“Yes, what do you want from me?”
“Is Ferruccio Gressani your son?”
The woman choked on a swallow and nodded.
“May I come in?”
The sitting room was clean and tidy. There was a photograph of Ferruccio on the mantel. Signora Gressani stood in the middle of the room. Because of her curved spine, she couldn’t look the officer in the eye.
“Why don’t you sit?” Odorico said.
She did, saying, “What is it? Is something the matter?”
Odorico took the lowest chair to be at the woman’s eye level.
“When did you last see your son?”
“Not for a few years, but we speak all the time. Why?”
“And when did you last speak with him?”
“He called maybe two weeks ago.”
“Where was he calling from?”
“He lives in Spain. In Madrid.”
“Did you know that he was in Italy, in Calabria?”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“I don’t think so. He would have come to see me.”
“Signora, I’m afraid I have to give you some terrible news. Ferruccio was killed last night in Vibo Valentia.”
The woman said no, a few times, before asking the policewoman to repeat what she said. When it sunk in, she didn’t scream, or even cry. She began to shake uncontrollably.
“Can I get you some water?” Odorico asked.
“Yes, some water.”
Returning from the kitchen, Odorico saw her partially slumped over and thought she might have passed out, but she righted herself and took the glass.
“Are you sure it was my Ferruccio?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. Is there someone I can call to be with you? A friend, a relative?”
She ignored the question and asked, “Who would want to hurt him?”
“We don’t know. The investigation has just begun.”
“He was in Vibo Valentia?”
“Yes.”
“Was he staying there?”
“He was with a woman who lives there. Her name is Cinzia Rondinelli.”
“His old girlfriend. What does she say?”
“She was killed too.”
“Oh, my God! Both of them? Who would do such a thing? Ferruccio is a beautiful boy. Such a good son. I didn’t see him, but we talked and he sent me money all the time. He would say, ‘Momma, go buy yourself something nice. Buy yourself a new television, a new radio. Anything you like.’ He bought me jewelry. Do you see this bracelet? He sent me this for my birthday.”
Odorico looked at the bracelet. It didn’t look inexpensive. “It seems he was a good son. Do you know if there was anyone who might have wanted to harm Ferruccio?”
“Of course not.”
“No one from when he was living in Italy?”
“No!”
“Did he say if he had gotten into any trouble in Spain?”
“Nothing like that. He had a good life in Spain.”
“Doing what?”
“He worked in a hospital for the first few years.”
“Which hospital?”
“I wrote it down on a piece of paper. I’m sure I can find it for you.”
“After the hospital—then what?”
“I don’t think he had another job. He won the lottery, you know. He made a lot of money from that. That’s why he always had money for me.”
“So, he retired in his thirties? Is that what he said?”
“When you win the lottery, you retire. Are you sure it was him? I don’t believe it could have been my Ferruccio.”
“Unfortunately, it’s true, Signora. I’m sorry to ask, but it’s my job to ask such questions. Is it possible that Ferruccio was involved with drugs? Selling illegal drugs?”
The woman sputtered and tried to rise, but she didn’t have the strength. “Don’t you dare say something like that again. Ferruccio was never involved with drugs. He was a good boy!”
“I’m sure he was, but I had to ask. When he used to live in Calabria, were any of his friends into drugs? Were any involved with the mob, the ’Ndrangheta?”
“Do you mean Marco?”
“Who is Marco?”
“He was a boy Ferruccio knew from when he was young. Marco Zuliani. His whole family were criminals. I didn’t like him and I told Ferruccio not to be his friend. I was happy when he and his people moved to Canada.”
“When was that?”
“Oh, my God, it was a long time ago. Ferruccio was still living in Italy.”
“So, more than ten years ago.”
“I’d say so.” She began to shake again. “Tell me, how can you be sure it was my son who got killed?”
15
When Marcus came down for breakfast, he spied Mickey at a table with Celeste and Colonel Carter. He was hung over and couldn’t imagine a better way to kill off his brittle appetite than joining them. He was about to turn tail and order room service, when Mickey noticed him and called him over.
“The three of you solve all our mysteries?” Marcus asked, taking a chair.
“Still a few left,” Mickey said.
Marcus ordered coffee only. He could tell by the way Mickey was moving his jaw that he was agitated.
“Do you know what Celeste just told me?”
Marcus had a pretty good idea. He stirred his coffee and waited for the reveal.
“She had one of her visions,” Mickey said. “It was about the girls and their bone marrow transplants. Their doctor told them they were going to die. It’s very troubling. However, I do have confidence in Dr. Spara.”
“With all due respect to Celeste’s legendary psychic abilities, don’t believe every bit of bull flung at you.”
Celeste smiled sweetly and Carter said, “Damn, that’s one helluva burn.”
“I’ll tell you what’s legendary,” Mickey said, pointing a fork at him. “Her vision about the spacecraft and the Grays. Don’t be so dismissive of things you don’t understand.”
Marcus missed the center of the saucer and almost tipped his cup. “Grays. I see you’ve been talking to the colonel.”
“We met at the bar last night,” Carter said. “Over some Roman libations, I gave Mr. Andreason a primer on alien abductions.”
“And what are Roman libations?” Marcus asked.
“They had bourbon and they had ice and this is Rome,” Carter replied.
“That’s very good.” Mickey chuckled. “Honestly, I learned a lot from the colonel. I’ve been involved with the military my entire career. Of course, I’ve heard about and read about UFO sightings—and, I’ve been dismissive. I recall asking an Air Force general about UFOs one night—another bar-room conversation—and he laughed off
