She eased back as she followed the road through the Val di Chio, knowing, as Henry had the previous day, she would be able to see the convoy at some distance. She was amused to see that the police vehicle was already some way ahead of Henry’s car, way too far for a responsible convoy leader, but given the driver was a young Italian police officer it would be ridiculous to even consider the idea of him driving slowly. When they reached the end of the valley and the road began to rise, there would be no way the driver would have the four-by-four in view in his mirror; he would be at least two bends ahead.
And it was one of those bends that Olivia had in mind for her grand finale, the second of the switchbacks on the steeper part of the hill, a point where the road curved sharply to the left after a straighter, flatter section of some hundred and fifty yards where it was natural to hit the throttle. At that point, there was normally a length of crash barrier to help prevent any out-of-control vehicle from careering over the edge. However, she had seen the previous day that the barrier was missing, damaged by some incident in the past week and not repaired, just a flimsy wooden structure put temporarily in its place. It couldn’t have been more perfectly situated since beyond the bend the hillside fell steeply away almost a hundred feet onto a rocky patch below where the ground had collapsed years ago, long before the track above it had been reinforced into the present road. The drop was almost sheer, a hazard now made more dangerous by the absence of a proper barrier.
As Olivia drove towards the end of the valley, she could see the police vehicle climbing, now at least three bends ahead, the driver enjoying slinging the car around the road, safe in the assumption that the driver of the following car knew where he was going.
The four-by-four rounded the first of the bends and started to climb, at which point Olivia accelerated to shorten the distance between them. She wanted Henry, who was driving, to see her bike in his mirror moments before she struck; she wanted her presence to raise doubt in his mind; she wanted his fears to increase before she made them come true.
As the four-by-four continued up the hill, Olivia closed in further to ensure that as she rounded the corner onto the last fateful stretch, she was only thirty yards behind. Just as she expected, the four-by-four increased its speed on the relatively straight and flat section. She twisted the BMW’s throttle, quickly closing the gap between them. She wanted to pass the car, wanted them to realise who she was before they met their end. She put her left hand into her jacket pocket and pulled out the remote control, skilfully steering the bike with her right hand as she drew alongside the car. She flipped up her visor and turned her head towards the occupants, laughing as she saw the horrified look on Cotton’s face and the utter terror on Connie’s. She glanced ahead, the corner was about fifty feet away; Silk would be about to touch the brake and turn the wheel to the left. She pulled ahead of the four-by-four, held up her left hand so they could all see the remote, and pressed the button. The bomb buried deep in the hydraulic system detonated, blowing it apart.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The previous day while Jennifer and Connie were being examined by their respective doctors at the Villa Incantata, Henry had been making his own assessment of the agriturismo. He had already been assured on the phone by Paul Godden that a police presence on the perimeter was guaranteed: one patrol car was stationed at the main gate and another at a smaller, rear service entrance used by farm vehicles and delivery trucks, a gate that was normally kept locked.
However, they were going to be spending the night there and Henry wanted to be sure of his ground. Olivia Freneton was out there somewhere and although he couldn’t imagine how she would know where they were, he was sufficiently impressed by the woman’s abilities not to discount the possibility of her finding them. In fact, he thought it safer to assume she did know, and to make the appropriate arrangements.
After inspecting the fence, which was high and electrified to prevent people and wild animals from entering the grounds, Henry felt more comfortable. With police officers at the gates, Freneton should find it impossible to get in without being spotted.
What Henry didn’t bargain for was Freneton having the sheer gall to make a booking and thereby enter the grounds legitimately. He had checked with Francesco Aleotti about occupancy and been told there were guests in three other chalets, clients he knew well who kept themselves to themselves.
“There are nine other chalets, Signor Silk,” he said. “They are all at your disposal should you need them.”
“Thanks,” said Henry, “I’m not sure if Pietro or our police friends will be staying. For the three of us and Signorina Cotton’s, er, fidanzato, when he arrives, we require at least two chalets, maybe three. I need to talk to Signora Fairbright.”
Later in the afternoon, once Godden and Felice had left along with Pietro — who had declared he was overcome with jet lag and needed his personal masseur to coax his aching muscles back to life — Henry took Connie to one side.
“Er, Connie,” he said, hesitantly, “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but you’ve had one hell of an ordeal as well as the shock of discovering that you employed a homicidal maniac—”
Connie put a hand on his arm, smiling with more than a hint of coquettishness as she interrupted him.
“Your good deeds know no bounds, Sir Galahad. You’re right, my nerves are shredded and the thought of being alone in one of these chalets, even with a strong police presence, is more than I can bear. You were going to suggest, I think, that since the chalets have two bedrooms, we should share?”
“It would give me peace of mind too,” said Henry. “I’d only spend the night watching for intruders.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stand guard outside your daughter’s chalet?”
Henry laughed. “I think Derek is more than capable of looking after Jennifer, which leaves me free to man the barricades in the Chalet Fiorentina.”
“We’ll make sure the powder’s dry, Trooper Silk,” said Connie, saluting him.
