Once more Silva kept silent. Itchy shifted his position, nervous. He tapped his fingers on the table.
‘The sniper must have been a crack shock because he… or she… was out on a boat off the coast. Hitting the target at that range while on a moving platform was quite an achievement.’ Weiss looked pointedly at Itchy’s fingers as the nails drummed out a rhythm. ‘The Italian authorities believe the attack was some sort of internal dispute among Saudi factions.’
‘There you go, then. Case closed.’
‘Not really, Ms da Silva. You see there was somebody else at the party last night. A VIP. It’s been kept out of the news for security reasons, so you won’t read about it in the papers or online.’
‘I’m not interested in celebrities. Not really my thing.’
‘Oh, this isn’t a celebrity, Ms da Silva. This person is a friend of yours.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘But I haven’t told you who it is yet, so how can you be so sure?’
‘Because I don’t have many friends.’
‘I guess I can understand that.’ Weiss curled his lip. ‘Bearing in mind what happened in Afghanistan.’
Silva tensed but kept still. Weiss was trying to gall her, to provoke some sort of response. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
‘Well, I’m going to cut to the chase. The VIP was Karen Hope. Congresswoman Karen Hope. This wasn’t an internal Saudi matter at all, this was an attempt to assassinate the next US president. What do you say to that?’
‘What is there to say? I met Karen Hope once for about thirty seconds. She isn’t a friend and I can’t see what this has to do with me.’
‘Let’s stop this charade, Rebecca.’ Weiss banged the table with the flat of his hand. ‘Matthew Fairchild persuaded you that your mother had uncovered some vast conspiracy involving Karen Hope. Despite my warning you fell for his patter and agreed to go on his little mission to Italy. Unfortunately the operation went wrong and, instead of killing Karen Hope, you shot an innocent Saudi woman. I tried to tell you about Fairchild, but you wouldn’t listen. Now you’ll have to suffer the consequences.’
‘I didn’t shoot anyone.’
‘I think you did.’
‘As Richard said, we were on holiday in north Wales.’
‘Camping,’ Itchy added helpfully.
‘Yes, so you claim.’ Weiss pointed out the window in the direction of the BMW and the motorbikes. ‘Where’s your tent?’
‘We didn’t use a tent, we bivvied,’ Silva said.
‘What about food? Where did you buy it?’
‘Local shops, here and there.’
‘Card payment or cash?’
‘Cash.’
‘What about restaurants?’
Silva shook her head. She knew Weiss was trying to pin her down to something he would be able to verify.
‘We didn’t eat out, our budget wouldn’t stretch to it.’
‘It’s all so, so convenient, Rebecca.’ Weiss cocked his head on one side. A smile became a grimace. ‘But it won’t wash. You’re lying, and one way or another I intend to find out the truth.’ Weiss pushed back his chair and stood. ‘You’d better come up with a more believable story because we’ll be questioning you again. Next time I can’t promise the surroundings will be quite so friendly.’
Weiss turned and walked away, his aide following. Itchy bent to his coffee and took a sip.
‘You reckon he bought it?’ he said. ‘The Wales stuff?’
‘No.’ Silva stared after Weiss as he pushed through the doors to the outside. ‘I don’t think he did.’
They pulled up outside Itchy’s place mid-afternoon. Itchy hefted his panniers from his bike.
‘Thanks,’ Silva said. ‘And I’m sorry for getting you involved in this.’
‘I’m a grown up, Silvi,’ Itchy said. ‘I knew the score before we set out. My only regret is we didn’t get Hope.’ Itchy moved towards the front door. ‘What are you going to do now?’
‘Go home and sleep. After that I have no idea.’
‘I’ll see you though, right? Around?’
‘Of course.’
Silva flipped her visor down and fired up the bike.
When she got back to the boatyard, Fairchild’s black Range Rover was parked up by Freddie’s office. Inside Fairchild was chatting with Freddie and the two Dobermanns lay curled at his feet.
‘Rebecca!’ Fairchild nodded to Freddie and came bounding out. He took her arm and walked down to the pontoons with her. ‘Look happy. I told Freddie I had some good news for you.’
‘You don’t though,’ Silva said.
‘Not really.’ Fairchild patted a newspaper he’d tucked under his arm. He pulled it out. Princess Dies punned the tabloid headline. ‘Lashirah Haddad is dead.’
‘Shit.’ They’d reached the pontoon and Silva had to stop and steady herself. She wondered why Weiss hadn’t told her. Perhaps he reasoned that she already knew and he could trick her, or else she’d be more likely to confess if the crime wasn’t murder. ‘This is a nightmare.’
‘The worst kind.’ Fairchild waited until Silva began to walk again. ‘The general consensus appears to be this was an attempt to take out Haddad. There’s nothing about Karen Hope and no reference to the fact the villa is owned by her brother.’
‘And where are they, the Hopes?’
‘They’ve gone to ground. No sign of them anywhere. I’m sure a few journalists’ palms have been crossed with gold so as to downplay the connections between Haddad and the Hopes. They’ll spin some story about this being a terrorist plot against the Saudis, neatly turning the tables. I wouldn’t be surprised if the regime use Lashirah’s death as an excuse to crack down on opposition groups at home.’
‘This is so wrong.’
‘Yes.’ They’d reached Silva’s little boat and Fairchild gawped at the yacht as if he couldn’t believe anyone could live on such a craft, let alone go to sea in it. ‘Your home?’
‘It suits me.’
‘I can see why it would.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘In a house you’re attached to the earth by concrete and bricks and mortar. Here you’re only tied on with the dock lines. You could flick them free and sail away.’
‘This isn’t the time for pap psychoanalysis.’ Silva stepped over the lifelines and moved to
