image of Donatella and Gianni lying dead. Their staring eyes. Their clothing ripped up by bullets, the pool of their merged blood glazing on the floor. He saw the boy’s face looking up at him as they’d walked down the road together earlier that day. Saw the young mother’s expression of relief and joy as he’d brought her son back to her. She’d been so warm, so vivacious. The kid so inquisitive and smart, his whole life ahead of him.
Now the two of them were lying on slabs somewhere in this very hospital. And that could have been prevented.
It was insupportable.
Ben didn’t notice the nurse leave the room. Time passed – it could have been minutes or days, he had no sense of it. Then a voice broke into his thoughts, speaking his name. He looked up to see two men standing there, both wearing dark suits.
He instantly figured them for police. One of them stood back near the doorway as the other stepped towards him. ‘Signor Hope?’ he repeated. ‘I am Capitano Roberto Lario of the Arma dei Carabinieri here in Rome.’ His English was accented but fluent.
For a long moment, Ben stared at him and said nothing. A hundred emotions welled up inside him, and a thousand things to say. But he wasn’t the only one who was hurting. The sense of shock and grief hanging over these men was palpable, and he could see the tight grimness in their faces and the dark circles around their eyes that signified more than just fatigue from working late shifts. There was little to gain from unleashing his anger at these guys.
‘I’m Ben Hope,’ he said.
Lario held something out to him. A white shirt, neatly pressed and folded. ‘I hope it is the right size.’
Ben took it and put it on. It was tight around the chest and uncomfortable against the thick dressing the nurse had wrapped around his shoulder. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered.
‘I must ask you some questions,’ Lario said. ‘A car is waiting downstairs.’
Ben sat quietly and closed his eyes as the unmarked police Alfa Romeo 159 sped through the streets of Rome. Nobody spoke. Fifteen minutes later, the car was ushered inside a secure compound by armed guards. Lario and his silent companion escorted Ben into a building with heavily barred windows. Inside, Italian flags and the heraldic symbol of the Carabinieri adorned a broad foyer. The same grim atmosphere hung over the whole place as Lario led the way up an echoing flight of steps and along a corridor to an office. His quiet companion disappeared as Ben was shown inside. Lario offered coffee. Ben politely refused.
The police captain’s desk was littered with a ton of paperwork. He cleared a pile to one side, laid a notepad and a file in front of him and launched into what sounded to Ben like the beginning of a long spiel about the terrible events of that day.
Ben cut in. ‘How many survived?’
Lario puffed out his cheeks. ‘Eleven.’
‘Out of thirty.’
‘Thirty-one visitors to the exhibition, the gallery’s three owners and two receptionists. Plus the boy. Thirty- seven in all.’ Lario paused, watching the expression on Ben’s face. ‘I have also lost many men. Seventeen dead, three who may not survive, a further eight severely injured.’
‘Not what I would call a highly successful operation,’ Ben said.
Lario spread his hands, seemed about to say more, then held it back. ‘No.’
‘What happened to the girl?’ Ben asked. ‘About fifteen, blonde. She was in the library.’
‘Claudia Argento. She is being treated for shock. Her parents also survived.’
‘I’m glad,’ Ben muttered, and he meant it. ‘Now, Signor Hope. I know it has been a long and difficult day. But I need you to tell me everything you know.’
Ben explained how he’d become separated from the rest of the guests as the attack started. ‘So I didn’t see all the intruders. But we’re obviously dealing with a professional outfit. Some of them were Italian, some Russian. How many have you arrested?’
‘Two,’ Lario said. ‘And this is something I have been anxious to understand, Signor Hope. We found the two men hanging from a window, their feet bound by a length of fire hose.’
‘I was able to overpower them,’ Ben said. ‘I got lucky, that’s all.’
Lario nodded. He tapped the file on his desk with his fingertips, then flipped it open. Ben recognised the faxed sheet inside. ‘I have read your military record,’ Lario said. ‘That is to say, as much of it as the British Home Office has allowed me to see. I understand you are a man – how shall I put it – of very specific skills.’
‘Used to be,’ Ben said. ‘I’m retired now.’
‘Of course. Tell me, Signor Hope. One of the arrested men has several fingers missing from his left hand. My officers found the fingers in the building. I would be interested in hearing your thoughts as to how this injury could have occurred.’
Ben shrugged. ‘I really couldn’t say. Maybe the guy caught his fingers in a door, or something.’
Lario’s mouth twitched into what could have been a tiny smile. He made another note on his pad.
‘Did you find the two inside the kiln?’ Ben said.
Lario looked blank.
Lario looked at him for a second, then snatched up his phone and fired a stream of commands in rapid Italian.
‘Make a note of this too,’ Ben said when he’d finished. ‘Out of the robbers your men allowed to escape, one has a particular distinguishing feature. An ocular heterochromia.’ When Lario looked blank again he explained, ‘Different colour eyes. One brown, the other hazel. It’s not that obvious, but you’d see it if you looked closely. What’s even more distinctive about him is his physique. Not hugely tall, probably no more than six-three. But built like a tank. A bodybuilder, possibly a steroid user.’
Lario was making notes as Ben talked. ‘And this man was Russian or Italian?’
‘I didn’t hear him speak.’
‘This is useful information nonetheless,’ Lario said. ‘Thank you.’ He paused, and pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I am wondering whether you can also enlighten me regarding the two dead criminals we have found. One was in the fire escape, and had been shot with a 9mm automatic weapon. The other was in the library where we found Claudia Argento.’
‘Anatoly Shikov,’ Ben said.
Lario wrote it down. ‘You seem well acquainted with his name.’
‘I overheard their conversation.’
‘I see. That was careless of them. Now, this Shikov. The nature of his death was unusual, to say the least. I suppose you would have no idea as to how he came to have an axe buried in his skull?’
An axe. Ben suppressed a grim smile and kept his face expressionless. As if he’d fall for that old trick. ‘I’m afraid I really have no idea.’
‘I see.’
‘Except that there seemed to be some kind of quarrel going on between the thugs,’ Ben said. ‘Don’t ask me why, but it seemed to me that they were fighting among themselves. That’s how I was able to overpower the two I locked up. They’d shot each other in the foot. So perhaps that also accounts for the axe. Maybe the severed fingers, too. Who knows?’
Lario looked at him. ‘Excuse me. Did you just say “in the foot”?’
‘That’s right. Your officers will confirm it when they find them.’
Lario stared at Ben for a long time, as if searching behind his eyes for any sign of a lie. His lip curled up into another faint, wry smile. ‘I suppose we shall never know what really happened.’
‘It was a very confusing time,’ Ben said. ‘It all happened so fast.’
‘I imagine you are no longer used to being, how do you say, in the thick of the action?’
‘As you’ve seen from my record, it’s been a few years since I left the army. These days, the scariest thing I have to face is completing my tax returns.’
‘Then I do not wish to tire you. I think our business is concluded for now, Signor Hope.’ Lario got to his feet. He jutted out his chin. ‘On behalf of the government and people of Italy,’ he said grandly. ‘I thank you for what you have done.’