Henry suggested that they all go to bed early — he was in need of sleep after an uncomfortable night leaning against a tree in the woods outside the Villa Luisa. Jennifer and Connie both disagreed, preferring instead to take a nap now and meet for a light supper and some drinks around nine.
“If I bed down for the night now,” said Jennifer, “I’ll be up again at three, in spite of all the aches and pains. A doze followed by a nightcap should ensure that we’ll all sleep through.”
It was a good idea in theory, and it worked for Derek and Jennifer in their chalet and for Connie in the Chalet Fiorentina, relaxed in the knowledge that Henry was only a few feet away. Henry, however, was anything but relaxed, in spite of his performance of being calm. Once Connie had gone into her room, he turned out all the lights and stared through the window. He could see the nearby Chalet Senese along the track and the four-by-four parked about twenty feet away on the gravel in front of his chalet, but the rest of the Villa Incantata’s spacious grounds were invisible in the darkness.
And yet his senses were on full alert. He sighed, pulled an upright chair close to the window and sat, watching and waiting. Quite what for, he didn’t know, but having rescued Jennifer and Connie once, he didn’t want to be found wanting if Freneton was out there.
By two, he was beginning to nod as the tiredness permeating his body tried to take over from his still-active brain when he saw something, a movement in the shadows. The tiredness instantly banished, he instinctively ducked slightly. As he stared at the spot, a figure darted forward, the movements urgent, deliberate, the position crouched. Henry watched, motionless, straining his eyes to see if it was Freneton. All he could make out was that the person was tall, and from the manner of the movements probably a woman. It had to be her. What was she doing? If she tried to break in, she’d make a hell of a noise. Henry had booby-trapped the door: if someone did defeat the lock and open it, a couple of glass tumblers would break on the floor.
He reached
for his phone, about to call Derek, when he remembered that the light from the screen might attract attention. He peered into the darkness. The figure was now crouched down by the car’s offside front wheel and reaching up into the engine compartment behind it. Henry watched in a mixture of fear and fascination. What was she doing? Then he remembered the conversations he had had with Jennifer about the murder of her ex-boss the previous year. She was planting a bomb.
In seconds, the figure had retreated into the darkness and the night was once again still. Henry was tempted to rush out of the door and go after her. But something stopped him. He thought about what he had seen, what she had done. He ran through it again and again in his mind and what stood out apart from the planting of the bomb was what the figure had been wearing, or rather, not wearing. There was no mask, no headgear, no jacket; just lightweight clothing, a thin jumper and jeans, both black to reduce the chances of being seen, but otherwise not clothing she would wear if she had broken in from outside. She must be staying at the agriturismo. Henry shook his head at the thought. She was right there in front of their noses. How could that possibly have happened? She must have arrived late, and to have got past the police officer at the gate, she must have had a story. She had made a reservation. He sat back in shock and no little admiration.
OK, he thought, what is she planning? She’d planted a bomb in his car, a bomb that might be on a timer, but that ran the risk of their not being in the car when it exploded. No, it had to be the same scenario that the police had reconstructed for the Hurst murder: she would follow and set off the bomb at a precise moment and location.
He took a deep breath, wondering what his next move should be.
After forcing himself to wait for an hour, Henry listened at Connie’s door where he could hear her breathing gently and regularly as she slept, and slipped out of the chalet door to his car. Finding the bomb proved to be easier than he’d imagined and he quickly found himself crouched on the gravel, the bomb in his hands.
He stood and quietly walked into the darkness, following the direction he had seen Freneton take. Fifty yards along the track another chalet slowly became visible, and in front of it, a large BMW motorcycle. He thought again about the Hurst murder; the bike had to be Freneton’s. And he thought too as he had the previous day about Freneton’s attempts to kill him, the cold-hearted remorselessness of her actions, her total indifference to the lives of others. And it wasn’t just him, she had tried hard to kill Jennifer, his beloved daughter, and Derek, Neil Bottomley, and who knew how many others. Here in Italy she had tried again and almost succeeded, adding Connie to her list of potential victims. Connie, who had put her trust in him to protect her, Connie who was sleeping peacefully back in the chalet. He looked down at the bomb in his hand. With this, she had intended to kill all four of them at once. Would it never end? If she slipped away following the failure of this bomb to kill them, she would surely return again and again until she either succeeded or was caught. He made a decision and walked quietly over to the motorcycle.
The following morning at seven, Henry awoke in his bed with a start and was immediately surprised to find Connie’s head nestled into his shoulder.
“Connie, I—”
“Shh,” she replied, “it’s early. Go back to sleep.”
“But—”
“I woke up, it was pitch dark and I was terrified,” whispered Connie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Er, no, of course I don’t. It’s, well …” He grinned. “It looks like dreams really do come true.”
“That’s a totally corny line, Mr Silk. Do you honestly expect me to believe you?”
She turned towards him and reached up to kiss him lightly on the lips.
“Mind you, you delivered it very well, and, you know, it’s not a bad thought. I’m sure no one’s going to be worrying about breakfast just yet.”
“Breakfast couldn’t be farther from my mind,” said Henry as he pulled her closer.
