The Few (14 page)

‘Screaming?'

Scamarcio traded glances with Genovesi, and then noticed Zanini's attention shift. He followed his gaze to a blond man seated at the bar. Even though it was still early, he appeared to be nursing a scotch.

‘Mr Baker,' explained the officer.

Baker was muscular with that handsome, generic all-American face that you saw on baseball players or fire-fighters. But with his golden tan and sun-streaked hair, he could also have passed for a surfing pro. Scamarcio realised that he had been expecting someone older and uglier.

‘Bit early for the strong stuff,' observed Genovesi.

As they approached, Scamarcio saw that Baker's face was deeply lined. He'd put him at over forty now, older than his initial assessment. Sensing their approach, Baker looked up from his drink. His eyes were glazed over — maybe alcohol, maybe exhaustion, maybe tears, probably all of the above.

‘What do you want?' He was slurring his words already.

‘My name's Scamarcio. I'm with the police in Rome.'

Baker closed his eyes and rubbed at the lids, saying nothing.

Scamarcio leaned against the bar. ‘How are you holding up?'

Baker said nothing for several moments, and then replied, ‘My wife's making it all a lot worse.'

‘I'm sure she's just very worried,' offered Genovesi.

Baker took a long drag on the scotch. ‘We're all worried, but there's no need for hysteria. I think she needs a shrink.' He fell silent, studying the contents of his glass.

‘Come now,' said Scamarcio. ‘Any mother would struggle in a situation like this.'

‘I need her to keep it together. I need a partner.' Scamarcio silently added
… not a problem
, finishing the sentence for him. He'd said that himself to a girlfriend once. He let the silence breathe for a while, and then asked, ‘Have you seen her like this before?'

‘How do you mean?'

‘Hysterical.'

Baker looked up from his drink, his eyes suddenly alert. ‘That's a strange question.'

Scamarcio met his gaze but didn't respond.

‘Are you suggesting that my wife might have something to do with Stacey's disappearance?'

Stacey
. Scamarcio didn't like the name.
I
t reminded him of his time in the States, and conjured up images of flabby girls and greasy diners.

‘I'm not suggesting anything of the kind.' He wondered why Baker had jumped on that. It was an unusual reaction.

Baker stared into the middle distance, taking in the array of bottles. ‘Stacey is her life, her everything.' He breathed deeply, studying the muddled reflections playing on the surface of the bar. ‘She was a much-longed-for baby — we had been trying for years, but without success. So then we went through
IVF,
and Stacey was conceived. Jane was so relieved, so contented, and Stacey became her focus from then on in. After she was born, she decided to give up work and devote all her time to our daughter.' He paused. ‘Whether that was the right thing to do, who knows?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘When I met Jane, she was a high-flying young lawyer — she would stop at nothing to get ahead, make partner. When Stacey was born, all that changed.' He took another sip of his drink, and asked for a refill. ‘As the cliché goes, she was no longer the woman I'd married.'

Scamarcio helped himself to a handful of peanuts. Then he remembered that nuts at a bar were said to bear the traces of urine from five different men. He put them back in the bowl.

‘So you felt a little left out? It happens.'

Baker sat straighter on the bar stool, and ran a hand through his hair, pulling it neater behind his neck. ‘I love my little girl, more than anything.' He swished the ice around in his glass. ‘What did you say your name was?'

‘Scamarcio.'

Genovesi looked impatient, as though he wanted to shift the conversation onto more useful ground. Baker leaned his elbow on the bar and rested his forehead on his hand in a way that only a drunk would do. ‘I slipped up.
I
t started a few months before we came out here — a young intern at the firm.' He closed his eyes at the memory of it. ‘Made your heart stop, just looking at her.
I
n the end, I couldn't fight it. Sometimes it's just bigger than you.'

‘
I
t seems to me that none of us are hard-wired for fidelity,' said Scamarcio. He'd been grappling with this question for as long as he could remember. Genovesi nodded, and the two younger officers followed suit.

‘Indeed,' sighed Baker.

‘Did your wife find out?'

‘A month before we came away. Sarah sent me a text, even though I'd told her never to contact me on that phone. Jane found it, and I had to confess the whole thing. At the time, I figured that denial would have been worse.'

‘And she still agreed to come on holiday with you?'

‘She was threatening divorce, kick-arse lawyers — the whole deal. I was panicked. But then, when she calmed down, we agreed that Stacey was still so young that we had to try to make it work. This holiday was our attempt to patch things up and move forward. Jane had always wanted to come to Tuscany, so it was kind of my “forgive me” gift.'

‘So the “hysteria”, as you call it, is about many things, not just your daughter.'

‘I guess so, yes.' Baker rubbed his eyes again. Scamarcio saw moisture there. ‘Maybe all this is my divine punishment.'

24

FULLY AWARE OF GENOVESI'S
growing impatience, Scamarcio pulled out a seat next to Baker.

‘Can you tell us what happened — everything you can remember? I know you've already been through it, but it's useful for me to hear again.'

The American hunched over his drink, refusing eye contact now. ‘We got to the beach around two. We'd had lunch at that fish place in town — I forget the name, but the one with the green awning, on the piazza.'

‘Da Claudio,' offered Genovesi.

‘Da Claudio. We had lunch there, and then we decided to go to the bay for the afternoon. We'd been visiting the other beaches, but we wanted to be near the hotel, as Jane and I were tired, and thought we might go back inside for a siesta at some point.'

