Everybody Knows

by Karen Dodd

  “Police don’t even have to stay in proximity to the target’s vehicle. They can track it remotely from kilometers away. Even in the next city or town,” Mifsud said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I never thought I’d say this, but America’s technology is something to behold. We were fortunate to get a few units before several other European countries. Anyway, once our guys shot the dart at the car you were in, our technicians monitored it from right here in this van.”

  Nico ran his fingers over his head. They came away gritty. “The technology makes sense, but where along the route were they able to shoot the dart?” He was virtually certain there hadn’t been another close vehicle in sight.

  A grin lit up Mifsud’s gaunt face. “We had a camouflaged vehicle hidden in the woods as you came out of the pier’s car park. Fortunately, that gravel road was bumpy, full of potholes, because sometimes, you can detect the GPS dart hitting the car. In this case, there must have been enough noise and movement to distract the driver. I won’t lie to you, it was still a bit of a risk.”

  One Nico was inordinately grateful they’d taken. “And the men who escaped?” he asked.

  “That was unfortunate,” Mifsud admitted. “But we have helicopters with infrared cameras in the air and tracking units out everywhere. They can’t have gotten far. We’ll find them.”

  “Inspector?” A woman came from the front of the command center. “It’s affirmative. They’re waiting for you.”

  “Thank you,” Mifsud said. He leaned heavily on the cane as he slowly pushed himself up.

  “Have they found them?” Nico gingerly got up to follow him.

  “Stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” The two police officers left the van, shutting the door behind them.

  Nico looked around the van for a window. There were none. Then he tried to handle of a rear door. It was locked. Dammit! All he could do, yet again, was sit here helplessly, wondering where Mifsud had gone.

  * * *

  His head had lolled back against the leather chair when he woke up with a start. Someone was gently shaking his shoulder. “Sinjur Moretti, the inspector is ready for you. Please come with me.”

  Embarrassed, Nico wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth. As he tried to stand up, one leg collapsed, having fallen asleep. He smiled sheepishly at the woman, whose demeanor remained professional. “Take your time, sir,” she said as she handed him his jacket.

  Nico followed her to the front of the van. But the inspector wasn’t there. “He’s waiting for you outside. Just go down those steps,” she said. That made sense, given the pain Nico suspected Mifsud was still in, he’d probably want to minimize the number of stairs he had to tackle. Given the state he’d been in when Nico last saw him, it was a marvel he was out of the hospital at all.

  Sure enough, there was Mifsud, outside the van and leaning on his cane.

  “Have they found them?” Nico asked.

  Mifsud shook his head. “Not yet.”

  Nico’s hopes faded.

  “But they did find someone. Would you like to see her?”

  * * *

  Would you like to see her? Why hadn’t Mifsud said who it was they’d found in the warehouse? Nico’s gut tightened. If it was Francesca who’d been in one of the abandoned offices, he wondered how he’d react when he finally saw her. Had she, as Elle had intimated in Mdina, had something to do with Max’s disappearance? Or, as James Paddington had reported, was it Elle who’d absconded with him? Even once Sami had provided Nico and Giorgio with burner phones, he hadn’t dared contact London police for an update.

  He and Mifsud picked their way across the vast warehouse yard that was now congested with police and other emergency vehicles. Up ahead, there was a row of ambulances parked a safe distance away from the scene. Nico had observed them earlier, waiting on the other side of the barbed-wire fence. Along with what he knew to be the forensics coroner’s vans.

  As they reached the ambulances, Mifsud, who had been walking alongside Nico, hobbled ahead of him, taking the lead. “Would you mind waiting here for a minute?”

  Nico watched him disappear behind an ambulance. Minutes later, he reappeared and waved Nico toward him. “You can see her now.”

