Shout in the Dark (43 page)

Laura rolled onto her side. "I've known
Bruno and Riccardo for ages. All our families suffered in the war
because of Sturmbannführer Kessel. Bruno and Riccardo kept talking
about revenge. They called it justice. At first I didn't think they
were serious and I certainly never wanted any killing. I told them
I wouldn't mind helping with an investigation. I was a fool to get
mixed up in it." Her speech became faster. "You're right about
Riccardo. He was as guilty as Bruno. That German skinhead is behind
all this. Riccardo tried to kill him at the Colosseum, but he's
followed us to Paris. It's all Riccardo's fault."

Laura's long, dark hair felt beautiful as
he ran his fingers down it and leaned over her face. He could smell
her warm breath. "And was Riccardo really your
boyfriend?"

"
Is that what you think?"

He pulled his hand away. "I don't know.
That's why I'm asking. You don't seem to be missing him
much."

Laura turned onto her back again and looked
at the ceiling. He had a strong desire to caress her body.

"
I liked Riccardo a lot, but that was before I saw what he
was really like. Riccardo and Bruno wanted to destroy the
neo-Nazis."

"
You still haven't told me why you phoned me from the
Colosseum. I can't help thinking they must have shared their plans
with you."

"
No!" She sounded very certain. "They never discussed any
details in front of me. I thought we were going to get revenge by
exposing the fascists in the media, not kill them. I phoned you to
come and take me away. It was a cry for help."

"
Did Bruno and Riccardo kill the man in the Audi at Monte
Sisto?"

Laura just nodded. The tears began to
clear. She was still looking at the ceiling. "You remember the
first time we went to Monte Sisto?"

He had fond memories of that journey. "You
drove like a maniac."

She laughed through the remaining tears,
looking at him for the first time. "I always drive like
that."

"
The second time we went you drove more slowly," he reminded
her. "There must have been a reason."

Laura looked serious. "Bruno told me to
stay in Rome. I had to phone him on his cell phone and let him know
as soon as the Germans left their hotel."

"
So you
were
part of the
plan." Laura's silky hair trickled through his fingers. He could
sit here in her room and do this for ever.

"
Marco, listen. Would I have taken you to Monte Sisto if I
thought Bruno and Riccardo were going to kill someone there? But
you're right, I knew they were planning something horrible. I think
perhaps I wanted an alibi. If anything went wrong you'd have been
able to speak up for me."

"
But it did go wrong." He stood up by the side of her bed.
"Now I know what Riccardo meant when he joked in the restaurant
about hot work. They burned the German to death in his car, and
probably beat up that poor kid in the bushes. I can't believe you
didn't know anything about it."

Laura reached up and took his hand. "I was
caught up in something terrible. Believe me, Bruno and Riccardo
took the whole idea of revenge much too seriously."

He held her hand tightly. "I'll get you
safely back to Rome -- and we don't talk to the
gendarmes
in Paris. That's a promise. But we report
Riccardo's death as soon as we get home. In the meantime, I'm going
to the cemetery at Montmartre. Perhaps I should have brought the
metal detector and spade." It was a poor attempt at humor. As he
watched the tears running from Laura's large eyes, he could feel
her body shaking.

"
Don't leave me alone," she pleaded.

"
We'll go to Montmartre together." He felt a great rush of
love. "You don't seem to realize that I want to stay with you.
Can't you see that?"

Placing his hands behind
Laura
's head he pulled
her up slowly, to meet her lips with his. Then he began to run his
hand slowly up her back beneath the loose blouse.

RICCARDO HAD taken the map on his walk,
and there was no way of recovering it now that he was dead. Marco
found a page in Laura
's
guidebook that mentioned the cemetery they were looking for. The
cemetery was described as a landmark, glimpsed only fleetingly by
tourists in passing coaches. It was near the nightlife of the
Moulin Rouge, below the white Basilica of the Sacré Coeur. So
Laura's mother had been right about the strippers!

In the famous cemetery of Montmartre,
according to the book, visitors could see miniature shrines which
it irreverently referred to as marble dog kennels and Gothic dolls
houses. Bizet and several other composers were interred in the
cemetery. It was here that visitors could view the grandiose
depositories for the dead of Paris from another age. Marco closed
the book. In plain words it all came down to ornate graves filling
the valley by the rue Caulaincourt in the 18th Arrondisement.

He wished it could be daylight. The German
skinhead was in Paris with a gun and had already killed Riccardo.
Laura could be next, and the prospect appalled him.

He turned around slowly. The dark alley
might be a trap. It would be so simple down here in the darkness --
and no one would find their bodies for hours. Laura and the
neo-Nazis? The idea was ridiculous. She wouldn't have let him kiss
her like that if she didn't want him. He could still taste her lips
on his, the salt from her tears. He recalled the softness of her
body and the anticipation of sex as he began the foreplay. Then the
sudden rebuttal of his advances and the unexpected relief he felt
when Laura had told him to stop.

All he wanted now was to make sure that
Laura stayed safe. She'd been right to persuade him not to contact
the authorities in Paris. Every city had fascist sympathizers, and
Father Josef had warned about the dangers of talking to the wrong
people. He had heard there were over one hundred thousand extreme
right-wing supporters in France. Only a few of these admitted a
neo-Nazi agenda, but there was no way of telling which officials
were involved with the fascists. Even less extreme organizations
like the National Front had received ringing endorsements from the
far right in Germany. Karl Bretz, the
zoticone
,
might
have high-up connections. The sooner they could check out the
cemetery and find the grave of the Giorgio family, the sooner they
could recover the relic -- if it was there -- and get back to Rome
to make a full confession to priest and state.
Rapidamente
.