‘Did you notice any of the other customers at the restaurant?'

Baker scratched his head. ‘No, I can't say that I did.' He thought for a moment. ‘I think there was a big group at one end maybe, quite loud: locals, not tourists.'

Scamarcio turned to Genovesi. ‘Have the customers at Da Claudio been checked?'

‘We've had our hands full.'

‘We need to talk to the proprietor as soon as possible.' He turned to Zanini: ‘Can you get on it — I want a full report, every detail that he can give. And we need to run a check on all the other places the family has visited since they first arrived on the island.' He tried to make eye contact with Baker. ‘Had you visited anywhere more than once? Places where someone watching might have formed an idea of your routine?'

‘We don't really have a routine; we're on holiday. We were trying different restaurants every night — and the same goes for the beaches. We never went to the same place twice.' He stopped, and looked up finally. ‘Well, except the bay, actually — we went there the first afternoon we arrived.'

‘And when you got to the beach, who else was there?'

‘Just the three families. I believe you've already spoken to them.'

‘Describe them.'

Baker sighed, turned his head to look at the three of them, and then turned back to the bar.

‘There was the European family — mum and dad and two little boys, German or Scandinavian maybe. Then a young couple who I think might have been Italian, and then the retired English couple.'

‘How do you know they were retired?'

‘He was reading the international edition of the
Times
, and I asked him if I could borrow it.'

‘Did you talk to him for long?'

‘Maybe five minutes; maybe less. Just small talk — where they were from, where they had visited, where they were staying. He seemed like a nice-enough fellow.'

‘And the wife?'

‘I didn't really speak to her; she had her head in a book. We just said hello and goodbye.'

‘Did you return the paper when you'd finished with it?'

Genovesi cast Scamarcio a look that said: ‘It's confirmed, you
are
an idiot.'

Baker frowned. ‘No, I don't think I did. When we realised that Stacey had gone, I didn't give it another thought. It must still be amongst our stuff, I guess.'

‘I'd like to take a look.'

Genovesi was shaking his head now, seemingly no longer able to keep a lid on his frustration.

‘And you didn't talk to anyone else on the beach?'

‘No, not before Stacey was taken. After we realised she'd gone, we kept calling for her and shouting, and then they all came over to see if they could help.'

‘All of them?'

‘Well, I think all of them. It was chaos, we were in a panic — it's just a blur, really. I don't remember how things went.'

‘And when you first arrived at the beach, you took that spot by the rocks? The same spot where you were sleeping when Stacey disappeared?'

He watched the guilt cloud his face. ‘Yes, we didn't move from there.'

‘And how much time passed between you arriving on the beach and your daughter disappearing?''

‘I don't know. I guess about an hour — maybe more, maybe less.'

‘But your wife called the station at three-thirty — that's an hour and a half if you arrived at two, as you told my colleagues.'

‘Then it must have been an hour and a half. Like I say, I lost track of time.'

‘And when you arrived on the beach, what did you do?'

‘We left our things by the rocks, and then Stacey and I went for a swim. Jane wanted to stay on the beach to sunbathe.'

‘How long were you in the sea?'

‘It seemed like a while. The water was warm, and Stacey was having a wild time.' He smiled at the memory. ‘Twenty minutes, I think — maybe more.'

‘
I
s your daughter a strong swimmer?'

Baker swallowed slowly, trying to keep it together. ‘She was doing really well at school with her swimming. They said they had high hopes for her with her sport. She takes after her dad — and her grandpa.' Fat tears were forming. Scamarcio watched them break surface tension, roll down one cheek, and drop from his chin. His shoulders were heaving now, and Genovesi turned away, embarrassed. Zanini rooted in his pocket for something, before finding a battered wad of paper tissues and handing them over.

Scamarcio pressed on. ‘And when you came back to the shore, what did you do?'

Baker took the tissues, but wiped his face with his sleeve. ‘I put up the umbrella and started with my book. Jane was still sunbathing.'

‘
O
n her back?'

‘I think so, yes.'

‘And where was Stacey?'

‘She dried herself off, and then took her bucket and spade down to the water. I think she was trying to make a sandcastle.'

‘Did she ask you for help?'

‘No, she's quite determined, and likes to do things on her own.'

‘How long was she down there?'

‘I'm not sure — maybe twenty minutes, maybe more. Then she came back up because she wanted an ice-cream. She'd seen the man selling them, and asked me to buy her one.'

‘There was a man selling ice-cream on the beach?'

‘Yeah, I'm not sure where he'd come from. I kinda felt sorry for the guy that there were so few of us there that day. ‘

Scamarcio tried to keep his voice level, and turned to Genovesi: ‘I didn't know about the ice-cream guy. You know about the ice-cream guy?'

The chief shrugged. ‘First I've heard of it.'

Switching back into English, Scamarcio said: ‘Did you tell my colleagues about the ice-cream man?'

Baker sniffed. ‘I'm not sure — maybe not. I can't remember whether it came up when they interviewed me. Was that a crucial detail?' He breathed in deeply. ‘Jesus, what's wrong with me — why didn't I think of it before?'

‘Mr Baker, try to stay calm. It may prove to be important; it may not. Either way, we will look into it.'

Scamarcio had the sense that he was starting from zero — no thorough statements had been taken. Then another troubling thought struck him: ‘I take it my colleagues brought the interpreter along when they interviewed you and your wife?' The fact that Genovesi showed little reaction to the last question only served to heighten his disquiet.