  He took a deep breath, and he could feel his heart racing as he forced himself to take the few steps forward. As he rounded the corner, he saw her. A blanket around her shoulders, she sat on the bumper of the ambulance, her bare legs hanging over the edge. Her hair was matted, her face smudged with dirt. Her bottle-green eyes shone with tears. The blanket drifted onto the ground as she held out her arms.

  “Nico,” Francesca whispered. Tears ran in rivulets down her grimy face. “Thank God you’re all right!”

  * * *

  After being thoroughly checked out at the hospital, the police took Francesca Bruno into protective custody, where officers would debrief her. As relieved as Nico was that she was alive, he felt a hollow spot in his gut. Part of him had wanted it to be Elle. He’d desperately wanted to believe that the woman Vincenzo Testa referred to as “the devil’s spawn” hadn’t been behind Max’s disappearance.

  There was so much he wanted to ask Francesca. But for now, he sat with her in the back of the ambulance, holding her hand. He could hear the dispatcher announcing their ETA and some medical statics. She had closed her eyes and Nico scanned every inch of her face and head, looking for any tangible signs of the trauma she’d narrowly escaped. A female officer had been assigned to debrief Francesca, and he prayed that in addition to what she’d obviously endured, she hadn’t been sexually assaulted by one of Baldisar’s men.

  Mifsud had explained that Baldisar had brought her to the warehouse as his trading currency. Francesca had been in one of the remaining two offices, bound and gagged. If the police hadn’t broken through the main door of the warehouse, Nico would have found her himself.

  “What was Baldisar going to trade her for?” Nico had asked Mifsud before getting into the ambulance. “Ariana’s list?”

  Mifsud shook his head. “Possibly, but it was you he was after.”

  “Me?”

  “Baldisar was going to let Francesca walk free in exchange for you killing Pezzente. He’d found out that he was your prime minister’s special investigator. Having infiltrated Baldisar’s inner circle, he knew too much and needed to be disposed of.”

  “Why wouldn’t Baldisar just have one of his thugs kill him? It looked like they’d already done a good job beating him to a pulp.”

  Mifsud shrugged. “Why would he do that when you would go to prison for the rest of your life for the murder of a top government official? Someone had already eliminated Malta’s toughest prosecutor on organized crime. Now, Baldisar could put her Italian counterpart away for life. Especially one that could identify him and some of his shadier investors.”

  And he almost got away with it, Nico thought. And could have killed Francesca in the process.

  As the ambulance pulled into the emergency bay, he saw a cluster of staff in white coats standing outside the hospital doors. He gave Francesca’s hand a squeeze as he stood up.

  “Put on your best smile, you have a welcoming committee,” he said as the doors opened. “I’ll be right outside.”

  As he stood on the pavement waiting for Francesca to be brought out, another ambulance pulled up to the emergency entrance, sirens blasting. The cluster of white coats moved as one unit to the back of the incoming vehicle.

  Two paramedics jumped out and removed the stretcher from inside. “Gunshot wound,” one of them said. In the seconds it took them to whiz by on the way to the trauma center, Nico caught sight of the occupant on the stretcher. Face as pale as the sheet that partially covered him, lay Roberto Pezzente.

  * * *

  It was after midnight when Nico said his goodbyes to Francesca at the hospital. She was wan and still shaken, but despite everything she’d been through, she appeared to be holding up remarkably well. Nico had met the police officer who would be guarding her door, an
d he was confident Francesca was in sensitive and capable hands.

  He was about to call it a night when he ran into Inspector Mifsud in the hallway. The man looked exhausted.

  “Inspector, what are you still doing here? I thought you’d gone home.”

  Mifsud nodded. “I just got the report from the police who found Roberto Pezzente. They found him in an abandoned car by the side of the road, not far from the warehouse.”

  “Was it one of Baldisar’s men who shot him?”

  “Yes. Apparently, they had ditched the car and run into the woods, an area that covers several hectares. Pezzente had tried to disarm Baldisar’s driver and in the scuffle, he was shot. It looks like they left him there rather than letting him slow them down.”

