The Few (24 page)

‘Back again so soon? What is it now?' he said, striding towards him.

‘You have a teenage boy here — I need to talk to him.'

‘Why?'

‘As part of the investigation, of course.'

‘But our children haven't done anything wrong.'

‘I'm sure they haven't, but I just need a quick word.'

The man paused a moment, seeming to weigh it up. Then he said: ‘We have several boys here. Which do you mean?'

‘If you bring them out, I'll tell you.'

The man shouted something, and another man turned back the way he had come.

While he was gone, Scamarcio and the spokesman just stared at one another uncompromisingly, neither willing to give any ground by being the first to look away.

After what seemed like a long time, the man was back, two reluctant teenage boys in tow. But neither of them was the boy he had seen in the café.

The leader placed a hand on the back of each and nudged them forward.

‘No,' said Scamarcio. ‘The boy I want has diamond studs in his ears, wide jeans, and bright-yellow trainers.'

‘Dacian.'

Scamarcio feigned ignorance.

The spokesman turned to the small huddle that had formed around him. They were speaking their language again, but Scamarcio thought he could make out the word ‘Dacian' several times. One man who was shorter than all the rest kept shrugging, and eventually held open his arms in defeat.

‘His father doesn't know where he is — he says he hasn't seen him since the morning.'

‘Can he take me to their trailer?'

The leader said something to the man, and he shrugged again before turning and heading back to the line of caravans. The leader nodded to Scamarcio, and they followed. After a while he said: ‘My name is Pety.'

‘Where did you learn your Italian?' asked Scamarcio.

‘Night school — it was provided by the government for free when I was living in Milan.'

Milan
, reflected Scamarcio.
Another connection to that place
. ‘How long were you up there?'

‘Just a year, when I first arrived in Italy. But I didn't like it; I couldn't wait to leave.'

Scamarcio could picture the scene. He had seen the camps lining the way in to the city towards Cadorna Station — a grim, filthy shambles of shacks against a backdrop of concrete decay and graffiti.

‘Things better here?'

‘No comparison.'

The other man had stopped beside a wooden caravan that seemed more dilapidated than the rest. Outside were a pile of dirty cooking utensils, rusty pots and pans, and a camping stove. Some partially cleaned plates were stacked in a rubber bowl; next to them were several empty liquor bottles. The man was shrugging his shoulders once again. Scamarcio noted that he had a drinker's nose.

‘Can I have a look inside?' he asked.

Pety mumbled a few words to the man, and he pushed open the door, standing back to let Scamarcio go ahead. The caravan was more spacious than he had imagined from the outside. The room was divided by a curtain into two sleeping areas, with two single mattresses on the floor. Tacked to the wall above the mattress to the right were some ragged magazine photos of a good-looking woman whom Scamarcio didn't recognise. The air was musty and damp, and he thought he could smell some kind of fungus.

‘Just the two of you live here?'

‘Him and his son,' explained Pety.

‘What happened to the mother?'

‘She ran off with another man last year. The boy didn't take it too well.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘He's been drinking a bit too much. But that will pass. We all go through these phases as teenagers. I'm sure you did the same at some point?'

His eyes settled on Scamarcio, uncompromising again. There was something about the quiet dignity of this man that he liked.

‘Oh, worse,' he said. ‘Any chance the boy could be hiding out here in the camp?'

‘I doubt it. As you can see, it's a small site. But take a look if you want.'

They headed back out of the caravan into the warmth, the promise of a stifling midday heat already heavy on the breeze.

‘Has he done this before? Gone off like this?'

Pety smiled. ‘He's a teenager, so of course he does his own thing sometimes, but we're sure he will be back sooner or later.'

They strode along a row of caravans, and Scamarcio stopped to take a peek inside and underneath them all, sometimes picking up on the same fungus smell again. They headed back towards the fire, and he checked the caravans around there as well. Finally, they strolled around the fence area, and he searched the bushes where he himself had hidden out earlier.

‘Do you have a mobile?' asked Scamarcio.

‘Yes, but I'm down on credit.'

Scamarcio pulled a 20-euro note from his pocket and handed it over. ‘Can you let me know when Dacian gets back? It's important.'

Pety pocketed the money in an almost invisible gesture. ‘So what do you think Dacian has done?'

‘I don't know. I just want to talk to him, that's all. It's probably nothing.'

They headed back towards the gate, a group of men following a few paces behind them now. For the first time, Scamarcio felt slightly menaced by their presence.

‘For nothing, you're putting in a lot of effort,' said Pety, turning back towards the men and leaving him alone at the gate.

38

BACK AT THE STATION
, Zanini and Borghetti were changing out of their overalls. There was a hushed excitement in the air, and Scamarcio could tell that the experience of their first corpse had made a big impression on them.

‘News?' he barked at neither one of them in particular.

‘The doctor is with the body now,' said Zanini, cleaning something or other off his shoe. ‘He called a bit earlier, saying he'd collected some trace evidence from under the nails that he thinks might be of interest. He wants to send it for analysis.'

‘What kind of trace?'

‘He didn't say — said he'd explain it all to you when he saw you.'

‘Where is he doing the autopsy?'

‘In his back room.'

‘His what?'

‘He has a surgery room in his house,' offered Borghetti helpfully. ‘He is doing it there.'

‘He must have a very understanding wife,' said Scamarcio.

The two officers exchanged glances. ‘You should see her,' said Zanini. ‘She's something else.' Scamarcio wasn't quite sure what that meant.

