“A path, a rather steep one, runs up to the town,” said the sergeant. “The Etruscans used it to carry their dead here for burial. It is closed to the public.”
“Find LoGuercio. Tell him Boscoli is climbing up to the city.”
The man turned and ran down through the tombs. Rick watched him go and then looked where the mayor had gone. It was a break in the shrubbery, a narrow path barely visible. He jogged toward it while looking up at the hill trying to find the route, but saw nothing among the rocks and trees growing from the patches of dirt between them. It would be considered an easy climb back in New Mexico, he thought, remembering the various trails up to Sandia Peak above Albuquerque. And given his experience with climbing, it would be easier for him than for Boscoli. He brushed through the bushes and soon found himself at the base of the hill. A wooden barrier marked the beginning of the trail with a sign on it warning of the danger, as well as a fine for anyone tempted to risk it. Rick skirted the barrier and began his ascent.
Almost immediately he knew that Boscoli had just preceded him; on the stretches of soft dirt, fresh footprints were visible. Their deep heel marks indicated that the man was running, and Rick picked up his pace. He was above the top of the trees now, with a clear view of the grid of tombs and paths below. He saw some of the other policemen, but did not spot LoGuercio. Gina and Francine were nowhere to be seen, but he guessed they had been taken to the parking lot. He returned his attention to the trail, which was becoming steeper and more narrow. It bent back sharply and started to climb in the other direction, making Rick think it might continue to criss-cross all the way up to the city. He carefully chose his steps and clutched pieces of rock or vegetation as he climbed, just as he had learned to do in the mountains of New Mexico. The path cut back once again and widened slightly. Rick took advantage of the easier footing to look back down. The parking lot was visible, and he could make out the two women standing beside two uniformed policeman. He was straining his eyes to find LoGuercio when something flashed.
Rick instinctively jumped back and held up his hand, but it was too late to avoid the steel blade which cut into his palm with a searing pain. Boscoli reeled back, knife in hand, to strike a blow at Rick’s body, but stopped when his shoe slipped on the rock path. He fell, dropping the knife and clawing at the ground as his large body slid slowly toward the edge. Rick stared at the knife while holding tight to his bleeding hand. Boscoli saw his eyes and lunged toward the blade, but the effort only pushed him back, and he slid slowly off the path, trying desperately to stop his fall. Most of his body was over the cliff when his hands grasped a thin gnarled vine.
“Montoya,” he gasped. “Don’t let me fall.” He turned his head and saw only sharp rocks far below.
Blood dripped from the fingers of Rick’s good hand as he held it over the gash. “I would, Mr. Mayor, but to do that I’d need two hands and one of them, you’ll notice, is cut badly.”
“I’m the mayor of Orvieto, you must help me.”
At that moment a familiar voice was heard behind Rick.
“You also murdered two people and were about to murder another.” LoGuercio looked down at Boscoli, whose hands were turning white from gripping the vine.
“Thank goodness you’re here, Inspector. Get me up.” His tone returned to that of someone used to giving orders.
LoGuercio didn’t move. He glanced at Rick’s hand and the knife lying on the ground before his eyes bore in on the man hanging over the edge. “A different weapon from those used by most Red Brigades operatives back then, isn’t it, Mayor Boscoli? I thought you used guns when you went after the people you disagreed with, like professors, politicians, and of course magistrates.”
Rick didn’t move.
“That was long ago, Inspector,” Boscoli pleaded. “You see what I’ve become. One must eventually put away one’s past.”
“That is easier for some people than others, Boscoli.”
The policeman reached down and picked up the knife. He stared at it for a moment, then with a vicious blow sliced the vine, sending Orvieto’s mayor crashing to the rocks below.
Chapter Fifteen
Gina sat on the lone bench at one end of the parking lot, staring at the ground, her shoulders covered by Francine’s arm. Rick knelt in front of them. LoGuercio, a lit cigarette in one hand and his cell phone in the other, stood next to a Toyota SUV parked near the Mercedes. The trunk of the Toyota, and its four doors, were open. The medical crew, having patched Rick’s hand, had gone to retrieve Boscoli’s body.
“I can’t believe what my mother went through back then.” Gina shook her head violently as if trying to rid it of her thoughts. “It must have been a nightmare. Why didn’t she ever confide in me about it? I had a right to know.”
Francine rubbed the woman’s back. “Your mother didn’t see it that way, Gina. She had witnessed something very ugly, something that scarred her, and she didn’t want to pass that scar on to you.”
“Francine’s right, Gina,” Rick said, getting to his feet. “She didn’t want you to become bitter.”
She looked up at Rick. “Mom was bitter, all right. If I had known why, it would have been easier to accept the way she was, the way she treated me. All I can think of now is how she suffered.”
“But she worked through it,” Francine said, “and she moved on. That’s what you’ll do.”
“I don’t know if I’ll have the strength.”
Francine squeezed Gina’s shoulder. “Of course you
