The Few (28 page)

‘So, tell me, what do you know about the boy Dacian?'

Ratsel shook his head slowly, as if Scamarcio were talking nonsense. ‘No idea who you're talking about.'

‘Yes you do — the boy who was helping you with whatever disgusting scheme you had conjured up after being released from prison.'

‘Bullshit.'

‘Do you have the American girl? Where is she? Is she here?' Scamarcio jumped up and took a quick look in the bathroom, and then opened the wardrobes, without expecting to find anything.

Ratsel was shaking his head faster back and forth now, his chin jutting out as if he were grinding his teeth. ‘You are wasting my time with this
bullshit
.' He shouted the word.

‘Somehow I don't think so, and, as I'm sure you're well aware, if you co-operate now it will be that much easier for you later down the line. The game's the same here as it is back home in Germany.'

Ratsel sighed, leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes for a moment. But when he opened them, all he said was: ‘I want my lawyer.'

44

SCAMARCIO SLEPT WELL
that night; he put it down to pure exhaustion rather than any sense of calm from the inquiry, which seemed to be complicating itself further by the day. They had thrown Ratsel in the slammer for the evening, but would have nothing to hold him with past the morning — not unless the tiny traces of blood in his hotel bathroom that Barrabino had found came back as a match on Stacey Baker or the boy Dacian. Genovesi, for once, hadn't needed a lot of persuading that it would be worth the extra cost of rushing the blood through processing. He knew that if it led them to the girl in the next twenty-four hours, it would be a huge feather in his cap with the chief in Florence.

As Scamarcio was driving to the station, Garramone called from Rome: ‘I had that email translated — the one you sent me from the boy.'

‘Anything interesting?'

‘Well, it's a bit cryptic, but basically he seems to be telling her that the job opportunity that had come up for him has got complicated; he was told to do something, which he did, but now the boss has gone quiet on him and he doesn't understand why. He's worried that the whole thing could go wrong, that they might get found out.'

‘And he never says what this thing is?'

‘No. He just keeps repeating that he's worried, but that if it does all come off OK, he and Irina — that's the girl he's writing to — can start a new life somewhere. He's desperate to leave that camp and his father, apparently.'

Garramone was already up to speed on the boy's death. After a pause, the chief asked: ‘How long after this was sent did he die?'

‘About nine hours.'

‘And you believe this is connected to Stacey Baker's disappearance?'

‘That's my hunch, yes.'

Garramone didn't question his use of the word; he knew how important hunches often turned out to be. ‘I spoke to my contact up in Florence. The other guy in the photo with Arthur and the foreign minister goes by the name of Simon. He used to work as a rentboy in the area, and then went quiet. He was strangled, apparently, before he was attached to the light fitting to hang.'

‘So they're mellowing? It seems a bit kinder than stabbing someone to death.'

‘If they're one and the same …'

‘What? You think they're not?'

‘We can't be sure yet, but my contact tells me he was involved with some local drug dealers, so it's not clear whether his death was directly connected to Arthur's.'

‘Seems odd, though, that the story breaks, and then both guys in the incriminating photo are murdered.'

‘Well, yes, so it does, but you know the score. We've got to explore the other avenues, too.'

Both fell silent for a moment before Scamarcio said: ‘You hear about Spezzi killing himself?'

‘Yeah, strange. But what's that got to do with anything?'

‘He was involved in that scandal with the rentboy a couple of years back, remember?'

Scamarcio heard him push the air out from his cheeks, and shift in his chair. ‘Ah, come on, Scamarcio. Now you really are clutching at straws.'

‘Am I, though? The Ganza story breaks, Arthur is killed, then this guy Simon, and now the heir to the Spezzi empire — who supposedly had everything going for him — suddenly decides to end it all, and there's this nasty dirty secret in his past that we never really got the full story on.'

‘Yeah, but coincidences happen. I don't see why the Ganza thing would affect him.'

Scamarcio paused a moment before saying: ‘I went to see him.'

‘Who — Ganza?'

‘No — Spezzi, the day before he died, when they'd just taken him into hospital.'

‘Why? And why didn't you tell me sooner?'

‘I guess I never got around to it. But listen, he made me think that my hunch wasn't so far out. He told me: “Leave it alone, because it isn't worth it.” He made me think that
“
it
”
was something significant.'

‘Yeah, but if he'd just tried to top himself, maybe he wasn't all there.'

‘Maybe,' said Scamarcio, but he wasn't convinced.

Garramone said he had to rush off and would call him if he had any more news. Scamarcio had the sense once again that he wasn't being entirely open with him, that he was keeping certain things to himself. But for now he pushed the thought to the back of his mind — he didn't want to deal with it. He hurried into the station, and when he entered the squad room, a man and a woman wearing suits were waiting for him. He noticed that Zanini and Borghetti seemed quite uncomfortable in their presence. There was no sign of Genovesi.

The woman rose from her seat and held out a hand: ‘Detective Scamarcio, I presume?'

He shook her hand, and reached out to grasp the man's. ‘Yes, and you are …?'

‘Silvia Morandi, and my colleague here is Gianluca Ferrera. We work for the press department of the Tuscan police.'

‘Ah.' Scamarcio felt relieved to have them here so soon. ‘You're earlier than I was led to believe.' He held up his hands. ‘But I'm not complaining.'

‘Good.' Morandi sat back down again. She was an attractive woman — long, brown hair, tanned, even features, toned calves — all in all, a very presentable package, which Scamarcio guessed was pretty essential these days if you had to face the media. She crossed her legs, seeming to have picked up on his appraisal. ‘We decided to expedite things. The American networks have started to run the story, and we're anticipating a big media presence here on the island from now on. It seemed sensible to get down here as quickly as we could.'

