had so foolishly left. He slowed down as he entered it and stopped even before he had properly made out the two cars positioned nose-to-nose forming a V in the centre, cutting off his escape. Leaving the engine running, he stepped out, pistol in hand.
‘Agazio! You’ve grown fatter and slower since I last saw you.’
He could not see the speaker yet, but knew the voice. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out three or four other figures in front of him. The cars behind stopped at the mouth of the tunnel, but he did not even bother turning around to look.
‘And stupider. You should have said stupider. Is that you, Daniele?’
A short man, unarmed, wearing a pink Lacoste T-shirt and perfectly clean tennis shoes, stepped forward. Curmaci kept his gun dangling by his side.
‘I’m afraid it is.’
‘Why?’
‘Too much confusion, a loss of trust. A new beginning. It appears a German policeman was gathering evidence for years, and no one stopped him.’
‘But he’s gone.’
‘The information itself remains, and with it so many doubts. Far too many doubts.’
‘My wife? My sons?’
‘They will be fine. I give you my word.’
Curmaci tried to crack a smile. ‘I am glad I can trust you. You’ll let me phone them now and say a few words?’
The man in pink shook his head. ‘That would just make it harder on everyone concerned. Harder for them when they hear your voice, harder for you when you hear theirs, and harder for us to decide whether you passed on some sort of message. Don’t call.’
Curmaci nodded. He walked back to his car, got back into the driver’s seat, closed the door, and switched off the engine. At a signal from his old friend, the man who had instructed him in the ways of the Santa, the cars in the tunnel made three-point turns, then left. The vehicles from behind then filed past him in slow procession. As the last one drew level, the fake policeman, now out of his heavy jacket and wearing a yellow T-shirt, glanced at him and winked.
He waited till they were all gone. Then he waited some more until the rumble of a truck passing overhead had died away. When he was sure the silence was as good as it was ever going to get, he put the gun in his mouth and, before the unexpected sob swelling from his chest had time to reach his throat, he pulled the trigger.
53
Milan
Massimiliani did not call her back until she had already bought her ticket in Linate airport. The next flight from Milan to Calabria was in forty-five minutes. The first time her phone rang, it was Panebianco back in Rome asking something stupid about a file she was supposed to have regarding the murder of a shepherd. A shepherd in Rome. He lived in a camper on the Via Portuense, had a flock of sheep that fed on municipal grass and a criminal record going back to the 1960s. A shepherd who rented out firearms, according to Panebianco.
She told him she might skip the next day at work.
Panebianco did not seem to mind. ‘How’s Blume getting on, any word?’
‘I’ll let you know when I know.’
She was at the boarding gate when Massimiliani phoned.
‘That was a very interesting number you gave us. As it happens, we had a trace on it already. Are you sure it was Blume calling?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘What did he say?’
‘He didn’t say anything.’
‘So you don’t know it was him.’
‘Look, I know it was him. Are you on your way to where the call was made?’
Massimiliani hesitated. ‘Yes… it’s a large area. There are a number of problems. First, the signal has died in the meantime.’
‘I know,’ said Caterina. She had only called it twenty times.
‘Second, it’s an old phone, no GPS positioning, so we’re using multilateration, and third, it’s in a rural area with quite a large area covered by the masts. Also, it’ll be dark in a few hours, so if we’re searching outside…’
‘Where was the call made from?’
Massimiliani remained silent.
‘Tell me where the call was made from or I’ll kick up such a fuss about Curmaci, Bazza, Arconti — all of them — your phone-tapping activities, SISDE wrongdoings, everything, that you won’t know what hit you.’
‘You’re bluffing.’
‘I’m not. And you’re surprised I know so much. Where?’
‘In the Locride district. Ardore is the nearest village.’ He hung up, which meant even if she had wanted to, she couldn’t tell him she was on her way down.
Twenty minutes later, the flight assistant reminded all passengers not to use their mobile phones.
Locri
Enrico Megale sat in the bar, a large bowl of yellow ice cream completely melted in front of him. The seats around him were empty, and the exclusion zone extended to the next table. Even Pepe was treading carefully, treating Enrico with as much respect as suspicion. All the glances in his direction were furtive, but they could have looked straight at him, because Enrico was staring into space, unaware of his surroundings.
‘Enrico? It’s me, Ruggiero.’
Enrico ignored him.
‘Enrico, you’re needed at home now. Your aunt wants you. Zia Rosa needs you.’
‘I’m the only one left.’
‘Your uncle could still turn up.’
‘I don’t understand what just happened,’ said Enrico. His button eyes stared out unblinking and uncomprehendingly at Ruggiero. Suddenly he lurched across the table in what seemed to have been an attempt to punch Ruggiero.
‘Take it easy, Enrico,’ he said, parrying the blow with ease. ‘We’ll find out what happened.’
‘The way I heard it… It was supposed to be your father. That’s what I was hearing.’
‘Vicious rumours, Enrico. Some people have no souls.’
‘My father has gone. I hardly got to see him.’ Enrico started sobbing.
Ruggiero put an arm around him. ‘This is the sort of thing they do when they want to take over. Divide and conquer, turn friends into enemies.’
‘I didn’t know my father!’ Enrico blurted out. ‘He never fucking visited. Never told me anything, never… I may as well not be his son.’
‘Well, maybe that will make it easier to accept in the long run.’
‘He was a bastard! My father was a foundling bastard. Everyone knows it. I am not a Megale. I am no one.’ Enrico stared defiantly around the bar and everyone averted their gaze.
‘You are a Megale,’ said Ruggiero softly. ‘You will be treated as a Megale deserves to be treated. And you are your father’s son, now more than ever.’
‘I miss my uncle! Zio Pietro was more of a father than he was.’
‘And your aunt misses you and him. A family needs to be together at a time like this. I’m sure she’s been calling you ever since you saw what you should never have seen in the car park.’
‘Giacomo and Peppino,’ said Ruggiero. He clicked his fingers in the air. ‘Pepe,’ he said, ‘we’re borrowing your
