turn out to be a different person.”
Caterina said, “Blume would not threaten a child.”
“Are you absolutely sure about that? And, let me remind you: nobody threatened your child. Talk to Elia, you’ll see. Don’t mention the unusual trip to him today, and he’ll forget about it as something unremarkable. Go home full of questions, and you’ll frighten him.”
“Stop using his name.”
Caterina’s phone rang.
“Is that Blume?”
Caterina looked at the display. It was her mother. “Yes,” she said. “It’s him.”
“Don’t answer.”
Caterina placed her cell phone on the table where it rang loudly and rotated slowly as the vibrator shook it. She could tell from his folded arms and air of studied indifference that it was making the Colonel uneasy. Then it stopped.
“I think you had better go back home, or to the office or wherever you’re supposed to be. Remember, not a word to Blume, just like he did not breathe a word of his side-agreement to you. In another move that he did not report to you, your Commissioner passed on what were probably Treacy’s originals to a third party, so there are now other people involved in this. Let’s hope it does not become too complicated.”
Her phone started ringing again. This time it was Blume.
Chapter 23
Blume snapped his phone shut, annoyed. His mood had not been improved by his recent conversation with Grattapaglia, who had just shrugged and looked unsurprised when Blume told him the report detailing his misconduct would be forwarded in a few hours.
It was Grattapaglia’s shrug that had got to him. It implied that Grattapaglia had never expected anything different, as if Blume always let his men down.
Blume started signing off reports to be submitted to the investigating magistrate, reports in which he was supposed to write down all his decisions and developments in the case, and present them to Buoncompagno, Farinelli’s pawn. The last entry was “case transferred by PM to Carabinieri.”
Two knocks, a pause of two beats, and Panebianco walked into the office.
“You remember my friend Nicu in the Carabinieri?” he said. “The Lieutenant Colonel in the Art Forgery and Heritage Division?”
“The one you play soccer with,” said Blume. “What about him?”
“He wants to meet you.”
“I don’t have time,” said Blume.
“He said that if you said that I was to tell you to make time. Sorry, sir. He’s not usually that arrogant. I asked him what he meant by that, and he said I was to mention your arrangement with Colonel Farinelli.”
Blume looked for signs of warning, knowledge, irony, or contempt in Panebianco’s calm eyes, but got nothing back.
“When does he want this meeting?”
“Now. He’d like you to go over to the division in Trastevere. I’d be happy to convey any harsh replies you’d like to make.”
“No. Thanks, Inspector. I’ll deal with it.”
As he drove past the Ministry of Justice, Blume pulled out his phone and called Beppe Paoloni, now a better friend than he had ever been when they were on the force together. A friendship born from confuted expectations was how Blume described it once. Paoloni’s version was that Blume was not as much of a prick as he had thought. When, two years earlier, Blume found out that Paoloni was on the point of assassinating a cop-killer, he had told him to quit the force and Paoloni had complied at once. Blume never reported the incident, which was why, Paoloni explained, he was not a total prick. As for Blume, he was pleasantly surprised at Paoloni’s immediate contrition and acquiescence instead, which was not what he had been expecting.
The friendship strengthened when it turned out that quitting was the best and most profitable thing Paoloni ever did. After a very brief stint as a bank guard, he was making a fortune as a private security consultant. As part of the compact they had struck at the time of his resignation, Blume had offloaded a large, unmanageable dog on his friend, and then occasionally popped around to see how the two of them were getting along. Paoloni liked to pretend it was Blume’s dog and he would be taking it back some day, and Blume liked to pretend that Paoloni had grown immensely fond of the animal.
“Yes?” Paoloni’s voice was wary. He never looked at the caller display.
“It’s me, Alec.”
“Alec!”
“Am I disturbing something?”
“No. I’m taking your dog for a walk.”
“He’s not my dog. I gave him to you,” said Blume.
“Hey, dog, say hello to your real father.” Paoloni must have really put the phone to the animal’s mouth or else was doing a good impression of the fast breathy sounds of a big black Cane Corso.
When Blume was sure it was Paoloni on the phone again, he said: “You still haven’t given it a name?”
“No. If I did, it wouldn’t be a nice name. The beast eats more in two days than I do in a week,” said Paoloni. “Most of my grocery bill is dog food.”
“He probably smokes less than you, Beppe, so it all balances out. What are you doing now?”
“I’m standing outside a sportswear store waiting for your dog to shit on the doorstep. We’ve been doing this every afternoon for a month now, ever since the owner refused to take back a Lacoste polo that I bought and was too small. Ahaaaa. There we go.”
“Beppe, I could do with a bit of your expert opinion on how to deal with a few things…” Blume listened to the sounds of Beppe praising and patting his dog. “You there?”
“Of course I’m here.”
“Did you hear about the killing of the Indian storekeeper?”
Paoloni’s voice became grave. “I heard about that. They drove a jeep over two kids. Are you looking for leads?”
“We know who it was,” said Blume. “I was thinking maybe if I gave you the names, you might help us find them.”
“Sure. Give me the names.”
“Have you got a pen?”
“A pen? Sure.”
“Something to write on?”
“I’ll use the dog. Give me the names, Alec.”
“Leporelli…”
“And Scariglia,” finished Paoloni. “What do I need a pen for? What’s the deal?”
“They hand themselves in. They have until tomorrow midday. In good time for the TV news.”
“OK,” said Paoloni. “And why do they do that?”
“The magistrate is Gestri. Remember him? Intense guy. He’s closed down a Cineplex in Ostia already, and at least five beach clubs won’t be opening for a week. He’s going to disrupt Camorra activities until they are delivered up. Simple deal. I think it’s in their interest to turn themselves in while they are still breathing. They shouldn’t be too hard to locate in the circumstances, and I was hoping you might act as broker.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“That sense of inner peace you get when you do the right thing.”
“I always feel that. What else?”
“You get to tell the Ostia crew the good news that the heat is off, their Cineplex and clubs can open again.
