Foreign Deceit

She rolled her eyes and shrugged. “I do. We’ll see how things play out.”

“What position does Valerio hold?”

She pointed her fork at Wolf, then touched her nose with her index finger. “He is a Maggiore. How do you say?”

“A major?”

“Yes, a major. If Valerio moves up to Colonnello, it will likely shift a lot of others up in rank, opening a spot for an officer. I am young, and I am a woman. I don’t think I have a realistic chance.” She glared unfocused at the table. “But I am by far the best candidate in the entire station.”

“Good luck,” he said. “I hope you can beat out Tito.”

She paused mid-fork and glared hard.

They ate in comfortable silence for the rest of the meal, and he thought of home — thought about how he had to get the Sheriff on the phone. Not being there immediately after the incident with Connell was proving a PR nightmare.

Entrusting his future to the Derek-Connell-influenced-minds of others was killing him, especially since he’d lived his entire life not caring what others thought about him. Not that he treated people with disrespect; he just didn’t give a shit what they thought about him. Now he was on the other side of the world, unable to defend himself, desperately wondering what they thought of him.

“Thinking about home? Seems like you have much the same situation going on,” Lia asked him.

He sat back in the chair and wiped his mouth. “Yeah, it’s a bit more complicated, but essentially the same.”

“More complicated? I don’t believe it. Nothing is more complicated than Italian bureaucracy. Nothing.”

He plopped his napkin on the plate and sat forward, putting his elbows on the table. She matched the move, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“Let’s say you and Tito were up for the same job promotion.”

She shrugged. “That’s not a stretch. He probably is up for the same promotion. His father is a very powerful man.”

“Okay, okay. But how about if you knew a secret about him.”

“A secret?” She scrunched her face. “Like, what?”

“A secret that only you knew. That you can’t prove, but you know it to be true.” He scratched his chin and looked to the ceiling. “A secret that would make it very bad if he were promoted.”

“I do know a secret about Tito. He is an idiot. It would be very bad for him to be promoted.”

He leaned back and squiggled his right hand in the air to the waiter.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. What do you mean? A secret? I don’t get it.”

He leaned forward to his elbows again. “What if you knew he was a murderer?”

“A murderer?” she leaned back and laughed out loud at the ceiling — a high pitched natural lilt that drew the longing eye of every single man in the room.

She looked again at Wolf, who sat with serious expression unchanged.

“Okay,” she said. “And how would I know that?”

“What if he tried to kill you? What if he attacked you, and tried with all his might to kill you, but you got away?”

“Then, yes, that would be very bad,” she said confused.

She looked at the plate in front of her, then lifted her chin and looked wide-eyed at Wolf, mouth agape with realization.

Chapter 34

“Can we have a look at that report now?” Wolf leaned back, letting the waiter clear the plates.

Lia pulled it from her bag. It was a thick red paper folder with a half inch of neatly stacked papers inside. She exhaled, swiped a smattering of crumbs on the floor and opened it up. The top of the first page had an ornate swords and shield letterhead. Underneath the logo was a series of cells with check boxes, some checked.

The police report was foreign in every aspect to Wolf, who was familiar with Rocky Points, Colorado police reports. He recognized his brother’s name, Johnathan Dennis Wolf. Apart from that, he may have been looking at a schematic for a nuclear bomb.

She turned the first page over and looked at the second, then turned back to the first page again. “I will translate.”

“Who wrote this? Was this Rossi?”

“No, this is written by Maresciallo Capo D’Angelo.”

They spent the next twenty minutes going through the written report sentence by sentence. It was mundane, and it was biased. Biased, Wolf thought, because it was written from the point of view of a group of cops called in to investigate a suicide of an unknown foreigner.

The report was written with conviction and little skepticism to the cause of death. An American was found on the ground, strangled by hanging. The superintendent had called it in on Sunday at the advice of the woman who lived above him, who was concerned.

She was self-described as dating the man, and was concerned he didn’t return her calls or show up for a date on Saturday night. She reported hearing a crash on Friday night, which was most likely the chandelier dropping to the floor. She then knocked and tried to enter the apartment, there was no answer and it was locked from the inside. This, coupled with observations by the coroner on scene, determined time of death to be early Saturday morning around one o’clock. The woman didn’t report hearing or seeing anyone else in the apartment with him that early morning. Drugs were found on the scene, and close examination of the nostrils indicated drugs were used by the victim.

And that was that.

Nothing jumped out at Wolf as any different from what he had heard from Rossi, Lia, the superintendent, or Cristina.

Wolf spent another ten minutes clarifying the wording Lia used, not wanting anything lost in translation. The clarification process didn’t tell him anything. Nonetheless, something was nagging at his subconscious mind. A subliminal whisper was telling him he was missing something.

Lia looked at her watch and got up.

“We have to go. Marino awaits.”

They went out to the street and got in the Alfa Romeo.

“I’ll need to be in on that conversation,” he looked at his watch. Two o’clock. “I’m at the end of my rope.”

Chapter 35

Marino’s office was bright and hot. He sat in his leather throne, shouting loudly, with a roiling mass of cigarette smoke engulfing his shadowed form. The humid stench of sweat and tobacco was itchy to Wolf’s skin and throat.

Marino twisted in his chair, raised an eyebrow and a finger, motioned to the two chairs against the wall, then finished his conversation. He gently lowered the phone and dropped it from his fingers in place for the last inch. Sighing, he sat rocking back deeply in his chair.

“Mr. Wolf, officer Parente,” he said, extinguishing his cigarette. Almost. It sat smoldering in a wobbling stream. “I am sorry to hear about all of the developments of your brother’s case Mr. Wolf.”

He tented his fingers against the bottom of his nose. “I was shocked to say the least. I,” he said, “I do not know how to, uh…what to say. I know it must be difficult to hear these things about your brother. Especially being a police officer yourself.” He gestured to Wolf.