  Miserable shits. “Have they located them?”

  Mifsud shook his head. “Police helicopters stayed in the air with heat-sensing equipment, but as yet nothing. They’ll resume the search again at first light.

  “The doctors said the bullet only grazed Pezzente’s leg rather than penetrating it.” Mifsud yawned. “If he has a good night, they’ll release him in the morning.”

  “Go home, Inspector, you’re not long out of hospital yourself.”

  After making sure Mifsud did indeed, go home, Nico looked in on Pezzente, but the guard who was posted outside his room said he was sleeping. That the PM’s special investigator had got so close to Baldisar was remarkable, but even Mifsud had admitted to Nico they had a long way to go in order to ascertain in what capacity he was working. Much as he desperately wanted to question him himself, he’d resigned himself to the fact that it was a matter for the police. He’d also come to the conclusion that he may never know who was behind Ariana’s murder. Now he needed to focus on something he could do something about.

  As Nico left the sounds and smells of the hospital behind and inhaled the fresh night air, he thought of Max alone somewhere without his mother. He must be terrified.

  Mifsud could handle Pezzente. It was time for Nico to go to London.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Having managed to catch five hours of sleep, Nico awoke with more questions than he had answers. Despite Mifsud’s assurance the search for Baldisar and his men would have resumed at first light, it did little to assuage his conflicted feelings as he walked to the police station for his meeting with the inspector. The minute it was over, he’d contact his office and let them know he was taking an indefinite leave. And then he’d book his ticket to London.

  While Nico still felt drained from the previous day’s events, Mifsud seemed to have found his second wind as he related what they’d garnered from Francesca’s debriefing. Although he had no obligation to share the details with Nico, it seemed that Mifsud now considered him his equal. After they’d both got themselves a coffee, they settled into a quiet office and the inspector shut the door.

  “Does she know who her captors were?” Nico asked.

  “No. However, we’re certain the man we killed at the vineyard was a hired thug. He had a long list of priors. Miss Bruno confirmed he was the one who abducted her from her apartment, but she said anytime she heard him on the phone, he appeared to just be obeying orders. And that he wasn’t too bright.”

  “Baldisar’s orders, do you think?”

  “Tough to say. She said she never actually saw him until the incident at the warehouse. She was taken directly there from the abandoned property.”

  “Was she able to tell you anything more about Max?” For the life of him, Nico couldn’t figure out what one could have to do with the other, but Elle’s remarks that day in Mdina still niggled at him.

  The inspector cleared his throat. “She did, actually.”

  Nico waited. Please don’t tell me he’s—

  “Nico, why didn’t you tell me Max is your son?”

  The question caught him off guard, and he felt the hot sting of tears that welled up out of nowhere. “I . . . I was going to before you were shot,” he said truthfully. His cheeks burned, and he looked away, embarrassed.

  Mifsud reached into his trousers pocket and passed a freshly pressed handkerchief across his desk. “I know it was you who arranged to rush my wife and daughters to the hospital when I was in critical condition. I understand both the joy and the pain of being a parent. I wish you’d told me.”

  The ache in Nico’s throat prevented him from speaking. He’d certainly experienced the pain, but would he ever get to experience the joy?

  The inspector came out from behind his desk. “Thanks to you, I got to see my family again. That would have been enough for me even if I hadn’t made it.” He clasped Nico around the shoulder. “You mustn’t give up hope, my friend. Believe me when I tell you that the UK police won’t stop until they find him.”

  * * *

  With the inspector’s optimism in mind, Nico made an effort to distract himself by returning to the hotel and dealing with some work-related emails Gina had forwarded on to him. A number of them were marked as urgent, and while he was grateful Sergio was doing his best to handle them, not one of them held any importance for him. He scrolled through the case summaries that had been his life just a couple of weeks ago and scanned their contents dispassionately. Regardless of whether they found Baldisar—or Max for that matter—he wasn’t sure he could face going back to the sheer drudgery of countless hours of investigation that, at best, would result in a temporary halt in serious crime. Did their efforts even do that, he wondered, or were the criminals just laying low until the dust settled and they’d start up again? It was like bailing a leaky boat; the water just rushed in again, until eventually it sank.

