
“We will get him, yes.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Excellent. What a bitch you having a sprained arm. Otherwise you’d probably have got him there and then.”
Blume said nothing.
“Lucky for you, you had such a good woman to defend you. Kristin is a girl who knows how to fight.”
Blume may have blinked, but no more than that. He should have been ready for that. How much Innocenzi knew about Kristin was anyone’s guess, which is just how he wanted it.
“I heard extraordinary reports of a man running barefoot from the scene,” continued Innocenzi. “Probably an exaggeration, but you have to wonder. No professional would have made all those mistakes. A professional would have got you both. You, then Kristin. That’s what a professional would have done. You’d never have seen it coming. I often wonder, do you even have time to hear the sound of the last shot. But this guy?” Innocenzi tapped the coffee cup as if it had turned into the person he was talking about. “He’s a bad joke. An embarrassment. He kills people like Clemente, who my daughter says was a very good man. I finally squeezed the name out of the department. Angelo Pernazzo. His apartment is being searched.”
“Pernazzo is the subject of inquiries,” said Blume.
“Now I hear Alleva and Massoni are dead, may they rest in peace. I don’t suppose you have any idea who did this?”
“It looks like they killed each other,” began Blume.
Innocenzi held up a restraining hand. “Please. Reciprocate some of the respect I have shown you. You’re not a good bullshitter, anyhow. Not Italian enough. Play it straight, like an American.”
“That really stirs my national pride,” said Blume. But Innocenzi was partly right. He saw no point in temporizing just for the sake of it. “OK, maybe Pernazzo had a hand in this killing, too,” said Blume. “It seems clear he was in regular contact with Massoni. You realize that, if he’s not the one who killed Alleva, suspicion will fall on you?”
Innocenzi flicked at an invisible piece of dirt on his wrist to dismiss the idea. “You realize that Alleva was under my protection. And even if he wasn’t, you can’t have debtors killing creditors, customers murdering entrepreneurs. The whole system would collapse. I take it you have heard what happened to our poor friend the television host?”
“Yes.”
“Pernazzo again?”
Blume half nodded.
“This is becoming embarrassing.”
Blume’s phone rang. He pulled it out. It was Principe. Blume had been right. Di Tivoli had a house near the village of Amatrice.
“What now?” asked Principe. “Shall I send out units to the place?”
“What about tracing the vehicle? Wait for that,” said Blume. “I’ll call you back in five minutes.” He closed his phone, slapped it on the table.
Innocenzi leaned over, gave him a playful push on the side of the shoulder. He looked almost pleased. Now it was his turn to pick up his phone. He keyed in a number, holding up a hand as if to stem a flow of inconsequential chatter from Blume, who remained tense, mute, and watchful.
“Fifteen minutes tops,” Innocenzi told whoever it was had picked up on the other side.
Blume’s phone danced on the tabletop. He grabbed it.
“Di Tivoli’s vehicle was logged seventy minutes ago entering the Strada dei Parchi motorway. He should be at Amatrice by now. I’m giving the order to move in.”
“OK,” said Blume. “Tell them to approach with caution. Remember they’re country policemen you’re dealing with.” He closed the phone. “Let us suppose,” he said to Innocenzi, “we were both looking for the same person at the same time. Who do you think would find him first?”
Innocenzi did not hesitate. “Not the authorities.”
“You don’t think the authorities are on the right track?”
“They could be rushing to the spot, Alec, as you and I sit here at one remove from all that is going on.”
Just to make sure, Blume said, “Rushing to the spot where this common enemy now is?”
“That’s how I would picture it.”
“And, based on your past experience, do you think the authorities would make it in time?”
“Let’s say a magistrate were to place a call through to the local police in Amatrice right now. I still think it would already be too late.”
“Damn!” Blume hit the table. “Manuela tells you everything, doesn’t she?”
Innocenzi touched his lips. “I don’t like hearing you say things like that, Alec. It’s almost as if you’re saying that if anything happens to this man who tried to kill you, Manuela’s responsible. See the problem there?”
