“I just spoke with the crime scene crew at the villa, Riccardo. The two women decided to take a drive instead of standing around waiting for them to finish. Our man from the photograph appeared and the crew leader told him where they’d gone. We don’t have a moment to lose.” He stuffed his phone into his pocket.
Rick called to Betta. “I’ve got to go. See what you can do to comfort Bianca, she may be in worse shape than Morgante.” He ran behind LoGuercio, catching up with him when they got to the patrol car. “Paolo, where were the two women going?”
Their backs pressed against the seats as the driver shot off.
“The Etruscan tombs. It looks like you’re going to see them after all.”
***
The necropoli of Orvieto were not the most famous of the burial sites in what had been the territory of the pre-Roman Etruscan federation. That honor went to Tarquinia, where colorful wall paintings illustrated the festivities that awaited the deceased in the after life. In contrast, these tombs were drab, stone crypts, monotonously similar. If there had been paintings on the walls of the tiny rooms, they had long ago succumbed to the elements. If art had been placed on the shelves with the dead, it had been plundered ages earlier, along with the burial urns themselves. What was left were low rows of gray stone structures, their flat roofs covered with earth and overgrown by grass and weeds. It was, as LoGuercio had said, a city of the dead, but the dead had disappeared centuries ago. The grid of tombs and pathways squeezed together on a plot of land below medieval Orvieto. A thicket of bushes and small trees grew between the necropolis and the base of the city’s escarpment, its steepness tempered by shrubbery and rounded boulders. High above, the walls and spires of a fifteenth-century church loomed at the edge of the city, young in comparison with the low stone structures below.
The two police cars careened off the road and came to a stop in the parking lot. Only four other vehicles were parked there, including the silver Mercedes. LoGuercio jumped out of the lead car and gathered the men around him.
“When we get to the tombs, spread out and start working you way up the paths. If you see the American women, get them back here and out of danger. If there are any other tourists, tell them to leave immediately. Remember that this man is dangerous, so don’t try to take him down by yourself. Call for backup and wait until it arrives. Let’s go.”
As they started up the path, he pulled Rick aside. “Riccardo, you stay with Sergeant Grecco. When we locate the American women, you’ll be the one to explain to them what’s going on.”
Rick thought about protesting his role, but realized it made sense. LoGuercio’s record was already a problem, he didn’t need the injury of the nephew of a high-level police official added to it. He and the sergeant did as they were told, and ended up taking the last path among the tombs. They walked slowly along the gravel, looking into the darkness as they passed each crypt.
On the drive down the hill Rick and LoGuercio had talked about the man’s reasons for following the two Americans, and the conclusion was clear. The killer was determined to destroy all evidence that linked him with his past, which is why he was searching for something among Rhonda’s belongings that could have done just that. She may even have told him about the photograph before she was killed. But he couldn’t be sure that Rhonda hadn’t told her daughter everything. Mothers always confide in their daughters don’t they? And then there was Francine.
All of that was going through Rick’s mind as he continued up the slightly inclined path between the stone. He quickly decided that it was useless to check each of the tombs. There was no reason for their quarry to be hiding in one, since he didn’t even know the police had arrived and were searching for him. Rick stepped up his pace, leaving the sergeant peering into stone doorways. It was when he got up to the end of the row that he heard Gina’s voice. He turned the corner and she was there, framed by Orvieto’s hill, talking with a large man in a dark suit. The man’s back was to Rick, and he was speaking to her in a low voice while he edged closer. Gina’s face showed puzzlement, or perhaps fear.
“Is this what you were looking for at the villa?”
Mayor Boscoli spun around and faced Rick, who was holding up the photo he’d taken from the album.
“You?”
“Gina, quick, get out of here,” Rick shouted, hoping that Boscoli’s English was not good enough for him to understand. It worked, she broke down the hill before the mayor could react. Instead he glared at Rick.
“What have you got there, Signor Montoya?”
“A picture of you and Rhonda Davis in Milan. I assume that the third man in the picture was her friend, the one who tragically died soon afterward?”
“You appear to be well informed for someone who is not a policeman.”
“Rhonda held the secret of your Red Brigades past, so she had to be eliminated. What did you do with the money from that bank robbery, Mr. Mayor? Perhaps you just salted it away to use in your political campaigns?”
Rick was trying to keep the man occupied until LoGuercio arrived to take him prisoner, but he could see from the look on Boscoli’s face that he knew. His eyes focused behind Rick before looking up at the town high above him. Without a word, he turned and rushed into the thick bushes behind him. At that moment the sergeant appeared at Rick’s back.
“Was that him?” the policeman asked, his gun drawn.
“It was,” answered Rick. “Is there a way to get up
