The Bone Chamber

Griffin walked up just then, bearing a plastic tray with three espressos. “If any of Adami’s crowd is on this train, I haven’t noticed them,” he said, taking a seat besides Sydney. He turned his attention to Francesca, then back to Sydney. “What happened?” he asked, nodding toward the professor.

“We were discussing Alessandra’s murder,” Sydney replied, taking one of the plastic cups from the tray. Francesca took hers, but didn’t drink. Griffin asked no further questions, and the remainder of the trip passed in a relative and uncomfortable silence.

An hour and a half later, the train slowed to a stop in the Naples station. Griffin handed Sydney her bag that contained her sketchbook and the two maps she’d taken from Francesca’s wall, then slung his backpack over his shoulder. “We can get a cab in the taxi line just outside the station.”

They walked down the binario into the station, wading through the mass of passengers moving in all directions. Sydney saw the accordionist and the young girl moving through the crowd. A loud argument between two men turned into a shoving match, and everyone seemed to surge back at the same time, trying to avoid the fight, which made it more difficult to get through the crush.

As they left the station, they joined the taxi line, which moved swiftly, thanks to what looked like a sea of official yellow cabs waiting to pick up their fares. A cab pulled up, and Griffin held the door open, allowing Francesca to slide in first.

Sydney was about to get into the cab when she felt the slightest of tugs at her back. She turned, glimpsed the dark braids as the girl from the train darted through the crowd, and she knew without a doubt that her bag had just been picked. Doubt turned to wonder when she checked her bag, found her money still there. She looked around her, saw the boy with the accordion, and decided that the girl had to be close. Sure enough, she saw the girl through the crowd, looking right at her, as though daring her to give chase. Whatever, Sydney thought, about to get into the cab, when she caught sight of what was in the girl’s hand. A rolled parchment. “The professor’s maps,” she whispered to Griffin.

“What?”

“Pickpocket.”

“Professor, get out of the cab.”

The driver shouted at them as they abandoned the cab. Griffin followed Sydney toward the entrance to the station, and Francesca raced after them.

“Why would she take the maps?” Sydney asked.

“Maps?” Francesca said. “Why would a street girl take maps, when she could just as easily get your money?”

“Maybe she figured they were something valuable,” Sydney said. “You did give them a nice antique appearance.”

“They were my maps?”

“Let’s hope that’s all it is,” Griffin replied. “I’d hate to think someone else already had us pegged.”

There were still too many people about to find such a small girl, who was no doubt an expert at remaining hidden. But the accordion-wielding accomplice stood out easily, and Sydney pointed him out, saying, “They were together.”

“Then we wait here,” Griffin said.

And they did just that, waiting near the newspaper kiosk.

After several minutes, Sydney found the girl, darting in and out of the crowd, no doubt filling her pockets as she did so. “There, by the magazine kiosk.”

Griffin nodded, started that direction. He looked everywhere but at the girl. A moment later, he had her by the scruff of the neck. Sydney and Francesca walked up in time to hear the girl say, “These papers, I only take them from the signorina, because she is nice. I take them to protect her.”

“Protect her from whom?”

She pulled the maps from the back of her shirt, holding them out to Sydney.

Clever, Sydney thought. She took the maps from the girl, then told Griffin, “Pay her.”

“For our own property?”

“You heard her, she thinks I’m nice.”

Griffin dug into his pocket, pulled out a few euros and held them out.

The girl looked at the money, then frowned at Griffin. “This is all, when I return your valuable papers out of the kindness of my heart?”

“You are lucky I don’t send the carabinieri after you for this.”

The girl’s smile brightened as she reached for the money, then said, “And how much I get if I tell you that you are followed?”

Griffin didn’t let go of the money. “That depends on the information.”

Sydney looked around, but trying to see if they were truly being followed in this crowd was impossible.

The girl, however, clamped her mouth shut, and Griffin let go of the money, which she quickly pocketed, as he took a few more bills from his wallet. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll decide what it’s worth.”

“The white taxi, do you see it?” she said, pointing across the piazza to where several limousines and a few odd-colored taxis were parked farther beyond the official taxi line. “He follows you.”

“And you know this how?”

“This man, he is also on the train from Roma. He watches the signorina,” she said, nodding toward Francesca. “I see him, he talks to the driver and pays him money, but then he does not get in. The driver? He watches all of you while you wait in the taxi line.” Griffin handed her two bills, and she added, “My brother, he followed them. It is extra if you want to know what this man said to the driver.”

“And that was?”

“To let him know where you are going. When he passes that information, the man will pay him again.”

Griffin held out the euros. “I don’t suppose you caught this man’s name?”

“No, signore. The man, he carried a big gun.”

“What should we do?” Francesca asked.

“I want you and Sydney to get back in the taxi queue. I intend to find out if this is part of Adami’s crew. If it isn’t, then I want to know who else is watching us.” He looked at the girl, and said, “One hundred euros to you and your brother, if you create a distraction that will draw that taxi driver from his cab for at least sixty seconds.”

30

The dark-eyed street girl left to get her brother, while Sydney and Francesca returned to the long taxi line. Griffin kept an eye on them, as he took out Adami’s cell phone from the special pouch that Giustino had given them. The case helped to ensure that their own conversations were muffled, but the GPS would not be inhibited.

Griffin hit redial. A man answered. Not Adami. The voice sounded much like the leather-clad man from the Capuchin Crypt.

“This is Griffin.”

“I see you are in Naples.”

“Did you follow us on the train?”

“Why would I need to do that? The phone has GPS. We know where you are. And your friend here has every confidence in your abilities.”

“My sources tell me that someone is paying a pirate cab to follow us. It’s not yours, is it?”

There was a rustling sound, as though he covered up the phone to speak to someone. A moment later, he came back on. “Signore Adami informs me that we sent no one. We will be meeting you at the appointed hotel.”

“What hotel?”

He gave him the address. “There will be a room waiting for you under your name. When you have the map, I will meet you there.”

“Who would be following us?”