Ferrera coughed, covering his mouth with his hand. He leaned back in his chair slightly. He was less good-looking than his colleague, but very presentable in his grey Armani suit with a royal blue tie. Scamarcio had a feeling he was about to say something difficult.

‘Listen, Scamarcio, we just need to clear something up with you.' The tone was confident and strong; there was no sense of hesitancy about what was to come.

‘Sure.'

‘Obviously, your name is known to the Italians — the whole story about you and your father was everywhere last year.'

‘And?'

‘Well, we're figuring it's only a matter of time before our Italian hacks fill in the Americans on your colourful past, and when that breaks we think there's going to be some diplomatic fallout. I mean, look at it their way: they already see us as a country of Mafiosi incompetents who can't run a government, let alone an economy, and now we have a detective involved in a crucial inquiry whose father was one of the leading figures in the 'Ndrangheta. Whichever way you cut it, it looks bad.'

Scamarcio was about to take a seat, but decided to remain standing. ‘My father's past has nothing to do with me. How long do I have to keep repeating myself on that? It should be clear by now that I chose a different life. And, when all is said and done, I'm probably far less corruptible than anyone else — I've been there, rejected it. My department in Rome will attest to the fact that I'm clean. I'm regularly vetted, and have been since day one. I'm probably more vetted than any other figure in the department.'

‘I hear you, Scamarcio. Your colleagues all obviously believe in you and rate you, otherwise the Flying Squad in Rome would never have taken you on, but that's not the issue here, and you know it. The point is that television and television news — especially American television news — can't handle such nuances. It's black and white for them. They'll never spend any time talking about you being clean, or looking at your past successes. For them, all that counts is that your dad was a gangster: plain and simple. The Americans would never countenance that in
their
police system.'

Scamarcio tried to speak, but Ferrera was in full flow. It sounded like he'd been preparing this little speech on his way over from the mainland. ‘The chief in Florence and, I believe, several political figures, are up to speed on your involvement in the Stacey Baker case, and it's causing them concern. Firstly, for the reasons I've outlined and, secondly — and this is perplexing all of us, because we're wondering just why you're crossing onto Tuscan jurisdiction — how does this girl's disappearance concern Rome?'

‘Look, Ferrera, my chief has already briefed your chief on my case, I believe.' Scamarcio knew full well that there was no way Garramone would have given him the real story. ‘All I can tell you is that Stacey Baker's disappearance ties into a murder I'm investigating, but I can't go around divulging the details — it's sensitive right now. If the chief in Florence and the politicos are still worried, they just need to speak directly to Garramone, my boss. They all know the score and, to be honest, I imagine they've already consulted and that it's been sorted between themselves. It's just you who has a problem with me being here, because you're worried it's going to create extra work for you.'

Ferrera was shaking his head, but his tone remained measured and reasonable. ‘That's not the case, Scamarcio. I just think it would be a lot easier if you were out of this. Genovesi and the chief in Florence, who will be arriving here soon, should take the lead. I want the focus on them, and none of the tittle-tattle of last year.'

Scamarcio understood where he was coming from, but could not let himself get pushed out just when he sensed he was finally getting somewhere. ‘Listen, we both know that you don't have the power to lift me off this case: that has to come from our respective bosses. But I do appreciate your predicament, and I've got no desire to hog the media spotlight. OK, let Genovesi and your boss in Florence take the limelight, but please just let me stay under the radar doing my job. The sooner I get the answers I need, the sooner I'm out of your hair.'

Ferrera sighed. ‘I know you're a genuine guy, Scamarcio, but this is already beyond your control. It's too late for you to just pop back under the radar.' He bent down and pulled a neatly folded newspaper from his briefcase, handing it to Scamarcio. He saw that it was that day's
la Repubblica
.

‘Turn to page three.'

Scamarcio did as instructed. The article was at the top, and took up more than half the page. Its headline read: ‘Flying Squad maverick to investigate American disappearance.' The by-line was Morello's.

The opening paragraph contained the usual claptrap to be expected from that woman:
The Flying Squad's enigmatic black sheep … dark past … witness to his father's murder … well-documented temper outbursts, but renowned for his frequent maverick brilliance.
He couldn't read any more, and tossed the paper onto the desk.

Why was he a maverick, he wondered. He had always done his job, and delivered results — there was nothing of the maverick about that. Why did his past have to make him an enigma? Would he be justifying himself and his chosen role in life until the day he died?

‘See what I mean?' asked Ferrera. But there was nothing carping about the tone; he simply sounded regretful, if not a little apologetic.

‘Yeah, I get it.' Scamarcio sighed. ‘All I can do is lie low as much as possible, but please just let me finish my investigation here unhindered.'

Ferrera exchanged glances with his colleague. Zanini shuffled some papers distractedly. Scamarcio wished they hadn't had to have this discussion in front of the two officers.

‘As you say, it's not for us to decide. But we wanted to flag it up, because right now it's being discussed by the upper echelons and we thought you should know.'

‘Sure,' said Scamarcio.

Fererra looked down to the floor for a second before saying. ‘I'm sure I speak for all of us here when I say I have great admiration for the distance you've come, Scamarcio, and the work you do. Please don't take my words amiss.' He rose from his seat and gathered his bag, motioning for Morandi to do the same. ‘Anyway, we've got a press conference to organise, so we must get on. Hopefully, things will work themselves out in the coming days.'