  Except for that one case he’d lost, his unblemished record could have easily put him in line to be a future magistrate—as he’d hoped Ariana would have become rather than take on the role she had. While it might sound attractive to the lay person—that he would have the ultimate responsibility of making a harsh and final judgment against the criminals that were parasites in his region—there were other challenges. Significant ones. While the Americans led the world in gun violence, Nico’s jurisdiction in Italy had chosen bombs as their weapons of choice. Why? Because they were easy to make and difficult, if not impossible, to identify who was behind them. But most of all, death by explosives was a powerful statement. A warning to those who might be considering crossing the line.

  Calabrians could fool outsiders—if not themselves—that they lived in one of the most beautiful regions of the world. While there was still more poverty there than any other part of Italy—save parts of Sicily—tourists still romanticized the region. When something happened, like the bombing that killed Ariana and others at Cannone Square, citizens said it was the exception, that there was no longer a large presence of organized crime in their country. That was the stuff of television shows and movies. Tell that to the mothers and wives and sisters. The sons and daughters who would never see their family member grow old. Tell that to him, Nicoló Moretti, a career prosecutor sworn to uphold and enforce justice in a region that had taken so much from him.

  As he powered down his laptop, his mobile rang. Mifsud. With a sigh, he picked it up.

  “How soon can you meet me at the hospital?” he asked. “Pezzente has something I think you’re going to want to hear.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  When Nico and Mifsud entered the hospital room, Roberto Pezzente was perched on the edge of a chair, fully dressed. The bruises on his face had turned into an interesting collage of brownish-yellow blotches. Steri-Strips covered several lacerations on his cheek and forehead. Nico’s eyes traveled to a spot on his scalp that exposed a zippered line of stitches. He was a pathetic sight, but Nico had a hard time feeling sorry for him.

  Pezzente struggled to rise from his seat and extended a hand, which Nico ignored. He was there solely out of respect for Inspector Mifsud’s urgent request, but had little interest in anything the PM’s supposed “special investigator” had to say.

  “Look, I’m sorry,�
� Pezzente said. “I think things will make more sense when I’ve explained everything.”

  “Really?” Nico said. “Which part would you like to explain? The part about you taking money from Alesandru Baldisar, or the part about you lying to me about the circumstances in which three men were blown up outside the hotel in Saint Julian’s?”

  Mifsud attempted to cut through the tension in the room. “Based on some things I’ve been able to confirm,” he said, looking at Nico, “I think we need to hear Investigator Pezzente out.”

  It infuriated Nico that Mifsud would even refer to Pezzente as an investigator. While he did have empathy for the man who had endured the horrific loss of his family, he had no patience for someone who appeared to have turned against his own country. Or was possibly working both ends against the middle. It might have been better for everyone if Baldisar’s man had done a better job when he’d shot him.

  Pezzente looked contrite as he acknowledged the inspector’s comment. At Mifsud’s suggestion, Nico sat down.

  “I’ve been working a complex money-laundering case for over two years. Initially, it was a joint investigation between Italy and Malta, but it turned out to involve more countries and jurisdictions than we’d first suspected. We were getting incredibly close when Ariana Calleja was assassinated. I had managed to get close to Baldisar, and while I felt an obligation to keep you posted, Nico, I simply couldn’t risk everything we’d worked so hard on when I didn’t know which side you were on.”

  As if Nico wasn’t angry enough, at Pezzente’s last comment, he saw red. “I thought we were on the same goddamned side. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m responsible for prosecuting those cases.” His voice rose an octave. “You didn’t see fit to fill me in?”