by Kai Meyer
“What about the forged papers?” asked Stefania. “Aren’t they your tickets to a new life?”
“They’re only for an emergency.”
Had he ever really meant to discuss it with Rosa? Would he have involved her in the discussion at all, before it was too late?
The policewoman laughed softly. “And when do you expect that emergency to come if not now?”
His hand closed hard on the gear lever, and suddenly he slammed on the brakes. Rosa was flung forward against her seat belt.
“Hey!” she exclaimed.
“Sorry,” he murmured, and got out of the car. Rosa was afraid that Stefania might try escaping through the driver’s open door. She snatched the pistol up from the floor in front of her seat and spun around. Over the barrel of the gun, she and the policewoman stared at each other.
“You won’t shoot me,” said Stefania. “You’re not a murderer.”
“Where would you go in the middle of the mountains, with your hands and feet cuffed? I don’t have to shoot you to stop you. You can’t get out of here. So sit back again and keep your mouth shut.”
Alessandro opened the trunk and searched through the box inside. He had already conjured up a substitute license plate with a fake number from it before they left.
A moment later he was on the backseat beside Stefania, a piece of cloth and a roll of adhesive tape in his hands. She protested vigorously as he gagged her, taking care that she could breathe easily through her nose.
“Do you really have to do that?” asked Rosa.
“Do we have to listen to this stuff for the whole drive?”
“Then we shouldn’t have brought her with us.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if forcing himself to calm down. Then he said, “We’re not going to hurt her. She’s the only one who will believe us if we can prove that the Malandras killed Quattrini. She’s seen what we are.”
“If that’s all it will take—we can show everyone else, too.”
“And then they really will believe we killed her. They’ll point the finger at us and fix it to burn us at the stake.” He pointed to Stefania. “She’ll be okay. She gets on my nerves, but she’s not necessarily our enemy.”
Rosa’s mouth twisted. “So that’s why you gagged her?”
Stefania mumbled something into the cloth, raised her cuffed hands in protest, and then let them drop to her lap again.
“She’ll survive,” he said, getting back behind the wheel.
Rosa looked behind her with a resigned expression, put the gun away, and leaned back in her seat. The car began to gather speed.
“About those tickets and passports?” she asked after a while. “Why didn’t you say anything to me about them earlier?”
“Because I didn’t want things to turn out the way they have. I didn’t want the decision of whether we stay or go hanging in the air between us.”
“You don’t want to run away from this at all.”
“I’m not letting myself be simply chased away. I misjudged Quattrini, and I’m sorry about that. For some reason or other she took a great liking to you. And now she’s dead because her murderers want it to look as if we killed her. That wasn’t spontaneous. It was planned well in advance.”
Stefania managed to utter a furious groan, and then lay down on the backseat. She had obviously decided to reconcile herself to her fate for now.
“Why did they do it?” he wondered aloud.
“To be rid of us.”
“They could have just killed us. Maybe those two Malandras would have done it. And there’d have been a hundred other possibilities.”
“They want to get rid of us but not kill us?” Rosa shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Which is why I’d like to have an explanation.”
Rosa was feeling guilty about the judge’s death, and she was burning with rage toward the murderers. For the first time she thought she understood what had been driving Alessandro all this time. First revenge for the death of his mother and Cesare’s treachery. Then revenge on the men who had raped Rosa. His urge to exact retribution had always seemed a little strange to her, but now, with the judge’s dried blood under her fingernails, she finally understood it.
An exclamation escaped her. “Oh, fuck!”
“What?”
“Iole and the others. If it was the Alcantaras behind all this . . . if there really is something like a coup going on, they’re not safe on Isola Luna.”
“None of your people take any interest in Iole,” he said reassuringly.
“But they take an interest in Cristina di Santis! She knows about all the deals, all the agreements, all the sources of income from the Alcantara businesses, both legal and illegal. And she’s right there with Iole and Signora Falchi on Isola Luna.”
“There’s a cell phone in the glove compartment. Call them and tell them to keep their eyes open.”
Rosa opened the teak glove compartment and took out one of Alessandro’s iPhones; he had several, none of which could be traced back to him. Impatiently, she let the direct line to the villa on the island ring until the automatic voice mail picked up. Then, searching her memory, she tapped in the number of Iole’s cell phone.
She heard the ringtone at the other end twice, then Iole took the call.
Rosa breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s me.”
“I always keep the refrigerator door closed,” Iole assured her. “And I haven’t given Sarcasmo any chocolate—well, not much, anyway. And I haven’t been ordering anything over the internet, or not today, not yet. And I’ve been really polite to Signora Falchi, even if she says I wasn’t. Anything else I might have done wrong?”
“Iole, listen to me very carefully. You’re back on the island, right?”
“Since fifteen minutes ago.”
“Is there anyone else there? Apart from Cristina and Signora Falchi and the security men?”
“Haven’t seen anyone.”
“Are you in the house?”
“In the strawberry room.”
“Can you go to the window? Look toward the south over the sea from there.”
“Wait a minute . . . yes, I’m there now.”
“Is there anything in sight? Ships? Helicopters? Anything?”