It was almost nine before the four of them were settled at the breakfast table. Jennifer and Derek had arrived first, a few minutes ahead of Connie and Henry. Jennifer took one look at the expressions on their faces and understood immediately. She glanced at Derek, wanting to share her amusement, but he was busy with his full English.
As they relaxed with their coffee, Henry’s phone rang. He answered, listening for a moment before handing it to Jennifer.
“It’s Paul,” he said. “He wants to speak to you.”
Jennifer took the phone, listening, nodding and throwing in the occasional, “Good,” “Wow!” and “Cool!” before asking him whether he knew if they could go to the Villa Brillante yet.
“Yes!” she said to the others as she closed the call. “The Cambronis are in custody along with three artists Felice’s squad found in the hidden studio on the third floor, the one I could never get close to. And guess what they found there?” she added triumphantly.
“A pile of not-so-old masters?” suggested Connie.
“Exactly, Connie, exactly. Caught in the act. Old with new and a shipment intercepted at the airport.”
“I think I’ll have to get everything I’ve bought checked out,” added Connie ruefully.
“I must introduce you to Ced Fisher,” said Jennifer.
“Who’s he?”
“He’s a genius. You might have heard about his amazing style-signature computer program?”
“That guy,” said Connie. “Yes, I have, but I didn’t have a name. Is he a friend?”
“He and his wife; they are two of the loveliest people.”
Connie reached out and touched Jennifer’s arm with one hand and Henry’s with the other. “It’s an ill wind,” she said, happily. “I feel as if I’ve fallen on my feet in spite of Diana Fitchley’s best efforts.”
Henry touched her hand with his and smiled.
“Listen,” he said, standing. “I just want to check something with reception, then we should be on our way. I’m sure you want to see how bad the damage is to your place, Connie.”
He walked out of the dining room and headed for the reception desk.
“Buongiorno, Signor Silk,” said the girl dreamily, her eyes star-struck.
“Hi,” replied Henry, grinning at her. “I was wondering. Last night. Was there another guest staying, one who arrived rather late? On a motorcycle?”
“Yes, signore, a Signora Murphy, an Irish lady.”
“Is she still here?”
“No, she left early this morning. Around seven.”
“Has she been here before?”
“She said she had, with her husband, last year. However, when I checked the records after she left, I could find nothing in the name of Murphy.”
“Strange,” said Henry.
“Yes,” she replied. “And she paid in cash, which is most unusual.”
When Henry returned to the breakfast table, Derek was stabbing angrily at his phone, finishing a call.
“Bugger,” he said.
“What’s up?” asked Henry.
“That was Crawford, my DI from the SCF in Nottingham. He’s taken it upon himself to fly out here to follow up on Jennifer. ‘On the ground’ as he put it. Apparently Hawkins is baying for Freneton’s blood.”
“Where is he now, your DI?”
“On a train from Florence to Arezzo. It seems he turned up on Paul Godden’s doorstep. Godden wasn’t over-impressed so he put him on a train and at the same time arranged for a car to pick me up from here and go to Arezzo to meet him. Bloody idiot, Crawford, I mean. There’s no need at all for him to stick his oar in. I was going to report to Hawkins this morning; I must admit I forgot last night.”
“Perfectly understandable,” said Henry.
“I’ll call him from the car,” said Derek. “I’ll bring him straight to the villa, if that’s OK.”
The explosion was more forceful than Henry had anticipated, although as soon as he saw Olivia Freneton hold up the remote control, he was exp
ecting it. What surprised him was how the motorcycle jumped forward as it accelerated and careered through the wooden barrier at the bend — Olivia had involuntarily twisted the throttle as the explosion from beneath her lifted the bike. She had reacted fast, jamming on the brakes with her right hand and right foot. But there were no brakes, the explosion had destroyed them. As Henry brought the car to a halt, the bike disappeared over the edge and was gone.
“Oh my God, what happened?” screamed Connie as she grabbed Henry’s arm.
The police officer in Jennifer cut in. She released her seat belt from where she was sitting in the rear of the car, threw open the door and ran to the edge of the cliff. Below, on the rocks, she could see the twisted remains of the BMW and lying beyond it, a motionless Olivia Freneton.
She turned to the car, expecting to see Henry following her, but he was still sitting in the driver’s seat holding the distraught Connie.
Jennifer turned back and peered down the cliff, looking for outcrops of rock that would give her footholds on the way down the almost sheer surface. She began cautiously, checking every rock for firmness, quickly gaining confidence in the surface as she descended.
It took her no longer than a minute to reach Olivia’s shattered body. She was lying face up across a large jagged rock, her arms outstretched, her right leg below the knee deformed to an unnatural angle.
Jennifer knelt beside her and took her left wrist to check her pulse. It was weak but regular. She was alive.
Although the visor of her helmet had been ripped off, the helmet itself was intact. Jennifer looked along the twisted body and shook her head. Surely she couldn’t survive for long.
There was a sharp intake of breath and Olivia’s eyes flickered open, her pupils immediately fixing on Jennifer’s.
“Cotton,” she whispered, her voice hardly audible. “I can’t move; I need help.”
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