‘Where's Genovesi?'

‘With the English couple.'

‘Ah, so they finally got back from their cruise?' Scamarcio would have preferred to have gone along for the interview. Genovesi couldn't be trusted to ask the right questions — that much was already clear.

One of the phones on the empty desks started ringing, and Zanini went to take it. ‘He's just arrived,' he said, waving at Scamarcio. ‘It's the doctor again.'

Barrabino sounded pleased with himself. ‘Scamarcio, finally I reach you.' There was a hint of reproach in there as well.

‘What have you got?'

The doctor paused for a moment, as if affected by his rudeness. ‘Well, death from exsanguination, as was pretty obvious at the scene. There were five stab wounds in all, and one of them caused extensive damage to the heart and blood vessels. It was a short, thick blade, the kind you would find on a hunting knife. By my reckoning, he died sometime in the early hours of the morning. Those flies had only just started to lay eggs when we arrived. There's the beginning of an impression against the skin on his back — this slight indentation, surrounded by gravity-pulled blood, makes me think he was put on his back on a floor for a short time after death before being moved to the beach.'

‘Anything else? The officers here mentioned some trace?'

‘Yes, two interesting pieces: Skin samples under the nails — I imagine they must be from the assailant, collected in the struggle — and bite marks down his right arm.'

‘Bite marks?'

‘Yes, quite a few. And they look like they have been made by small teeth — infant teeth. You and your colleagues need to think about where he might have got those. And get me dental records, if you can.' Barrabino knew full well that a young girl had gone missing from the island, so why didn't he just come out and say it? And of course Scamarcio would get the dental records. He didn't need some local quack telling him how to do his job. ‘Sure. And the skin samples, where do we process those? I can't imagine there's anyone on the island who can handle that.'

‘Ah, you'd be surprised, Detective, but in this instance we should probably send them to Florence for analysis. Obviously, it will take a few days.'

‘We need to send them today.'

‘It needs to be signed off by Chief Genovesi.'

‘Right. I will make sure that happens asap.' Then: ‘Thank you for the fast work.' He knew that by thanking him he could put him back in his place for a moment.

The bite marks were highly troubling, although it was impossible for Stacey Baker to have stabbed Ella to death. Scamarcio picked up the phone to Mr Baker, knowing that the request for dental records was going to set a thousand alarm bells ringing for them. He would head that off at the start by making it clear that they hadn't found a body. As it happened, Baker was much calmer than he expected — he sounded drugged out on lack of sleep — but promised to have the records faxed over as soon as possible.

The rest of the afternoon was taken up with calling Ella's widow in Milan and arranging for her to come down for the ID, processing the evidence from the corpse, and asking Genovesi for the relevant signatures. The chief seemed beleaguered when Scamarcio walked into his office; he was trying to persuade someone on the other end of the phone that he didn't need help with his investigation.

‘No, we have it under control,' he was saying. ‘Important leads have come in today that look likely to take us to the little girl.' He fell silent a few moments, listening to the response.

‘Well, that is your decision, Sir, but I assure you it's not necessary.' There was another pause before eventually he said, ‘Of course, Sir, I understand. I will let you know immediately.'

He replaced the phone in its cradle and let out a yawn before resting his head in his hands and running his fingers wearily through his thinning hair. He looked at Scamarcio as if he was an extra irritation he couldn't handle right now.

‘I've got Florence on my back,' he said, by way of explanation. ‘They're talking about sending in the big guns. They're worried about bad publicity.'

Scamarcio shrugged and took a seat opposite, uninvited. ‘Well, it might be no bad thing to have some reinforcements.'

‘You say that now, but they'll make my life and yours hell, I guarantee it. They'll have you off the case quicker than a rat's fart.'

‘Well, I guess my boss in Rome would handle that.'

Genovesi sighed. ‘Yeah, leave it to the big men — we're just the pawns in their power games, after all.'

Scamarcio smelt the years of stunted ambition and absent opportunity. ‘I need to send those samples to Florence.' He pushed the paperwork across the desk.

‘Great,' yawned Genovesi, pulling the forms towards him. ‘This investigation is going to eat up most of our annual budget. Let's hope nothing else happens on Elba in the next six months.'

Just as he said it, Scamarcio's mobile rang, and he stepped out to take the call. It was Pety at the camp.

‘Listen, Detective, Dacian has not come back all day. We're getting worried about him.'

Scamarcio glanced at his watch. It was 6.00pm. When he looked outside, he could see the light beginning to fade from the sky.

‘So no one has seen him since I was there?'

‘No one. It's not like him to go off for so long — an hour or two, yes, but not the entire day.'

‘OK,' said Scamarcio, making a decision. ‘Leave it with me. I will get back to you as soon as I have some news.'

Chief Genovesi's budget was about to take another hit.

39

AFTER WHAT HE HAD
witnessed in the café that morning, Scamarcio had calculated that it was best to let the boy Dacian return to the camp in the course of the day, rather than use precious resources tracking him down. But now that they were nearing the evening and there was still no sign of him, Scamarcio realised they would have to mobilise all the forces on the island to find him. It was possible he could lead them to the missing girl. Had it been Dacian who had stabbed Fabio Ella? Had they both been involved in the abduction of the American girl? Ella could no longer provide the answers, but Dacian could. Or was looking for the boy a complete wild-goose chase that had nothing to do with either of the cases that Scamarcio was investigating? For now, he resolved to keep his doubts to himself.