'Amazing that it was Fosco. I'm floored.'
D'Agosta shook his head.
'It's a hell of a thing, knowing who the perp is but being able to do nothing.'
There was the ring of a claxon; an amber alarm flashed overhead; and a carousel nearby began to move.
'I was able to do something,' he said in a low voice.
Hayward looked at him sharply.
'I'll explain in the car.'
Ten minutes later they were on the Van Wyck Expressway, halfway back to Manhattan, Hayward at the wheel. D'Agosta sat beside her, idly looking out the window.
'So it was all about a violin,' Hayward said. 'The whole damn thing. A lousy violin.'
'Not just any violin.'
'I don't care. It wasn't worth all those deaths. And it especially wasn't worth-' But here she stopped, as if hesitant to break some unspoken code between them. 'Where is it now?'
'I sent it by special courier to a woman on the island of Capraia. Comes from a line of violinists. She'll restore it to the Fosco family at a time of her choosing, when the new heir is settled in. Somehow, I think that's what Pendergast would have wanted.'
It was the first time Pendergast's name had passed between them.
'I know you couldn't explain on the phone,' she went on. 'But what happened, exactly? After you took the Italian police to Fosco's castle yesterday morning, I mean.'
D'Agosta did not reply.
'Come on, Vinnie. It'll be better if you talk about it.'
D'Agosta sighed. 'I spent the rest of the day combing the Chianti countryside. Talking to farmers. Talking to villagers. Anyone who might have seen anything, heard anything. Checking my hotel for messages. Of course, there was nothing. But I had to be sure, you see-absolutely sure . '
Hayward waited. After a moment, he went on.
'The thing is, deep down, I was already sure. We'd searched the castle. And then there was that look Fosco gave me, that awful look. If you'd seen it . ' He shook his head. 'Close to midnight, I drifted back to the castle. Went in the same way we'd come out. I took the time to figure out how the microwave device worked. And then I . used it. One last time.'
'You brought Fosco to justice. Avenged your partner. I'd have done the same thing.'
'Would you?' D'Agosta asked quietly.
Hayward nodded.
D'Agosta shifted restlessly. 'There's not much more to tell. I spent this morning back in Florence, checking hospitals, morgues, police reports. More to keep busy than for anything else. And then I boarded the plane.'
'What did you do with that weapon?'
'Disassembled it, smashed the pieces, and deposited them in half a dozen garbage cans around Florence.'
She nodded. 'And what are your plans now?'
D'Agosta shrugged. He hadn't given this any thought. 'I don't know. Go back to Southampton, I guess. Face the music.'
A small smile crept over her face. 'Didn't you hear what I said? It's the chief who's facing the music. He got back from vacation and was so eager to hog the limelight that now it's all coming back to roost. Braskie's running against him in the next election, odds-on favorite to win.'
'Even worse for me.'
She changed lanes. 'There's something else you should know. They've suspended the NYPD hiring freeze. That means you can work the city again. Get your old job back.'
D'Agosta shook his head. 'No way. I've been away too long. I'm old goods.'
'It hasn't been that long. They're rehiring by seniority. And with your experience in Southampton, and as FBI liaison . ' She paused to negotiate the ramp onto the Long Island Expressway. 'Of course, it couldn't be in my division. But they've got openings in several of the downtown precincts.'
D'Agosta sat a moment, letting this penetrate. Then he looked at her sharply. 'Wait a minute. My old job back, openings downtown. You didn't have anything to do with this, did you? Have a talk with Rocker, or something like that?'
'Me? You know the kind of cop I am. By the book. Miss Straight Arrow ' But her smile seemed to deepen briefly.
Up ahead, the maw of the Queens-Midtown Tunnel loomed, gridworks of tile illuminated by fluorescent tubes. Hayward merged smoothly into the E-Z Pass toll lane.
From the passenger seat, D'Agosta watched her: the beautiful lines of her face, the curve of her nose, the little furrow of concentration as she negotiated the evening traffic. It was wonderful just to see her again, to be here by her side. And yet he could not escape the sense of desolation that enveloped him. It was like a hollowness he carried around, a vacuum that could not be filled.
'You're right,' he said as they entered the tunnel. 'It doesn't matter if that violin's the most precious ever made. It wasn't worth Pendergast dying. Nothing was worth that.'