For several seconds there was silence at the other end of the line.
“Iole?”
“Three boats. Coming closer quite fast.”
“Fuck.”
Alessandro glanced at her anxiously. “What’s going on?”
“Iole, look very hard now. Are they really coming to the island? Heading straight for Isola Luna?”
“Looks like it. It’s not the mail delivery, is it? I’m expecting a package of—”
“Do you know where Signora Falchi and Cristina are right this minute?”
“Old Falchi is running around in quite a state, looking for me.” Iole’s girlish laughter sounded as carefree as usual. “I took her for a ride. Well, a bit of a ride anyway. And Cristina is reading some kind of papers.” She laid emphasis on that, as if she’d caught the Alcantaras’ legal adviser doing something immoral. “She’s always reading, all day long. When she isn’t on the phone.”
“Listen. You must promise me something. I mean really promise. On Sarcasmo’s life, and your uncle’s, and—”
“I’m not a baby, Rosa. I know what promising means.”
“Go to the kitchen and pack up all the food you can find. Everything that can be eaten without cooking it. And water. All the water you can carry. Then go find Cristina and Signora Falchi, and hide with them.”
“Cool.”
“No. There are men on those boats who may want to kill you all. That is not cool, understand?”
“Okay.”
“You’ll need a really good hiding place.”
“Like the old bunker down by the moorings?”
Rosa had strictly forbidden Iole to go down there. She might just as well have written a friendly invitation to her to
drop in any time she liked.
“Sarcasmo ran into it,” the girl defended herself, “so I had to look for him. I couldn’t leave him all alone there, could I? But I was only in the bunker that once. And just for a few seconds.” She was lying, but at that moment Rosa could have hugged her for her incorrigible curiosity.
“Take flashlights with you. And plenty of batteries. You only have a few minutes. The security men will try to hold off the men from the boats.” If they hadn’t been bribed, if they weren’t on the way to the villa themselves. Shouldn’t think that out to the end. Shouldn’t always assume the worst. “Did you understand all that?”
“Food. Water. Flashlights. Sarcasmo. Cristina . . . and Signora Falchi, supposing I can find her.”
“No supposing about it.”
Iole giggled. “And then all of us into the bunker. Roger and out.”
“Alessandro and I will be with you as soon as we can.”
“Got it.”
“Look after yourselves. And Iole? I love you.”
“Love you too. But listen, when you’re dead can I make you into a purse? A snakeskin purse. You’ll be very old by then, and so will I, and I guess I’ll like that sort of thing. Ugly, but kind of chic. Can I?”
Rosa smiled.
Iole hung up.
THE GAIA
IT BEGAN BEFORE THEY reached Milazzo. But when they left the commercial district and approached the city center it became almost unbearable.
Rosa suspected every car of containing spies; every radar trap seemed like the watchful eye of a pursuer. Pedestrians seemed to be staring through their windows, especially at the red lights. She tried to tell herself that it was the expensive car, not its occupants, that drew all eyes, that she was only imagining things, and in reality no one was paying them more than a brief moment of attention. But by now paranoia had her firmly in its grip.
There were no radio announcements yet of the judge’s death, no news that two suspects were on the run, but the investigation must be in full swing by now. Their fake license plates wouldn’t keep them from being identified for long. And having a prisoner in the backseat didn’t improve matters.
“We’ll have to take her gag off,” said Rosa, as twilight plunged the streets of Milazzo in dark red light. “If anyone sees her, we’re done for.”
They had told Stefania to stay lying on the backseat and not sit up. Rosa had no idea what they would do if she sat up anyway. No doubt Stefania herself was wondering the same thing.
Alessandro disagreed. “She’ll bring half the city down on us if she screams.”
“Every time we stop at an intersection I almost have a heart attack,” said Rosa. “And how about people in buses and trucks? They can see into our car even when they’re driving.” She turned to look at the backseat, and saw Stefania watching them. “If we take the gag off, will you promise to keep your mouth shut?”
Alessandro made a face. “Oh, come on, Rosa.”
The policewoman nodded.
“You won’t call for help?”
Stefania shook her head.
“I trust her,” said Rosa.
“You don’t. You don’t trust anyone.”
“Well, we can’t drive on like this.”
He thoughtfully chewed his lower lip, nodded, and pulled the car into a shady parking spot. Not far away there was a newspaper kiosk, but the view of the man inside was blurred by the magazines dangling in foil wrappings from its canopy. A fruit seller was taking empty crates out of his shop and stacking them on the sidewalk; a stray dog lifted its leg against them after the man had gone back inside. No one seemed to be taking any notice of the black Porsche.
Rosa leaned back between the seats and loosened Stefania’s gag. A few of her hairs had caught in the adhesive tape, but she didn’t even flinch as Rosa tore the whole thing off with a strong jerk.
“Thanks,” said the policewoman, a little breathlessly.
“You won’t scream?”
“Promise.”
“Or do anything else silly?”
“No. Do you by any chance have some water?”
Alessandro’s expression darkened. “We had to leave the picnic basket behind.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “But maybe Rosa will loosen the cuffs on your hands and you can get a snack from the shop over there.”
