apartment.’
‘Will do.’
Valentina opens the fridge and reels back. It smells like she just prised the lid off a coffin. The cooler box holds a mush of long-forgotten vegetables and enough gas to blow up a small country. ‘Yuck! I haven’t seen inside a fridge this bad since I was at college.’
Tom abandons plugging the Gaggia in and wanders over. ‘How about we just stick the groceries in there in their bags and go to bed.’ He puts his hands on her hips. ‘I just want to curl up beside you and see the end to this day.’
Valentina kisses him lightly. ‘You go. It’ll take me ten minutes to sort this. A little boiling water and some washing-up liquid will make all the difference.’ She kisses him again and heads for the sink, but never gets there.
Her cell phone rings.
Surely there’s no way such a bad day could get worse?
Within thirty seconds it has.
She hangs up and relays the news. ‘Suzanna has disappeared.’ She flaps her arms in impotent protest. ‘Verdetti and her administrator took her back to Cosmedin for what they call cognitive recognition therapy and she overpowered them and ran off.’ She flaps some more. ‘Can you believe it? Like this woman wasn’t dangerous. Why did they think we posted a guard outside of her door, just for fun?’ She punches Assante’s number in her phone and vents some more of her frustration.
Tom busies himself working the Gaggia and emptying the putrid remains of the cooler box.
By the time she’s finished her call, he’s drummed up a couple of decent cups of coffee and an almost clean fridge.
‘You’re an angel.’ She takes a small espresso cup from him and cradles it in her hands.
He chinks his cup against hers and wishes it were a glass of red. ‘You going to have to go out?’
‘Maybe not.’ She doesn’t look convinced. ‘Federico is issuing an alert to all our units, plus the Polizia. Louisa and her boss are on their way to the station to be interviewed.’
‘Do you want to be there to do it?’
Her face says she does. ‘I want to be here to make sure you’re all right.’
‘Hey, I’ve learned my lesson. I swear I won’t touch anything electrical after you’ve gone.’
‘I didn’t mean that.’ She puts a hand to his face, ‘You just look wiped out.’
‘I am. You must be too.’
She nods and takes another hit of the syrupy coffee. ‘Nothing that caffeine – or you – can’t cure.’
Her cell phone rings again. ‘God give me strength!’ She snatches it off the counter top. ‘ Pronto! ’
Tom watches as the sternness washes from her face and is replaced by something more worrying.
Disbelief.
‘ Grazie.’ Valentina ends the call and lets the phone dangle from her hand.
‘What’s wrong?’
She looks at him like he’s standing on ice and might fall through at any moment. ‘It was Federico’s friend in the fire department.’
‘And?’
She moves closer. ‘You didn’t start the fire, Tom. Someone else did.’
He frowns. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Petrol was poured through the letter box and then set on fire. The investigators could tell from the intensity of the burns on the ceiling and floor where it was started. And it wasn’t the kitchen. It wasn’t your fault. The seat of the fire was the doorway.’
Valentina sees the shock on his face and hugs him tight.
They stand silently together. Minds racing, both thinking the same thing.
Who did it? Why? And who exactly were they trying to kill?
56
Not even the safe house seems particularly safe any more.
Nowhere does.
Tom and Valentina travel to the police station together.
There’s no way he’s going to let her go out alone. And there’s no way she’s going to leave him in on his own.
It’s just before midnight and the night has turned chilly. A frosty reminder that winter is a long way from over.
Only by the time they’re parking the Fiat at the police station has the little car’s heater managed to kick out some warmth.
Through a glazed partition Valentina sees Louisa Verdetti and Sylvio Valducci sitting in the drab Carabinieri reception area looking cold and drawn. They’re like those old married couples who stopped talking to each other about half a century ago but still go out and spend speechless meals together. Valentina takes them through to her office and en route introduces Tom – or in Louisa’s case, reintroduces him. It’s only partway through these civilities that Tom once more becomes aware that he’s still dressed in the pink parachute of a shirt and tank-sized grey pants recovered from dead men at the hospital. Fortunately, the grave and urgent task of trying to find their missing prisoner seems to divert attention away from his crimes against fashion.
Tom sits back in the corner of the office and tries not to fall asleep.
He occupies himself with an out-of-date newspaper left on a low table, but for the most part he just listens and watches Valentina interview the two medics.
The body language between Verdetti and Valducci is more than just interesting.
It’s quite hostile.
At one point he tries to comfort her and she squirms away so violently it’s almost like they’re in an abusive relationship.
Half an hour later, Valentina beckons Tom over to her desk. ‘Look at this.’ Her tone is sombre.
She smoothes out a creased piece of paper, a child’s crayon drawing. ‘Our prisoner did this – just hours before she escaped.’
At first it appears to be no more than scribbles of oranges and reds; then he sees what Valentina saw.
A sleeping man under the cross of God consumed by fire.
Every nerve in his body prickles.
Did the patient really foresee what would happen?
He looks at Louisa and Valducci, then back at Valentina. She shakes her head. She doesn’t want him to mention anything in front of the medics, especially Valducci, whom she knows even Louisa doesn’t trust.
Tom carries his heavy thoughts back to his corner.
Maybe he’s reading too much into the picture.
It could be anything.
More likely it’s meant to be a Roman battle scene, a picture of soldiers burning a village to the ground and crucifying locals or slaves.
As soon as Valducci and Verdetti leave, Federico arrives.
He gives Tom a courteous nod and then falls into a long, intense and hushed conversation with Valentina.
Tom has another go at the now well-thumbed paper, and then struggles to fight back a tsunami of sleep.
Bleary-eyed, he watches them both note-taking, tapping computer keys and making calls.
Suddenly it’s all over.
They both grab coats, turn off desk lights and fire ciaos across the room – Federico even manages a wave and a forced smile to Tom.