Riccardo's death would need explaining,
and so would their decision to leave the scene of the crime. Their
evidence could have helped catch the killer, but until they got
back to the safety of the Vatican, Laura was obviously in great
danger.

The poorly lit steps disappeared steeply
down from the rue Caulaincourt, into the darkness of the avenue
Rachel. Over the high green fence Marco could see the tombs,
exactly as described in the guidebook. Grotesque, scale-model
chapels running down the hill in tightly packed rows. The orange
streetlights glinted on the marble slabs and added to the sense of
foreboding. They stood on the steps in awe. To the left the graves
became a sea of Gothic horror, even more crowded and all in
disarray. The guidebook had been too restrained. This cemetery
resembled a nightmare.

Laura looked at him. "I keep thinking
about Riccardo. If only he'd not gone out alone, he'd be here with
us. Don't go in there, Marco."

They turned the corner. The gates were
locked. Marco pointed. "There's a sign. They open at eight tomorrow
morning. We'll find another hotel for the night. There are plenty
around here, and we can share a room for safety. If you want
to."

"
But all our things are at La Porte de la
Chapelle."

"
We're not going back there," he insisted. "The
zoticone
may be waiting."

"
Good," said Laura. "With a bit of luck, he'll hang around
there all night and keep out of our way." She sounded worried. "But
we've got no luggage."

He held her arm as they climbed the steps
away from the gloomy graveyard. "Leave your Alfa on the main road.
It will be safe enough under the lights. Hotels round here don't
expect all their visitors to have luggage. Some of them let rooms
by the hour as well as the night."

"
Just because I let you kiss me, you needn't
think..."

He took hold of her hand. "I'm not
expecting anything."

"
Good, because you're not getting it." There was a
surprising lack of emotion in Laura's voice. "It's not going to be
easy to be friends, Marco. There are things you don't
know."

"
About your family?"

"
No."

"
About the killings in Rome?"

She took her hand away. "You don't
understand. You hardly know me."

"
You don't know much about me, either. I haven't always been
like this."

"
What does that mean?"

"
After Anna died, I lived my own life. I messed with drugs,
hoping to forget the false accusations and innuendoes by the
carabinieri
before the inquest. I'm not
proud of how I behaved. My local priest eventually talked some
sense into me. You're seeing a reformed character now." He tried to
put his arm round her shoulder. "But we can still be close
friends."

She pulled away, snubbing his advances.
"You don't know anything about
my
past!"

Then the tears started again. Laura was
still crying when they managed to find a hotel with a vacancy. She
didn't stop crying until long after midnight.

They had agreed to share a room for
safety; perhaps for more than safety. The desk clerk obviously
thought it odd that two Italians, both young and healthy and both
without bags, wanted a room -- with
separate beds?
Marco shrugged. Anyway, he'd heard that the French
always said the Italians had strange tastes.

Laura was right, the past could never be
easily forgotten. Anna's life had been taken away by three drunken
maniacs who were never caught. But his Christian faith was now
important to him. And so was love. Laura's mother seemed to
understand more of forgiveness than he did. In spite of all his
sanctimonious talk, he was living a lie when he spoke of
forgiveness in his own life.

What sort of relationship could he offer
Laura? He looked at her, taking in the shape of her body. The
Church taught that sex outside marriage was a sin. Here he was, a
priest who must remain chaste and celibate, lying on a bed in a
hotel room watching a woman remove her earrings as she began to
undress. This was the start of the nightly ritual he had shared so
many times with Anna.

There could be no half-way choice: it was
either chastity or full sexual sharing. Deep inside Laura, his body
one with hers. He felt a desperate desire to be in bed with her,
their bodies together night after night. His thoughts conjured up a
vision of a future that was impossible. He found himself hardening,
again thinking the unthinkable -- excited by it.

Laura started to remove her blouse. He had
no sense of awkwardness, no feeling that he should turn away. She
was wearing a white lace bra but she got no further than her
underwear. With a rather forced smile she said goodnight and
slipped between the sheets.

"
Just stay in your own bed, Marco. I mean it."

He turned out his bedside light and hoped
there would be other opportunities, other nights. He lay on his
back and thought about the kiss that could so easily have gone much
further. Memories of Anna, and the sight of Laura undressing,
brought powerful memories of lovemaking.

He ached for Laura. Literally ached for
her. He had to face up to his predicament. Priest or lover. He
couldn't be both.

Chapter
38

KARL HAD ALREADY identified the Italians'
rooms at their hotel, but their windows stayed in darkness all
evening.

Around the wide Paris boulevards the
silver Alfa had been too fast to follow on the old man's moped. Not
that it mattered: if the Italians struck lucky with the relic they
would return here with their trophy. Let them do all the hard work,
then he could capture it from them. He was not the only one
waiting. He could see a French
gendarme
in the lobby of the hotel reading a newspaper to
pass the time.

As he stood in the shadow across the
street he kept wondering how to get inside the hotel. The
gendarme
could only watch the main
entrance, and there must be a rear door to slip through. Breaking
into a hotel room was child's play. But the man and woman weren't
there, so what could he do if he got in? The leaders of
Achtzehn
Deutschland Reinigung
,
men like Phönix, would almost certainly know what to do.