Rosa moved back into the front seat, keeping an eye on the police officer. She couldn’t get out through either of the back doors; Alessandro had switched the child lock on.
He stretched, snapped his fingers, and sat up straight, clearly slightly uncomfortable in Festa’s jacket. Then he threaded the car back into the traffic.
“We’re nearly at the harbor,” he said.
Rosa fiddled with the radio until she found a local station. By now she had tried half a dozen, but none of them were broadcasting police reports in the news bulletins. “Why aren’t they saying anything about us?”
“To give you a sense of security,” said Stefania. “They want you to think they don’t take what happened very seriously.”
“The murder of a judge?” said Alessandro. “Oh, sure.”
The sea shimmered ahead at the end of the street. The closer they came to the harbor, the more distinctly they could see the masts of many sailing boats, black lines against the sunset glow of the sky.
Alessandro’s 130-foot yacht, the Gaia, lay at anchor there. Rosa had set out from here last October on her first expedition to Isola Luna, after Fundling had picked her up outside the Palazzo Alcantara. The memory of him was beginning to hurt. It was the last thing she could deal with right now.
Outside the yacht harbor, a broad road with a promenade on one side ran along the water. Tall palms grew at the roadside. The Gaia was moored close to the exit from the harbor basin, next to another yacht of similar proportions. The other boats by the landing stages were smaller, although most of them cost as much as a comfortable single-family home.
Beyond the harbor, on the other side of the road that ran along the shore, was a square with a tall fountain in it. Their view of the square was a wide, open one, with no police cars in sight.
Alessandro drove past the Gaia without stopping. They came within fifty yards of the yacht, but saw nothing suspicious.
“They’re here, though, aren’t they?” asked Rosa.
Alessandro slowed down slightly as he observed the yacht in the rearview mirror. “What makes you think that?”
“Just a feeling.”
Stefania sat up a little way and looked through the side window. “They’re sure to be concentrating on the ferries and airports.”
“Your people know about the yacht,” said Alessandro. “If they haven’t been here yet, they could turn up at any moment.”
“Maybe. Or maybe not.”
“Meaning?” asked Rosa.
“She’s trying to trick us,” remarked Alessandro.
Stefania let out a sigh. “I shouldn’t have to tell this to you two, of all people. Our unit is severely understaffed. We can’t be everywhere at once. The Mafia became fairly transparent some time ago; you have far fewer secrets than you think. But there are simply not enough of us. In theory, we could lay our hands on half of Cosa Nostra within a single week. But as long as we don’t have enough operational forces, there’s no chance of that happening. That’s why it’s sometimes better to tolerate some of you and keep a watch over them, rather than alarming you all and then seeing you slip through our fingers and go underground, never to be seen again. Every Mafioso worth his salt has a ship or at least a boat lying in some harbor or other. If we were to watch them all day and night, we’d have to commandeer the services of every traffic officer in all Italy.”
“But to your people, we’re Quattrini’s murderers,” said Alessandro. “You’d think that would give us some kind of special status.”
Rosa nodded. “A message posted in the next issue of the police trade union journal.”
“And if the police aren’t waiting on board for us, then the o
thers may be,” he finished.
“The people who took you for a ride?” Nothing in Stefania’s face or voice showed whether she believed that or not.
It was certain that someone had it in for Rosa and Alessandro and wanted to get them out of the way, using Quattrini’s murder as a means to that end. But who? And what were they going to do next?
Rosa was more concerned about Iole than herself. She hoped that by now she was in the abandoned war bunker under the island with the two women, getting on their nerves.
“Let’s wait until it’s dark,” suggested Alessandro. “If they haven’t done anything by then, we’ll go on board.”
He parked the car in the road along the seafront, almost a mile from the yacht harbor. Here the Porsche fit in unobtrusively among the other expensive cars.
Alessandro called the number for the bridge of the yacht. Meanwhile Rosa kept her eye on Stefania. The policewoman was still sitting quietly in the backseat, pushing a few dank strands of hair off her forehead with her cuffed hands.
After a couple of seconds the call was answered. Alessandro frowned, but nodded at Rosa hesitantly. She still didn’t feel like breathing a sigh of relief. But the Gaia was their only chance of reaching Isola Luna.
After he had finished the conversation, he summed up the gist of it for her. “That was the first mate. He says they haven’t noticed anything unusual. So far there haven’t been any police on board, and the crew are there except for the cook—it’s his day off. They can organize a few men to go to Isola Luna with us, if we want.”
“Killers,” said the policewoman scornfully.
“And you still trust the crew?” asked Rosa.
“I’d swear that the captain’s an honest man. I’m not so sure about the others. But we don’t have a choice.” For a moment there was an indecisive silence. “They’ll call if anything strange happens. The Gaia can leave at any time. All the same, I’m in favor of waiting until it’s dark, just to be on the safe side. An hour, or an hour and a half would be better. Until then let’s watch the harbor and see if we notice anything.”
Rosa looked out to sea. It was as if ink were flowing from the horizon into the water, slowly coloring it black.