Lumaga smiled and said, “That would be excellent. Now, I must say, our forensics technicians encountered some challenges. The housekeepers cooked and cleaned for approximately one hour before becoming alarmed and calling the Cutrìs. The house had been thoroughly dusted and vacuumed.”
Giuseppe shrugged. Guilty as charged.
“Of course, we found many, many fingerprints around the house, and we have taken the prints of the Pennestrìs and the Cutrìs for exclusion, but we do not have prints of the Andreason family.”
“I figured this would be an issue,” Marcus said. “I have Jesper’s fingerprints on file from his federal security clearances and I took the liberty of sending someone over to their house in Chicago to dust all the rooms. I’ll forward you the files. Except for Jesper, I won’t be able to tell you who belongs to which prints, but they’ll be useful for exclusionary purposes.”
“That will be most helpful,” Lumaga said. “There was no sign of forced entry and, as you know, the alarm system had not been armed. We checked the log and it seems they only activated the system when they were away from the villa for extended times.”
“But they always locked the doors,” Noemi said, by way of defense for her employers. “They were good about that.”
Lumaga said, “We can only assume that the intruders rang the bell and were permitted to enter sometime between 10 p.m. when Elena telephoned her mother for a call of routine pleasantries, and 8 a.m. when the housekeepers arrived. We had hoped that for a magnificent house such as this, we might find security cameras, but unfortunately, that is not the case.”
“Don’t even get me started,” Mickey fumed.
“We arrived from the south,” Marcus said. “It’s nighttime, but I didn’t see any CCTV cameras within five kilometers of here.”
“We are making checks,” Lumaga said, “but it seems that is the case. From the north, as well. This is a rural area. We don’t have the kind of camera coverage here that you see on highways and cities.”
“And you’re not going to get any tire tracks from the gravel driveway.”
“You are also correct about that, Mr. Handler.”
“So that’s it?” Mickey said. “You’re saying you’ve got nothing? A family of four vanishes and you’ve got nothing?”
“Frankly, Mr. Andreason,” Lumaga said, “that is precisely what I am saying, but please, do not lose faith. This investigation is only getting started.”
“Right now, from where I’m sitting, I can’t say I’ve got any faith whatsoever in your operation, Major. Go ahead and surprise me. I like some surprises, not others.” He rose, looking disgusted, and said, “Armando, do you know where Jesper keeps his liquor? I’ll need a drink before I call Freja.”
“Come with me,” Armando said, looking pleased to be of help. “I’ll take care of you.”
Lumaga went straight for Marcus and said, “Let me get you Jesper’s phone.”
He spoke to one of his men in Italian and a plastic evidence bag was produced.
“I’ll take care of it,” Marcus said.
“Good, but perhaps you could come outside with me for a moment while I have a cigarette.’
“Thank God,” Marcus said.
“You also have the filthy habit? Fine, let’s go.”
The summer had started hot and had remained unseasonably warm. The air was heavy. The moon was somewhere up there, but a thick layer of clouds kept the night black as India ink. Although the villa was isolated and well off the road, it was far from quiet outdoors. Waves were pulsing against the cliffs and there was a much louder racket, a high-pitched, rhythmic clicking.
Marcus offered Lumaga one of his cigarettes and lit it for him.
“One always knows that summer has come to the south of Italy when the cicadas start banging their drums,” Lumaga said. “The females make their presence known at well over a hundred decibels. That’s a fact.”
“I prefer it when a lady whispers,” Marcus said in Italian.
“Me too. Where did you learn your Italian?”
As they walked, the gravel crunched under their shoes.
“I was stationed in Rome years ago.”
“The military?”
“Me? No. I was with the CIA.”
“Is that so? How fascinating.”
“There were some fascinating moments, but they were few and far between.”
“You were based in America?”
“Some of the time. Mostly Europe.”
“May I ask what kind of work you did?”
Marcus chuckled. “You can ask, but don’t expect much of an answer.”
“Ah. If you told me, you’d have to kill me.”
“Tired old joke. I was in counterintelligence.”
“And this is a background that is desirable for a company like Andreason?”
Marcus flipped back to English. It was easier. “Mickey—Mikkel Andreason—thought so. We do defense contracting. A number of state actors, some unfriendly, and even some so-called friendly ones, are always interested in getting their hands on our technology. If your systems aren’t hardened, your lifespan won’t be much longer than these cicadas.”
“I assume you are the person I’ll need to communicate with about the investigation?”
“That’s right.”
“You see, Mr. Handler—”
“How about Marcus?”
“Certainly, and please, call me Roberto—what I must say is that there has already been considerable political pressure put upon me and my department from the highest levels in the Italian government. Wealthy American couple. High-profile company that deals in military technology. Two beautiful, young girls whose faces will sell many newspapers, presumably kidnapped, vanishing without a trace into our infamous Calabrian countryside. Once the media finds out about the story—which should happen in a matter of hours—you won’t be able to get a hotel room within thirty kilometers of here. They will descend on us like the proverbial locusts. This will be a difficult, and possibly unpleasant case.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Roberto. So, what about the elephant in the room?”
Lumaga stubbed out his cigarette, picked the cool stub off the gravel, and put it in his pocket lest someone
