She sat on a desk and kicked up her legs, and another officer lit her a cigarette. “I know how to be professional, Miss Franki.”
Right. A professional stripper.
I left the door ajar.
The inspector gestured to a chair facing her desk, and when I sat before her, I got the impression I was about to be sentenced by a judge.
“You are a private investigator?” Her tone was skeptical, like her eyes.
I leaned back in the chair. Male officers sometimes gave me that kind of attitude, but I hadn’t expected it from a woman. “From New Orleans. One of the two American students who went missing on Saturday, David Savoie, is an employee at my firm.”
She took a candy from a dish and removed the wrapper. “It surprises me that you would work in law after your swim in the Fontana di Trevi.”
The ice water went straight to my veins, and the memory of my drunken fountain dip flooded back. “You . . . know about that?”
Her full lips thinned but remained impressively plump. “Your picture appeared on a poster advising tourists to respect our monuments.”
I froze like I’d been caught frolicking in the fountain again. Evidently, the fact that the charges were dropped didn’t disqualify me from having my face splashed all over anti-crime ad campaigns.
“That was the night I discovered limoncello.” I gave a sheepish grin. “And something about the refreshing flavor and the pure grain alcohol inspired me to reenact the Mastroianni-Ekberg scene.”
She popped the candy and wadded up the wrapper. “See that you do not get such an inspiration again. That fountain dates to 1732, and we intend to preserve it for many more centuries.”
I could feel my pot getting hot again. Who did this dragon think she was dredging up my youthful transgression? “Not to be rude, but I didn’t fly to Rome to relive my college days. I came to find out if you have any leads on my colleague and his friend.”
Boccadifuoco studied me and crunched the candy. “What we know is that they attempted to buy a gladio from the third century.”
“What’s that?”
“In Latin, gladius, which is an ancient Roman sword.”
I thought about the gladiator battle the boys had in the office. Had they bought a gladius? If so, that could have been the weapon the police had confiscated from their hotel room. But I knew better than to ask the inspector. She was being unusually forthcoming for a fire-breather, and I didn’t want to douse her flame. “Is it illegal to buy one?”
“Not if it is purchased from a reputable arms shop, but they used their computer to research and email an illegal dealer.”
The revelation took me aback. The boys wouldn’t have broken the law on purpose. “Have you spoken to the dealer?”
“He has been questioned, but he claims he did not meet them.”
“What if he’s lying?”
She sighed. “He has been in Milan for one week, so it is not likely.”
If that were true, he would have been out of town when the boys went missing. “What about their cell phones? Have you tracked the signals?”
“There are not any.”
Something was wrong. David and the vassal wouldn’t have turned off their phones, but it was possible their batteries had died. Or—and I hated to think it—that the phones had been disposed of, and maybe by an accomplice of the arms guy. “So what happens now? Are you looking into whether the dealer sent someone else to meet them?”
Her black eyes blackened. “We have appealed to the public, and we will investigate all information we receive.”
I lurched forward. “That’s it? You’re just going to sit back and wait?”
“We are doing everything in our power to locate your colleague and his friend.” She rose from her desk and hit me with a glare. “But I would suggest that you spend your time enjoying this beautiful country—provided that you can resist touching our monuments.”
My pot threatened to boil over, but I kept my lid on because something she said had inspired me.
Her heels struck the concrete as she strode to the door. “And I would strongly advise you not to try to exercise your profession in Italy. Remember, you have no authority here.”
Without a word, I got up and left.
Fire-Mouth had another thing coming if she thought I was going lay low and do nothing. Rome might be her jurisdiction, but American college students were mine. And when it came to finding gladiator swords, I knew better than she did where two young boys would go look.
5
Now why would David and the vassal want a sword?” Glenda strutted behind me on the Via dei Fori Imperiali in Roman sandal–style stripper shoes.
I knew why I’d want one—to lop off five inches from her six-inch heels so we could pick up the pace and to fend off the men following us. Single women were prey for Italy’s Casanovas, and Glenda’s coat had brought out their inner animal. The worst part was that she had begun to molt, and I needed her to keep her feathers. “They probably want to show it off to their friends. The vassal has a Godric Gryffindor sword in his dorm room.”
“Is he that Gothic porn star?”
I didn’t answer. I had no idea who she was talking about, and I was positive the vassal wouldn’t have either. I just hoped no Harry Potter fans had heard her. We already had enough trouble.
We approached the Colosseum, and I stopped to admire the famous arches that had once framed statues of the divinities.
Glenda squinted at the colossal structure. “What is this place? A bombed-out Superdome?”
“The Roman Colosseum?” My tone was as incredulous as my opened-wide eyes. “One of the Seven Wonders of the World?”
She snort-exhaled a drag off her cigarette. “It’s a wonder it made that list, as shabby as it is.”
I gave a snort of my own—full of the smoke she’d blown at my nose. “Focus on spotting shady types, okay? We’re looking for
