'Very well,' she said with a sigh. 'It's a deal. We can sort the details out later, no doubt. Or do you distrust me that much?”
'I would never dream of it. Now, this corpse ...”
They walked tentatively back to look at Dossoni's body lying on the ground. Then Mary got a thick tarpaulin from the house, they wrapped him in it with great distaste, and dragged him slowly to his car.
'I suppose we'd better put him in the boot,' he said calmly. It was amazing what you could get used to. 'That's what you people normally do, isn't it?”
'What do you mean, 'you people'? I don't make a habit of this, you know.”
'You'd never know.' He opened the trunk and peered inside with a torch. There was a jumble of tools, and bits of paper, and old sandwich wrappers and newspapers. Argyll cleared them all to one side to make room. Then he saw the thick brown envelope.
He looked at it, and thought, then picked it up and peered inside. And realization dawned. With his hands trembling, he shook out the contents of the big envelope. He opened the cover and read 'Report on the murder of Signora Maria di Lanna on May . .
.”
'Oh, my God,' he said. 'He had it in his car all the time. He hadn't handed it in. He was going to keep it for himself.”
The body quite forgotten, propped up against the side of the car as though he was having a nap, Mary Verney and Argyll sat down to read in the light of the Fiat's headlights. And as they read, Argyll's blood began to run cold, and panic came over him once more, but far more violently.
'Dear God. She's walking into a death trap,' he said quietly, after they'd scanned the summary at the end.
He ran back into the house, picked up the phone, and dialed her mobile. Within seconds, a chirruping began to come from the handbag Flavia had left behind her by the table on the terrace. He stared at it aghast.
'Take your car. Drive to Rome. Find them both. If you're lucky you'll be in time.”
Argyll looked at her. 'But ...”
'I'll take care of this one. Don't worry. There's a nice forest about fifty kilometers from here. Then I'll hose down the terrace. Go, Jonathan. Hurry.”
19
The closer they got to Rome, the more nervous Flavia became, so nervous that even her unaccustomed car sickness began to fade. The shock of seeing Dossoni shot finally began to affect her; she felt cold, shivery, and numb. She constantly looked around to see if they were being followed, scrutinizing every policeman to see if there was any flicker of recognition when the man saw Bottando's car or her face. Even worse, her mood communicated itself to Bottando, so much so that he took a detour to cruise past the entrance to Flavia's apartment, slowing down just enough to see the black Fiat still parked down the street, two men strategically posted front and back. Bottando grunted; there was no need for further comment.
Then they went on to Bottando's apartment. Again, the car. Again the watchful pair of eyes.
'Damnation,' Flavia said. 'They'll have searched it.”
'Just as well I didn't tidy it up before I left, then,' Bottando said perfectly calmly.
He had stopped the car while they looked, then pulled out, turned sharp right, and drove away as discreetly as possible.
'I think they saw you.”
'I know they did,' he replied. 'But I bet I know this part of town better than they do.
Never overestimate the intelligence of these people.”
There was no proof that he was right, but no proof either that he was overly optimistic; Flavia saw no sign of any following car. Bottando drove them to a residential district behind the Vatican, where they sat waiting for the day to begin. They didn't talk; Bottando seemed preoccupied and once turned to Flavia to tell her something, but she had fallen asleep and was breathing softly and peacefully. He looked at her with affection mixed with regret, then let her be. He could not sleep himself.
When the first bars and cafes finally began to open he woke her up, and they went to have coffee and something to eat. Flavia washed as best she could to wake herself up, then Bottando drove to the Colosseum and parked on a side street. They walked to the Metro station—in one end, out the other—then onto the first passing bus. They got off at the Capitoline, then became tourists, walking into the Forum just as it opened.
They strolled among the ruins, finally finding a secluded jumble of rubble where they could sit and talk. All around the early tourists walked, snapping with their cameras, consulting their guidebooks, looking with frowns on their faces from plans to reality then back again, trying to make sense of what they saw.
'We don't have a very strong hand here, do we? We don't have either the report or the proof. Presumably Dossoni got both of them. All we have is a photocopy, which isn't much use. There's nothing much we can do.”
Bottando nodded. 'True. And against us we seem to have at least bits of the secret service, and a desperate prime minister. There's nothing we can do about that; no chance of righting wrongs or seeing justice is done, I think. All we can do is try and immunize ourselves. Di Lanna's the only person who might help us.' He heaved a heavy sigh. 'You can always offer him his money back,' he said gloomily. 'That might help.”
She looked at him. 'We don't have it,' she pointed out.
'Well...' he began.
'It doesn't matter anyway,' she interrupted. 'Even if we did have it, I'm damned if I see why I should offer anybody anything back.”
'Pardon?”
'No. Enough's enough. If we can get hold of the money, we keep it. We might well need it more than Di Lanna ever will. We're faced with the prospect of being pursued without end. Especially now Dossoni is dead. I hate to say it, but if this doesn't work and Di Lanna won't help we'll probably have to go into hiding, at least for a bit. I don't want to stay around to see how much the prime minister wants to remain in office.”
'You're beginning to sound like Mary.”
'Sensible women looking after idealistic men. Don't tell Jonathan. He'd be appalled.'
She shook her head in disbelief. 'A week ago I was head of the art theft squad, you know,' she said. 'Now I'm sitting on a stone talking about going on the run with a suitcase full of dodgy money. What happened?”
'Prime ministers,' Bottando said. 'You can't say I didn't warn you.”
They sat there for another half hour or more, considering other options, such as going to a magistrate or the newspapers—with what? Bottando asked—but came up with nothing. So it was decided. They stood up and looked at each other.
'Good luck,' Bottando said quietly. 'You're going to need it. You sure you don't want me to come?”
She shook her head. 'No. I know him. We got on quite well. Best me alone.' She smiled wanly. 'All I want to do is paint the kitchen, you know.”
He smiled. 'And all I want to do is enjoy a long and quiet retirement. I'm sorry I got you into this mess.”
'I'm sorry I got myself into it. You always did say prime ministers can ruin your life. I didn't think you meant it quite so literally.”
Then she gave him a quick peck on the cheek and walked away.
From then on, Flavia's biggest problem was her nerves. She was convinced that, at any moment, someone would leap out from behind a lamppost and shoot her.
In fact, nothing of the sort happened. She bought herself a hat from a stand selling trinkets to tourists to hide her face, then walked to the Chamber of Deputies. No one paid her any attention. She attached herself to a group of tourists and strolled into the building without having to show any identification. Shocking lapse of security. And she walked along the dingy corridors to Di Lanna's office without anyone asking her business, or looking at her strangely. But just as she was about to reach the relative safety of his office, she hesitated, and walked on until she came to a little bench and sat down.
She was breathing deeply, almost panting, as she struggled to get a grip on her reluctance. It was something Argyll had said. What was it? Something about one artist's style hiding another. What was that about? That little examination Bulovius had subjected him to. So what? Why did that stick in her mind? And why was it joined to his description of the Claude? Not a happy ending after all, that's what he'd said.
