The Lost Relic

Darcey kicked the swivel chair away from the desk and faced Lario. ‘You talked to Ben Hope, before the Tassoni killing.’

Lario nodded. ‘Right here in this very office.’

‘What kind of man did he seem to you?’

Lario shrugged. ‘Articulate. Calm. Intelligent. Capable.’

‘You were sitting here face to face with him, and you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary?’

Lario spread his hands. ‘What can I say? The man sat there. He was rational. He was perfectly normal, considering what he had just been through. He told me he was here on business—’

‘Did you ask him what kind of business?’ she cut in. ‘It did not strike me as being important. In any case he was due to fly back to England the next afternoon.’

‘And you believed that?’

‘Why would I not?’

‘Did you check it out?’

‘There was no reason to. He was not under suspicion at the time. He was l’eroe della galleria. I had no cause to suspect this man presented any threat to Tassoni or anyone else—’

She raised a hand to interrupt him. ‘So you just let him walk out of here, and the rest is history. More than a little slack, don’t you think?’

Lario’s face reddened and his eyes bulged. ‘How old are you?’ His tone was hard and challenging.

‘If it’s any of your business, I’m thirty-five.’

‘I have been a police officer since you were just a small girl. I’m not going to be treated like a fool by some raggazina.’

Darcey let him have a cool smile. ‘Let’s say I have every respect for your vastly superior experience and intuition. So educate me, Roberto. Why did Ben Hope kill Tassoni?’

Lario said nothing.

‘Maybe you think he didn’t do it?’

Lario was silent for a moment longer, then got up and headed for the door. ‘I have nothing more to add at this time, Signorina,’ he said brusquely.

‘That’s Commander,’ she fired at his back as he strode out of the room. But he was already out of the door and slamming it behind him. ‘Prick,’ she muttered under her breath and went back to the website to get the number for Le Val. She snatched up the phone and dialled. ‘Jeff Dekker, please.’

‘Speaking,’ said the voice on the other end. He sounded pleasant, but tense with worry. When she introduced herself, the pleasantness vanished and the worried tone turned to hostility.

‘Get lost. Drop dead.’

Darcey took a breath. She kept her voice soft and steady. ‘Don’t hang up, Mr Dekker. Please.’

‘I haven’t anything more to say than what I told the other arseholes who turned up here early this morning,’ Dekker said angrily. ‘You want to know what I told them, read my statement.’

‘I’m looking at it,’ she said. ‘Then you know exactly what I think. You’re hunting the wrong man.’

‘If he’s innocent, he has nothing to fear from us. He needs to come in. He needs to talk to me.’

Dekker chuckled grimly. ‘You’re wasting your time, you know. All of you. You haven’t a clue what you’re dealing with.’

‘I have a pretty fair idea,’ Darcey said.

‘And meanwhile, whoever did this is laughing their pants off.’

‘Have you heard anything from Ben?’

‘What makes you think I’d tell you if I had?’

‘Because you want to help your friend,’ Darcey said calmly. ‘He can’t run forever. I know how clever he is, but he’s not Superman. He’ll surface. They always do, and when that happens some trigger-happy cop fresh out of the academy is liable to put one in his back. So I suggest that the best thing you can do for Ben is to help me do my job and resolve this situation.’

Jeff Dekker paused, and when he spoke again, the defensive tone in his voice seemed to have slackened a little. ‘Ben called here.’

Darcey stiffened. That information wasn’t in Dekker’s police statement. ‘When?’

‘Yesterday afternoon. He left a message on the office phone, but I didn’t pick it up until just a couple of hours ago, after the Interpol people had left. We’ve been getting storms here. The phone lines go down sometimes.’

Darcey snatched up a pen and a notepad. ‘What did the message say?’

‘Don’t get too excited,’ Dekker said. ‘He was just checking in. He was calling from Rome airport. Said he was just about to leave for London, and that he’d be back home again in a couple of days or so.’

‘What time was this?’

‘Around four.’

‘And he didn’t say anything else?’

‘Only that his flight was delayed. I told you not to get too excited.’

Darcey’s heart had sunk again. ‘And you have no idea where he is now?’

‘No, I don’t. As though I’d tell you if I did.’

‘Why was he travelling to London?’

‘That’s personal.’

‘Nothing is personal in a murder investigation, Mr Dekker.’

‘Because it’s where his girlfriend lives,’ he said after a beat. ‘Name and address?’

Dekker sighed irritably, and then told her. Darcey wrote it down. ‘Brooke Marcel. Is she French?’

‘Half French, on her father’s side. Don’t think she’ll tell you anything different from what I’ve said.’

‘What was the purpose of Ben’s trip to Italy?’

‘I think he mentioned something about wanting to kill this guy called Tass-something.’

‘Please, Mr Dekker.’

‘He was there to offer a job to someone.’

‘A job?’

‘Here at Le Val. I imagine you’ve seen the kind of work we do.’

‘And I imagine you can tell me the name of this person he was looking to employ?’

‘Yes, I can,’ Dekker said. ‘Though it won’t do you any good whatsoever. And if you’re thinking of calling him, let me tell you he’s not as warm and fuzzy as me.’

‘Thank you for the warning. I’d appreciate that name,’ Darcey said patiently.

Jeff Dekker told her.

She made him repeat it, then wrote it down on her pad underneath the details for Brooke Marcel.

She thanked Dekker, put the phone down and sat for a long time staring at the name of the man he’d just given her.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Richmond, London

Marshall killed the purring engine of his Bentley, took a deep breath and then got out and started walking towards the familiar red-brick Victorian house that featured in his nightly dreams. He could think of nothing but Brooke. Couldn’t sit still, couldn’t watch TV or read the paper. Britain could be at war, the prime minister could have been caught with a rent boy, and he wouldn’t have known or cared.

Marshall paused at Brooke’s door, cleared his throat and knocked loudly, twice, heart thumping under his Versace suit. He blinked in surprise when the door opened and there was a young Asian guy standing there holding a small watering can.

‘H-hello,’ Marshall stammered. ‘Hi. You’re Marshall, right?’