Sunday morning, and what recognition do we public servants get?”
“How can I help you, Colonel?”
“I thought you might be interested to get the autopsy report on Treacy.”
“It’s ready?”
“Not yet. Tomorrow, afternoon. We could look at it together over lunch. And before you ask: no, I have no idea what to expect in the report.”
“Sounds fun, but I’m not sure I can make lunch.”
“I am flexible with my mealtimes. Three o’clock is a good time for a snack. So is five. I’m sure you can make time during the working day. You are a commanding officer. Delegate, then call me to find out which restaurant.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Colonel.”
After the call, Blume wandered around the offices, greeting the few people that were around, then decided he would be more productive at home. He chose three files on personnel management that he was supposed to comment on, and dropped them into his bag, knowing in his heart of hearts that they would stay there until he carried them back the following day. As he was about to leave his office, someone knocked on the door. He opened it himself, and was surprised to see Caterina standing there.
She came into his office and stood in the middle of the room, a little awkward all over again.
“Are you on duty today?” he asked.
“Yes. Half day.”
“Ah.”
“I wanted to ask you something about the case.”
“Right. Actually, Caterina, the Treacy investigation is not a priority now. We have this new hit-and-run killing to handle first. Krishnamachari is the name of the victim. And his son. Attempted murder also of daughter. It shouldn’t take long since there’s no investigative work to speak of. Just liaising with the investigating magistrate, plea-bargaining with lawyers, running a check on phone records, alibis, trying to get others to come forward. We’ll have to run this by the DIA, too, since extortion is automatically Mafia-related. But try not to mention the Treacy thing in front of people for now.”
“I was mentioning it in front of you, not ‘people,’ ” she said.
He noticed her face was pale, and her eyes so hollow and shadowed from tiredness that it looked like she had bruises. “Are you OK?”
Caterina went across the room and sat down heavily on a broken armchair that Blume had relegated to the corner. “I’m exhausted,” she said. “I was reading the notebooks, and I have been thinking about Manuela and Pistoia. I want to ask you a favor. I was thinking of going to Pistoia tomorrow morning. Early. Just to settle this thing in my mind.”
“No,” said Blume. “We are permanently understaffed, we have the Krishnamachari case, the muggings, and Grattapaglia is going to be suspended. You should know better than to ask for special favors.”
“I have the first half of the day off tomorrow.”
“Lucky you. You don’t want to waste it, then. Spend it with Elia. Look, I’ll make a few calls. We’ll work out this mystery about Manuela’s tax code.”
“If you’re going to make some calls, I’d prefer you got in contact with our colleagues in Pistoia to let them know I’m coming. No overtime claims, of course. I’ll even pay the train ticket.”
“No, keep the receipt. We’ll find a way of reimbursing the cost even if… Well, we would if you were going, but you’re not.”
“I know you didn’t read up on my background thoroughly, but did you at least read about my biggest success in Immigration Affairs three years ago?”
“The bust of the Croatian human-trafficking ring?” said Blume. “That was good police work. Good teamwork. Of course I read about it.”
“Let me tell you how it started,” said Caterina. “A team had been watching an apartment, not far from where I live, as it happened, hoping to establish a link between two Croats who lived there and an Albanian arms smuggler, but no contact was made. After three days, they were winding down the surveillance of the house as yielding no hard evidence. We had resigned ourselves to relying on phone interceptions, but they kept switching numbers and the magistrate was tired of issuing decrees to allow us to tap new SIM cards. I was off duty, a few streets from the apartment block they had been watching, on my way to pick up Elia. My eye was drawn to a silver-gray BMW. I can’t remember the model, but it had that new look to it, the sort of patina that makes some people want to score it with a key.
“As I passed, I noticed, almost without looking, that the license plate at the back was slightly bent and covered in dead insects, and I walked on a few steps, but I had this feeling, like when something has been moved from where you put it. No, that’s not right. It’s more like a tiny shock of recognition, except you don’t know what you’ve recognized.”
“I know the feeling,” said Blume.
“The dirty license plate, slightly bent at the edges, did not belong on a polished BMW. I’m sure you and many others would have spotted it immediately, but for me it was a revelation. A revelation that I might be suited to the job, that I had not fallen victim to the sort of stupidity that comes with hating your work. It was a good feeling. The plate was a DX registration, which corresponded with the age of the car more or less, but I went over and had a look. The edges of the plate were very slightly crumpled inwards, like dog-ears on a book. It’s the sort of damage that small bumps, parking, and so on leave on your front license plate, but not on the back. Also, there was no corresponding damage to the bodywork. It looked like an old front license plate had been put on the back. I called in the number then and there. It turns out the plate was registered to a different vehicle belonging to someone in Turin, and that a replacement request, accompanied by a module reporting the theft of the originals, had just been made to the vehicle licensing authority. The surveillance team was there in half an hour, and, well, it was the Albanian. He was visiting the Croats just after the surveillance had been called off. It was the beginning of the takedown of the gang.”
Blume nodded. “I get it. You’ve got some sort of similar feeling about Manuela and her identity and that tax code.”
“I know it sounds silly…”
“No. You’re dead right. It is what we do. The thing is…” He made a fist of his hand and knocked it slowly and repeatedly against his chin. “Let me think… You’re off duty tomorrow morning, so it’s not like… Look, don’t bother mentioning your trip to people here. Just keep the whole notebook thing quiet for a few days, or until we have a bit more breathing space.”
“Which means never.”
“I don’t want them to think I’m wasting personnel, and I’ve sort of been told not to pursue the Treacy investigation. But you are right to want to follow an instinct. I’ll do as you ask. I’ll call ahead to Pistoia. When shall I say you’ll be there?”
“8:15 tomorrow morning. There’s a train leaves Termini at 5:45.”
“You’ve already checked the timetables, I see.”
“Yes,” said Caterina. She pulled out a printout from her bag. “Actually, I’ve already bought the ticket.”
Chapter 18
After phoning pistoia and telling them about Caterina’s imminent arrival and being assured she would receive every courtesy, Blume returned home where he spent the next few hours reading Treacy’s third volume, which evidently formed part of a textbook for artists that he was planning to write. Blume found it technical and rather dull, and was pleased to be able to set it aside as irrelevant. Taking notes, he worked his way through the first volume again until dinner. Then he boiled rice, oversalting the water, added oil and parmesan, and ate directly from the pot, as he began rereading the second volume.
Night stole up on him, and he realized he had been enjoying the work more than he had expected. He particularly enjoyed its potential for discomfiting the Colonel, John Nightingale and, he had to admit it, Kristin, Greg,
