Caesario steps aside and motions to the door.
‘Sure.’ Tom reluctantly leaves.
The major turns back to Assante. ‘Why was he in this briefing room?’
‘Captain Morassi thought he could help.’
‘Dear God, what is the force coming to?’ Caesario lets out a long sigh. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when we had women captains, let alone a situation where one might think her ex-priest lover could be of use to an investigation.’
Federico finds himself compelled to defend her. ‘He did find the body by the river, sir. And he did overpower the prisoner, Angelis, when he assaulted Captain Morassi. And being an ex-priest, he may have something to offer on interpreting some of the biblical links to the case.’
‘Oh, really? Well then, maybe he’d make a better officer than her.’ Caesario looks over to the door. ‘Before we were rudely interrupted by the captain’s lover, I was asking you about her behaviour towards Fratelli. You didn’t answer me.’
‘I’m sorry, what exactly was the question again, sir?’
‘Was Morassi violent towards the prisoner? There was that incident in the cell block; did she provoke it?’
‘No, sir.’
Caesario’s not getting the answers he wants.
‘Think again, Lieutenant. Perhaps it wasn’t quite as you and she wrote it up. Did Morassi provoke the prisoner the night she was arrested? Was the patient just defending herself?’
Federico sees what the major is driving at. ‘It wasn’t like that, sir.’
‘Think harder, Assante. Because if it had been like that, it would also be consistent with the story told by this man we released, Angelis. Maybe Morassi didn’t clearly identify herself as a police officer. Maybe she did make a wrongful entry into Fratelli’s apartment and this man was just reacting like a protective friend.’
‘I wasn’t there at that incident, sir.’
Caesario gets himself up close to Federico. ‘This is one of those moments when you have to make a decision. Decide whose side you are on. You need to work out whether you want to be a witness or a defendant.’
Federico tries to play dumb. ‘How do you mean, sir?’
‘Well, let’s look at your own behaviour towards Anna Fratelli. Were you acting that way of your own volition, or were you simply following Morassi’s orders?’
He hesitates.
‘Were you following orders, Lieutenant, or were you disobeying them?’
‘Following them, sir.’
‘I thought so.’
Federico can’t leave it there. ‘But Major, neither of us did anything wrong. We respected every demand by the medics to back off as soon as the patient looked even remotely stressed.’
‘Save it, Lieutenant! If that’s your approach, then I can listen to the rest of what you have to say at your disciplinary hearing.’
Federico looks down at his shoes.
Caesario puts a fatherly hand on his officer’s shoulder. ‘What I imagine, Federico, is that you were put in a difficult – no, not difficult – an impossible position.’ He pats his shoulder. ‘You were given instructions by your captain, and because you respect rank, you followed them as best you could. However – and this is a very important however – I am also sure you voiced your concerns to the captain about her ethics in pursuing such actions.’ He gives him a knowing look. ‘I am equally sure that you may now be able to recall those concerns and list them in a witness statement that you could write out for use in a case against the captain.’
Federico doesn’t respond.
‘It would be greatly to your benefit – both immediately and subsequently – should you be blessed with full recall about Captain Morassi’s unbefitting and unethical behaviour. If such a statement were made now, I would be able to allow you to continue as the lead officer in this case and promise that charges are not brought against you. After all, you will be a key witness for the prosecution in the court martial that is bound to follow.’
71
Tom doesn’t have to wait long in reception.
Valentina soon appears. She looks drained of all colour. In her hands are two carrier bags. Her personal belongings, newly cleared from her desk.
‘Come here.’ He opens his arms and embraces her tightly. ‘Everything will be fine.’
Valentina is more angry than tearful.
She didn’t expect fairness. Certainly didn’t expect favours. But she also didn’t anticipate this.
She pulls away from him. ‘Let’s talk in the car, not here.’
He understands.
Valentina produces the veneer of a smile for the front desk staff as she leaves the building.
‘Your major came into the briefing room after you left.’
‘I guessed so.’ Valentina zaps the car open and they slide inside. ‘He gave me a letter suspending me, pending an internal inquiry and a possible court martial. Then he told me that he’d made you wait in reception.’
Tom nods. ‘I heard him speaking to Federico. Sounded like he was warming him up to take over from you.’
‘Big surprise.’
She starts the engine, clicks off the park brake and moves out of the yard.
‘They were talking about the night you got injured, and I got the feeling Federico was being asked to say it was your fault.’
Valentina turns on the radio as the Fiat noses out into the traffic. ‘I can’t talk about it right now, Tom. I don’t know whether I want to scream, get hideously drunk or find a gun and blow Caesario’s head off.’
‘Screaming is the best option out of the three.’
She does.
Very loudly.
Tom covers his ears.
When she’s finished, they both laugh.
He dips the radio. ‘As a matter of interest, where is home tonight?’
‘Not that fleapit we stayed in. The insurance company is going to cover a hotel until they’ve inspected the place and filed a report. I have somewhere in mind.’
He can’t help but be impressed. Even when her world turns to garbage, she’s still together enough to look after them both. Seems women the world over do that. Guys take a body blow and they go down. They wallow or drink themselves unconscious. Women take a knock and they just ride it, get on with the job of looking after themselves and those they love most.
Minutes later, Valentina parks at the front of a functional three-star on Via Mario de’ Fiori.
‘Let me book us in,’ says Tom. ‘If the press get a whiff of the suspension and come hunting, then you’ll be harder to trace.’
She slaps a credit card down on the reception desk. ‘I don’t want to be hard to trace.’ She stands tippy-toe and kisses him.
The front desk is busy and they have to wait.
Tom takes the place in.
It’s cosy enough.
Off to his right is a lounge area with light wood-panelled walls, and some of those dark chesterfield leather settees that you see in old English homes. A large desk in the corner supports a computer and printer, and there’s a long coffee table filled with magazines and leaflets about Rome. To his left, a thick red carpet flows down a marble staircase into the reception area. There are only two people working behind the high curved desk, hence the delay.
